The house I grew up in was haunted to high Hell. There were a couple of deaths on the property that we knew of before the house was redone (it was a Habitat for Humanity rebuild). There was always creepy stuff going on and bad feelings emanating from certain rooms, but the most terrifying thing that happened to me was when I was home alone.
The living room, where I was watching TV late one evening, was separated from the kitchen by a wall with one of those breakfast bar-type ‘windows’ that let you see into either area from the other side. Out of nowhere, I hear the silverware drawer sliding open and not-quite-shut repeatedly, making the silverware clatter. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, and simply said, ‘Stop it!’.
And it did.
Up until I heard a gunshot-like crack rip through the kitchen. That’s when I looked over my shoulder and saw a black shadow person’s silhouette, staring at me with bright white eyes. I bolted up the stairs to my bedroom and locked the door, then immediately began praying and wishing I’d had incense or sage or something to keep…whatever that thing had been…out of my room and away from me (I was a big believer in the supernatural as a teen).
A few hours later, I was called down by my mom, and she asked why there was a plank of wood on the floor. I looked, and sure enough, there was a sheet of wood on the kitchen floor.
The same bit of wood that had been in the middle of the counter, leftover from her and her ex building a bird cage. That I didn’t touch.
Many bricks were shat.