I grew up in a haunted house. REALLY. I mean it. Spooky, creepy, weird things happened there the entire time I lived there and beyond. When we first moved in, a man's voice (no men living there at the time) came from behind my Mom in the dark basement and said "Get out." When she turned the light on, no one there. Mom heard a crying girl child often, and it was never one of us. Things moved and disappeared all the time. Once, when I was alone in the house and was waiting for my Dad to pick me up, I was sitting in the living room. As I watched, all the pictures in the room began to watch me. Eyes moved, smiles became (for lack of a better word) satanical. The frames began to move across the table they were sitting on. It makes my pulse quicken even 30 years later. By the time my Dad got there, I was hysterical. The night my aunt died, all the clocks in the house stopped at the time of her death. Some day I will get my brother to tell about his experience one night (as an adult living in the house) with the black cat and the man in the black hat...
But the most "haunted" part of the house was the upstairs bedroom shared by me and my sister. "Someone" walked up and down the stairs at all hours of the day and night. The door to the stairwell opened and closed constantly all on its own. Lights turned off and on, voices called, things disappeared and turned up there....all kinds of creepy, scary but really harmless stuff from the "other side".
I lived in the house from ages 10-19, then moved to Florida. The phenomena still occurred after I left and even upon my return for visits. One day, maybe 5 years or so after I had left, the Ghost and I had a showdown. I had never really felt threatened in the house as a child, but as an adult, the bedroom became more sinister. My parents had renovated the room, moving closets and such, and I had a feeling Ghost was not amused~but I seemed to be the only one to notice. I was OK during the day, or to be up there to watch TV after dark, but it got to the point that I would sleep in the basement or my brother's old bed because I could feel the classic "something's under the bed" creepies. One afternoon, as I sat alone in the house reading the paper in the kitchen, the door began to open. I pretended to ignore it, just watching out of the corner of my eye. It closed a little hard. Opened further, stayed open for a minute or so, then slowly creaked closed. Someone wanted my attention and this went on for several minutes. Finally I closed the paper, turned to the door and said, "Do you want to discuss this?" The door opened wide and stayed opened. "Fine. I have been dealing with you for a while now and I am kind of over it. I don't like being scared, and I don't think you have ever meant us any harm, but lately you are a little creepy. So I have decided I am not going to be afraid of you." The door moved a little, like it was making up its mind. Then it slammed hard enough to rattle the windows. I jumped, but kept my cool, opened the paper and started to read again, but still watching. The door opened wide. It stayed that way for several minutes, then slowly, quietly, it closed. "Thank you, my friend.", I said. I never saw the door open again.
Before you go all skeptic on me, I will tell you that the door latched firmly. It moved all times of the year, so it can't be blamed on the furnace and we didn't have central air. It happened with windows opened and windows closed. It happened with old crank out casement windows and brand new tight fitting storm windows. It happened day and night. So, believe what you want, but I know, for a fact, that my house was haunted.