It happened when I was 13 years old. My mother and my step-father rented out a new place to live. The house was surrounded by trees, and there was a graveyard right beside it. This didn’t bother me though because I had lived in the country all my life.
What did bother me is that when my mother and step-father would go to the store, I would be all by myself and things would happen. I would have time to get settled watching TV after they left, say an hour. Then I would get an awful, cold feeling. I would look down the hallway into their room and the light in my parent’s room would come on. I would try to ignore it and think that I was imagining things. Then I would hear the door shut to their room.
I would get scared because no one was there but me. The only entrance to the house was right in front of the couch where I was sitting. I would sit in fear until they came home. It would not happen when they were home but as sure as they left the same thing would happen. I asked my mother if anyone had died in that house, and she would always say no. About a year after we moved from there, she finally told me that someone did die in the house; an old woman. And guess what? She died in that bedroom.