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All These Years in a Haunted House and I Still Don't Know What the Entity Wanted

Updated on January 20, 2019
JynBranton profile image

After a decade as a journalist, Jennifer Branton is on the path to finding a balance between career and writing.

The House They Settled For

I was six when my family moved into the house where my mother still resides and I seldom visit. It wasn't my parent's dream house or anything, just a ranch house they had settled for because it was close enough to walk to school without them being bothered.

My parents were notorious for being selfish and lazy, a characteristic that extended into every aspect of their lives, even when it came to their children.

The house was originally built by the people that were selling it, I remember hearing as a child. They only lasted four years in the home, which I think now seems odd considering they had just had a new baby as the room my brother had moved into was a nursery.

The upstairs had three bedrooms, the basement had one. Sort of a grandparents apartment, but they had never finished it with a bathroom. There wasn't anything special about the house my family moved into.

I don't know if the entity was already there and that was what had driven the young family out so fast, or if it was some unwanted baggage my family had dragged in with them.

It took a few years to really have memories of bad things happening in the house, but then it suddenly became madness.


My first bedroom was always too hot. The sound of a wheezing breathing like that of a lifetime smoker was heard throughout the night along with footsteps that paced up and down the hallway. Often I felt someone leaning over me but it wasn't until I moved to the basement bedroom years later that I began to get poked and jabbed in the night, waking up with odd bruising on my arms and legs. Whatever was there didn't feel human. I knew that I could hear it. I knew my father could as well.

The Bathroom In the Upstairs Hall

There were plenty of rooms that never felt right.

The kitchen, even though it had a sky light and was the brightest room in the house on most days. I never went to get anything to drink after the sun set, even with all the lights on as the feeling of something standing behind you and breathing down your neck was enviable. I wonder later if this was my mother always made the fastest thing she could for dinner just to get out of there as soon as possible.

The living room that my dad would later die in his sleep in was also a hot bed of activity and a room where people would unexpectedly get angry in for some reason as if the air itself was toxic. My parent's marriage was terrible, my father's numerous affairs and being bipolar to blame. By the time I was in junior high he had moved into the living room, not that my mother was living in their bedroom and she had moved into the basement room the first owners had put their grandparents in. The master bedroom stood abandoned for decades until my mother moved back in there after my father's death so I always felt that was where the entity hid. Across from my room, the door was always closed so there should be no reason for the back light that spilled under the door or the constant creaking of footsteps at night.

After about ten years of holing up in the living room, whatever made people so angry in there had made my father flip out from the moment he entered the house and the nights were filled with him watching Friends reruns and screaming obscenities at whoever walked by into the kitchen or came up from the basement. Finally he was blessed with a massive heart attack in his sleep.

I never used the bathroom in the master bedroom because that door, in my opinion had to remain sealed for as long as possible. Only in the last few years when I briefly stayed at my mother's between moving into a new home did I last about three nights in there between the constant noises coming from the bathroom and the creaking in the bedroom closet.

The bathroom I shared with my brother was one of the darkest rooms in the house despite all the lighting fixtures and for some reason the light never touched the dark corner where they had tucked in the shower. The whole time I showered from about six to college age, I could hear something pacing in there and the shower curtain always moved despite the fan being on an opposite switch and never turned on while I showered because I wanted to hear my surroundings. I always felt uneasy about the shadows and what I swear was whispering when I was inside.

One day in my teens, I was taking a shower. I had just seen my brother and father leaving to go to an auto show, knowing they wouldn't be back for hours and my mother was still at work. I never took a shower home alone but I had plans to get picked up by a friend soon so I figured I could be fast.

I was hardly wet when there was a knock on the door, then another. It was stupid to shout "Who's there?" to an empty house, but then I heard my brother's voice asking if I wanted anything from McDonald's. I assumed that they had wanted to get something to eat before departing so I answered back my sandwich choice and went back to taking a shower.

I had gotten dressed and it was nearly time for my friend to arrive and the food still wasn't back so I called my brother and asked if they had decided against the food, as my stomach growled in anticipation.

He swears he had never offered me food and explained I had seen him leave. I never knew what had knocked on the door or so perfectly imitated my brother's voice and it freaks me out to think what would have happened if I had opened the door.

Whatever had knocked on the door had perfectly imitated my brother's voice, and strung together an actual conversation with me. Whatever this was wasn't just random noises of a residual haunting, I was learning. This was an intelligent haunting. Whatever was angry at us for some reason. Worse it knew that I could sense it from how many times I angered yelled at it to get out of my house and burned incense and candles hoping to cleanse. My mother was more passive, but I knew it was troubling her.

The Heart Of The House

If there was one true place the entity lingered it was the basement.

I don't know the connection exactly. It wasn't that the room was ever empty as my mother lived down there and spent every second she was home either locked in the room that later became my second bedroom or on the computer playing her video slot machine game.

The basement had a built in bookcase and desk left behind from the first owners so being on the computer had you faced into a corner at the back of the room, facing away from the stairs.

The basement had the same feeling as the kitchen where it always made you turn around in paranoia feeling something standing behind you. There were footsteps and knocking about in the bedroom when my mother wasn't there.

A presence always seemed to chase you out of the tiny laundry room as well.

