My family moved around a lot when I was young, so my siblings and I lived in quite a few houses. One particular house was just strange, that’s the only way to describe it. From strange, siren-like noises that our parents never seemed to hear, to all the other unexplained things; I’m not really superstitious, but there was something going on in this house.
I shared a room with my younger sister who was known to sleepwalk from time to time, so I didn’t think much of it when I felt someone sit at the end of my bed: pulling the sheets tight over my feet and making the mattress dip down. Slightly annoyed, I called out to her to get her to move. She sat up from her own bed and the thing at the end of my bed pretty much jumped up.
A few years later, I was out running errands when I got a call from my brother, asking me to come home because something strange had just happened. The house had a bathroom that was set up so you could see the door in the mirror above the sink. My brother was washing his hands when he noticed the door start to creak open slightly. Deciding to have some fun with it, he quickly spun around and said ‘hi!’ Obviosuly not expecting anything to happen. Instead, the door flew open as if it had been pushed, bounced off the edge of the tub, and slammed closed.
At some point I found an odd flat stone while mowing the lawn. It turned out to be a knocked-over gravestone with the name ‘Angie’ on it, she apparently died in the house when she was two. So now we at least have a name for the ghost.