I used to live with my parents on Hubbard Place across from the Wheeling Park entrance off National Road. I was about 17 or 18 at the time. I am 25 now. My parents decided to rent the house instead of buying it because the backyard had collapsed off of the steep hillside behind the house and part of the garage was hanging off. They rented it from an older man whose wife had just died from cancer and he was getting remarried. However, even before them, their previous owner was an old man that had apparently died from natural causes on the back porch. The room I chose was in the basement, which was turned into a den. There was the living room area, a bathroom, a small laundry room, and across from that room, was my bedroom, which used to be the son’s room. I chose it because it had a deep red carpet and I thought it was pretty. The room had no windows, so it was pitch black when the lights were turned off.
Well one night, it was just me and my mother there because my dad was out of town for his job. Now my parent’s room was RIGHT above mine and she was watching TV in her bedroom while I was in mine reading a book. I was in my room for the night, had shut off the rest of the lights downstairs, and shut my bedroom door. As I was laying in bed reading, suddenly three distinct knocks occurred on my bedroom door. I paused, looked at my door, knowing my mother had not left her room because I could hear the TV. To verify this assumption, I yelled up, “Mom!?”
“What?” As soon as I heard her reply, like one second after I had heard the knock, my face felt hot. I doubt that my heavy-set mother (no offense, mom) could have sprinted that far in one to five seconds. She would have had to fly up the stairs, through the kitchen, then down the hallway to the back end to get to her bedroom.
I still replied with the question, “Did you just knock on my door?”
“Well someone just did.” I jumped up but refused to open the door until my mom turned the lights on from the top of the stairs. I was a little excited that I was actually having a “ghost encounter” but was still a little scared. I knew for certain that it was a distinct knocking on my door and it could not have possibly been my mom.
She turned on the lights and I looked outside my door to find no one. She stood at the top of the stairs holding the phone and said for me to look around downstairs and if there was someone in the house that had broken in, that she would call the cops. Thanks mom! I looked everywhere, even in the tiny furnace room I had forgotten to mention before. Never found anyone. I guess it might have been the guy’s mother coming to check on him since that had been his room. Who knows?
Other times, during the day as well as nighttime, I would hear heavy footsteps walking around upstairs when no one else would be up there. Most of the time I would be home alone when this happened, but it would also occur when I had friends over but always when no one else could possibly be upstairs. They have heard it themselves. The first time I heard it I was home alone and thought that my dad had come home. I never heard the front or back door open or close the whole time. The footsteps sounded just like boots that my dad wears, so I had yelled upstairs several times with no response. Getting irritated because I believed he was deaf, I had gone upstairs and stood in the kitchen yelling for my dad thinking he was right there. Therefore, I grabbed a big knife and checked every room to make sure, because I knew as soon as I reached the kitchen that my dad was certainly not in the house with me.
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