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Something triggered a memory today I'd pushed away deep in the back of my mind. In 1992 when I was 8 years old my dad bought a haunted house. A thread.
My parents got divorced in 1991 and my dad stayed on in the family home until such time as he could sell. He got a really shitty deal on the sale and ended up buying a new house in a seedy neighborhood a few kilometers away.
Man, I fucking hated that house. I've felt uncomfortable the entire day thinking about it. Anyway, by chance I Googled the address and true as nuts it's for sale so I got to squizz some pics
I was doing ok, it's been renovated up the whazoo inside, until I saw this portion of the back and even writing this I feel the trauma building up
I absolutely refused to be alone in that house after I woke up in my room in the middle of the night and heard people talking in the kitchen. Confused, I walked down the passage into an empty kitchen.
Terror levels rising I turned to run back down the corridor but froze when I heard someone running down the wooden floors ahead of me. I think I just stood there for an hour.
Man, it was just relentless after that. Pictures taken down off the walls and turned around, lights switching off and on, footsteps, people talking. You were never alone in that house.
It didn't help that the train tracks over the road added that haunting sensation with a train bellowing past every half hour till late into the night.
One day a fucking snake slithered into the lounge and just stood up and opened its neck, cobra like, and it was just so strange. My dad killed it and by that stage I was exhausted.
There had been some unfinished renovations in a back room which allowed you to look under the floorboards of the house and there were just piles and piles of very old magazines. WHY, FUCK MAN?!
I'm not an expert in these things and I know the mind, especially of a young child, is an interesting place not always easily understood but let me reiterate - I fucking hated that house.
