Here’s another great entry in our Ghost Stories Contest. This one comes from Ana.
As a teenager I lived in Seattle. My Mother and I moved into a house on North Hill in Des Moines, WA. I didn’t find out until years later that North Hill was, and yes I AM aware of how cliche this sounds, an Indian Burial Ground. Turns out Ann and Leslie Rule lived two streets away from where my house was. Leslie wrote about the area in one of her books. Apparently the hill itself is haunted. People claim to see demon dogs and white figures. I never saw any of that but we lived in that house for five years and a lot of very strange things happened.
We were the third owners of the house. The original owners put a lot of love into the house and planted tons of rose bushes and wallpapered every room but after the owner’s wife died he let it fall into disrepair. The next owners put all their energy into cleaning the outside, trimming the overgrown gardens and rose bushes. My Mother and I concentrated on the inside. Taking down wallpaper, painting, updating appliances.
It was a three bedroom Rambler with one of the bathrooms on the far end away from the bedrooms. One night I got up to use the bathroom and get a drink of water. I went to the far away bathroom because it was mine, being a teenager I had claimed it and I only used that one.
So, I was in the kitchen drinking the water and I saw the shadow of man walking across the kitchen floor. Without going into a long explanation of how the house was laid out and why what I saw was impossible, you’re just going to have to trust me that this was impossible. There is no way something would’ve made the shadow I saw without walking right in front of me.
The guest bedroom in that house was always cold, I never went in it. Something about it was off. Lots of people commented on that room and how weird it felt. My best friend always insisted on sleeping in the living room instead of that room.
One afternoon I was in the living room doing homework and I looked up and there was, what I can only describe as a cloud, in front of me. It just drifted across the living room and dissipated.
One morning I got up and found my mom in the kitchen. She told me she had been up since 4am. She had been asleep and something woke her. She felt a weight on top of her chest and then pounding. She said she tried to scream but couldn’t. A few weeks later a copy of a death certificate came in the mail for the original owner’s wife. She had died of a heart attack. My Mom thinks what she felt that night was what the woman must of felt the night she died. Paramedics beating on her chest. We could never figure out why the certificate had been mailed to us.
Years later, my Mom and I drove by the house and knocked on the door. The people who bought it from us were still living there and let us come in for a tour. They had added a front porch and new flooring. It was all my mom and I could do not to ask them if they had ever seen or felt anything!