When I was the age of 4 or 5, my family moved into a large, fantastic house in Colorado Springs, Colorado. It was at least a hundred years old at that point and rich with history. My parents had purchased it as a fixer-upper, which it was in desperate need of. Reportedly, the house had been lived in prior to us by a motorcycle gang. There were even still oil stains on the carpet where they would work on their bikes in the house. Despite it's downfalls, though, it was a beautiful house, and my parents were determined to turn it back into the grand old house we all knew it had been at one time.
From about the moment that we moved into the house, to the moment we moved out of it, we all knew we were not alone, and we had, each and every one of us, our own experiences to talk about.
The ghost in the attic
On the second floor of the house was a very large room that had been a studio apartment at one time. It even had it's own kitchenette with a sink, stove, cupboards and space for a refrigerator. The room was so large, that at one time all four of us girls slept in there. I can honestly say though, that from the first night to the last night in that room, I never got a good nights sleep. I remember laying awake for hours at a time, with the covers pulled up to just below my nose, trembling in fear. You see, the only thing above us was an unused attic, however, every night we were terrorized by the sound of heavy footsteps pacing back and forth above us. Now, I have heard rats before, and I know the scurrying, scratching sounds that they make as they traverse around. These sounds that we heard every night were certainly not rats. They were a heavy, almost dragging sound with very distinct “human” footsteps. On a “quiet” night, we would all fall asleep to heavenly silence, only to be woken up to the sound of footsteps later in the night. On a bad night, the footsteps would be frenzied, pacing around all night, as if it were desperately searching for something. Sometimes on those nights, the “door” to the attic, which was located in the ceiling of our closet, would even rattle, as if whatever was up there was trying to get out, to come down to us. It was on nights like these that us girls would often crawl into bed together, trying desperately to find comfort in one another. On the rare occasion we would even end up climbing into bed with our parents. I say rare, because we knew that it really would do no good. No matter what, the very next night, we would all be back in that room again, as there simply was not enough room for us to sleep anywhere else.