This is a true story, though I'm shortening it because so many things happened it would take more time than most would want to spend reading about them...I think. I lived in a house in 1989 with my young daughter. The basement was very low, unfinished with a dirt floor and my daughter said, one minute into living there that the man in the basement didn't like me (she was 5 at the time). Every trip on the loft stairs or any mishap I encountered she would see and blame the man in the basement. We rented. The history was not known. The stereo, t.v. would turn on and/or turn up in volume all the time. Once, I called out, asked whoever was doing it to quit it...the volume went down.
One day I went right home from work before picking my girl up from the sitters. The house was 1/2 encased in a closed-in porch with one screen door opening into the porch. Right inside the screen door, to the left, was the wooden door to the house while the rest of the porch went along the same side and around to the back of the house. The only other entry to the house while inside the porch was a small window into the kitchen, this tiny window was above the stove in our kitchen so it was too high to look out of when inside or into when outside.
Anyway, this day I entered the porch as usual, turned to my left to unlock the house door which had to be locked with a key upon leaving (couldn't just turn the knob and shut the door locked when you left the house), and I was the only one with a key. I entered the door and closed it behind me. Looking straight ahead I saw the usual: kitchen table 15 feet ahead, bathroom door to the right 8 feet or so before the kitchen... then I saw the pile of paper ontop of the kitchen table. I walked over to the table, looked at the pile and saw it was all my writingsand doodles while on the phone, [b]all mine [/b]and, after looking through drawers and seeing paper with other people's writing where it was when I'd left that morning, where it always was....
I had walked a straight line from the door to the table. To my right was the stove and above the stove was the tiny window. I noticed the window was broken and I was filled with a cold fear, terrified, but I couldn't figure out why. Not then anyway. I was mad because I'd told the kids who came over to play to be careful with the toys, figuring a kid had accidently broken the window while playing in the porch while we were gone. The fear came over me again, stronger, like a warning. I stopped looking at the pile of paper - which was disturbing enough - and slowly walked back toward the house door until I was outside the house and inside the porch. I turned to my left and began to walk through the porch toward the back of the house where the porch veered to the left to the back of the house where the kitchen window was.
My heart was pounding with each step, my head was ringing, so afraid though it was daytime, lots of sunlight...my mind kept flashing an image of the broken window over and over, each time my fear growing, each time I didn't know why. .. until I stood looking at the window from the outside. THE GLASS WAS ON THE OUTSIDE. This meant the window had been broken from the inside. The glass has landed well away from the side of the house so there had been some force behind the break.
No one was in my house when we left, locked the door with the key and the door had been locked when I came home. This, and the pile of papers on the table had me so scared I almost lost all bodily functions.
So much more happened in that house but it was these two things that saw us move days later. We didn't even stay another night, opting to sleep at a friend's until we found another place. Something inside me told me to get out, we weren't safe. Even writing this years later scares me, has me thinking someone is watching me.
Thank you for the warm welcome! I checked out a couple of other sites but they weren't great, very cold.
Yeah, that house was something else. A couple of nights prior to the broken window/crumpled paper day, I received a phone around 2 or 3 a.m. The phone was by my bed so I reached down, brought the phone onto my bed and answered it. The noise on the other end I can only now describe, after seeing the movie, as the noise the zombies make in Dawn of the Dead, only fainter and with static. It sort of sounded like a busy bar so I figured it was some drunk person with the wrong number.
I hung up the phone but before my hand left the receiver it rang again. I answered thinking it was someone else, had to be someone else because, even with speed dial, there wasn't enough time for the first caller to hang up and hit redial. Before I got the receiver to my ear I could hear the same noise, a bit louder but maybe I was more awake. I hung up again and it happened again, not 1/4 of a second had passed and the phone rang again, the receiver had barely touched the cradle (this was 1989 and I didn't have a cordless or call display ), I could barely breathe I was so scared.
The noise was the same but this time I could feel anger in it, anger or hate, I'm not sure. This happened two morw times and then I pulled the cord from the phone. It didn't ring again or if it did I couldn't hear it due to the cord gone. Thankfully it didn't ring without the cord in or I would have lost it. I plugged in the phone and called the police, told them only thay someone was calling, threatening and would not stop, knowing full well I couldn't tell them what really happened... they asked me if my doors and windows were locked, I said they were not, they told me to go and lock them, said they'd send a car over. I hung up and the phone remained silent.
There I was, sitting in bed upstairs in the loft but my little girl was downstairs in her room, all alone - hopefully - with her window open a bit due to the heat. My head swarmed with questions: why did they tell me to go and lock my doors and windows right away? did they think we were in danger? is that why they're sending a car over? why not just file a crank call report? I was paralysed with fear. My body didn't feel like it was mine, numb and heavy while my mind screamed for me to go down the stairs to my little girl, make sure she was safe. Finally, though it was probably only seconds I got up, walked to the stairs and waited for my legs to firm up. I thought about the route to her bedroom, the windows I'd pass, the door with the window, through the kitchen and livingroom to her bedroom as I took each step as quietly as possible.
As I reached the last step and was about to cross in front of the door I saw the dark figure at same time it banged on the door. I jumped, screamed and heard the dark shape say, "Police M'am, is everything okay?"
Amazing how a policeman at your door in a time of need is like having the lights turned on all at once, the darkness no longer a threat. I opened the door, greeted them (they travel in twos), and ran to my girl's room. Nothing else happened that night, went to bed with my girl next to me, just in case.