No electronics ever wanted to work in the basement. The television would't keep on a channel. The computer turned itself off and crashed mid program all the time. The washer and dryer would sometimes stop mid cycle and never spin out.

You might wonder why I eventually moved down there after my mother had moved back upstairs. Really the only reason was to be further away from the rest of the family.

Shortly after being in the basement room I started to feel poked at night and wake up with bruises. Some claimed it was the fuse box in the basement giving off too much energy that caused the horrible nightmares my mother and I both had living in that room, but friends that slept over reported the same thing.

My husband swears even today he sees shadows around the basement and refuses to go down there.


I recently mentioned something about activity on at my mother's house on Facebook and at least ten people had replied about having some sort of experience either sleeping over or feeling uncomfortable in the house visiting when they were children and teenagers. Strangely none of these people had ever told me anything of the sort at the time. They reported the same places we always felt most uncomfortable; the basement, the upstairs bathroom, and the kitchen/living room area.

Not Yours

One summer morning when I was in college, I was making some coffee before going for a run.

My brother I believe was upstairs sleeping, my mom gone already.

My mother had already descended into nearly the same crazy that my father over the years and walked around at night with a hockey stick of my brother's when she heard noises. I halfheartedly told her she should get another dog if she was worried about burglars but we all knew what she was hearing couldn't be helped by a dog. Strangely the dog that I had had from the time I was six until sixteen never seemed affected by whatever it was in the house so I wondered if it just had no interest or was afraid of the animal. Sure the TV would turn on or off, or there would be noises in the same room as the dog was but never anything malicious. When we had stayed in the house between moves, my cats had been living in the basement as my mother was worried about her precious wood floors being scratched up by claws. I spent as much time down there as I could with my pets so they wouldn't be lonely or getting into trouble and again from what I could see none of my three pets seemed bothered.

I took out a coffee cup as soon as the machine was done and was ready to pour. I felt that something over my shoulder again and ignored it. I had started yelling back at the entity some time ago like the ghost hunting shows had advised trying to take back my environment. My cup was full and I was distracted by the TV trying to change the volume from delightful talking level to a screaming match between characters on a morning show, so I went for the remote. Hearing a noise on the granite counter tops, I walked back to my beverage as the cup slide down the length of the counter and rotated twice before resting.

"Do it again!" I demanded.

Things went missing or were moved around all the time in the house since we moved in but to see a cup move on its own in broad daylight was something else.

Nothing happened so apparently the show was over.

I finished my coffee and went to brush my teeth before leaving when the toothbrush holder had flipped itself off the counter for the repeat performance.

"If you can hear me close the door."

I waited, not sure what I would do if it reacted to me.

"Come on now, close the door, I'm sick of playing games with you. This is not your house. You will leave." I threatened.

I never saw anything move again in the house but oddly the two places I have lived since I get bouts of strange activity that echos what I have experience in the past so it makes we wonder if it makes house calls.

It better not try to latch onto my family because we aren't putting up with it the way my parents had.


The Next

Against my advising, my brother and his new family are staying at my mom's home until they can pay off the debts of the wedding and find their own family home.

If he had experienced anything in the house, he has never said or maybe it left him alone for some reason. I knew he had to at least have heard the noises because he was afraid to sleep in his room as a kid and blamed me for knocking around at all hours and keeping him awake when I was clearly sleeping in the room next door.

It was bad enough having to spend the first few years of marriage living with your crazy mother, but I advised against bringing a kid into the house. I didn't take my son over there at any time. Strangely though I was OK with the quick visit during both pregnancies so far in the house.

My brother's stepdaughter was turning six, the age I had been when we had moved into the house.

On my brother's urging the plan was to move my mother back into the basement room where the night terrors were so real I was lucky I never had a heart attack. He was to take the master bedroom with my sister in law where something seemed to stir even when the doors were closed and he wanted to move his stepdaughter into my first bedroom and use his as a playroom.

I told him this was a very bad idea and that it could eat away at his family the way it did ours growing up but he doesn't seem to believe me and blames mental illness for the terrible way we grew up.

Maybe, maybe its all in my head.

But I know what I saw there and people are still to this day finally breaking the silence about what happened to them in my mom's house to the point I'm thinking of making a Reddit and posting every time I get forced into visiting to see if anything strange happens.

My husband and friends feel uneasy enough in the house so why my brother wants to expose his new family to this is a wonder.

I hope whatever was there has grown bored and been cast off but one summer day when I arrived at my mother's I walked in to heard the tinkle of breaking glass. Looking around I found the french doors of the living room shattered, the break in the glass so fresh it was still spider webbing and echoing as the crack raced from edge to edge.

Alone and knowing they were still at church as I had just text my brother, I called the police and waited on the stoop afraid to check out the house. The police arrived before my brother and his family got back from church so it was completely checked out and ruled out as a break in before they had arrived.

As we talked to the officers, we expected to find something outside the doors that would explain the cracking; a rock or stray baseball. A dead bird.

It was July still so the cop suggested maybe the sonic boom of a firework had made an existing chip in the door explode but it made no sense at eight in the morning.

I don't know what broke the doors just as I walked into the house that morning.

I do know it was in the same room that my father died in and I wonder what he saw that night that finally frightened him to death.

I am never bringing my children into that house no matter how long my brother and his family decide to live there.


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