Our Old House

Throughout my entire life, I’ve been fairly religious. I believe in God, the idea of ghosts/spirits, and afterlife, the usual stuff for a Christian in the south to believe. And I have never really needed proof for any of this, it’s just my faith. But when I was younger, I believe I did get some proof, of spirits and demons and such.

About 5-6 years ago, my family and I moved from Australia to America to live with my mum’s parents. They lived in a shitty county in that was filled with drug addicts and murderers, and when the time came that my dad apparently got a job in another town, we quickly took the chance to move. The other town was a lot nicer, or at least there was less crime. It was an okay place.

But the first house we lived in was… an odd area. Apparently, some things happened there that no one really explained. There were only a few people that lived there before us. And I guess I can see why no one stayed there that long. It was only 5 months we lived there before we moved to another house in the same county, but let me tell you why we moved.

It always felt odd to be in the home. Almost dream like, but not in a good way. You just felt like nothing was real there, like you were asleep. When we got out to go grocery shopping or just to go on vacation, that feeling followed. When we moved, after awhile, it just went away.

The things that happened to us also played a fucking huge part in us moving. There was always something going on that made all of us feel melancholy; just really sad, especially me. I have no idea why, but I was always the one that got the worst feelings overall.

And apparently I did some shit while there as well, it wasn’t just spooky spirits lol. I drew some very odd things, like a girl being killed or something. I guess spirits played a part in that as well, as I did seem different there. Maybe I was possessed to tell my mum that a girl was killed in the 1930s in the bathroom? Maybe no one knew about it? Maybe people, except us, still don’t know about it? I have no fucking clue. But I definitely wasn’t the only one the ghosts liked to fuck with.

My mum and sister were also antagonised by unholy spirits, apparently. Mostly just seeing people that were dead. But sometimes it got a lot worse, and actually physical. Once they were in the car, driving to pick me up from school, and there was a semi truck in the middle of the road. They couldn’t do anything except drive straight into it, but then as soon as they were about to die, they just stopped. The car wasn’t moving. Mum didn’t have an involvement in it, sis didn’t have an involvement in it, just happened.

And it also just wasn’t me that saw the dead bathroom woman from before. Mum saw her, too, and I took the drawing I made of her and her death date (I believe it was sometime in the 1930s, like I said earlier).

And one time the windows and doors were being knocked on, all at once, at the same time. When mum checked one of the doors or windows (can’t remember which one), it just stopped. Completely.

And that’s what made me believe in ghosts and the afterlife.

I'm sorry if this is weirdly written and not very creepy, I just wanted to tell someone this.