When I was 15, I moved in with my grandpa.
I had lived at that house with my mom before when I was really young, and I always hated the upstairs floor because I had an encounter with a ghost there when I was 5 or 6. What had happened was I had been looking for my mom all over the house, and calling out for her.
“Mommy? Mommy? Where are you?” I already looked upstairs for her, but since I had just looked in the basement I figured she had time to go back up to her room.
When I got back up to her bedroom door and opened it, I again asked, “Mommy?”, only to find the shadowy figure of a man sitting on her bed across from me. He was watching me, and tilted his head. I heard him imitate me by asking, “Mommy?” as if he didn’t understand what it meant.
I screamed my head off and bolted downstairs, almost wanting to run backwards because I felt a presence behind me, but I just kept going, only to find my mom at the bottom of the stairs.
That has always haunted me. My grandpa talked to his neighbors who had lived there longer than him, and they told him that there was an older man with a beard named Frank who lived in the house two owners before him, and that he had died in the backyard while shoveling or raking, of a heart attack. Every time something unexplained happened to my grandpa, he had an ongoing joke about blaming Frank.
For example, my grandpa had gotten a new camera to snap photos of our vacation in Mexico that he set down on the desk.
He would go to the bathroom for a few minutes, and when he came back it would be gone. He searched throughout the house, and eventually gave up and bought a new one. A few days later, low and behold, the old camera was sitting on the desk where he had left it. He’d laugh it off, saying things like, “Damn you, Frank! You just outed me fifty bucks!”
It was almost like they were buddies, in their own weird way.
Fast forwarding back to moving in as a teen, I was still weary of the second floor.
Throughout living there until I was 20, my room had to, of course, be upstairs. I’d experienced footsteps stomping up and down the stairs which were just about three feet away from my bedroom door, my door closing by itself even though it wasn’t weighted and would stay where you left it, my cat growling and glaring into thin air, etc.
When I was about 18 and out to a movie with friends, my grandpa called me asking if I was home.
I said no and that I was on my way.
He said that was odd, because he swore he heard me crying right outside his window, and when he went out to look, nobody was there. A few days later, I was on the phone in bed and my cat kept jumping up on and bugging me so I temporarily locked her out by shutting the door until I was done with my conversation.
About a minute later, she jumped back on the bed, which made me immediately look up at my door, which had been opened again. Suddenly, I could hear a woman faintly crying on the other side.
It lasted for what seemed like forever, but was probably only around 15 seconds, until I got up to investigate.
Only then did it stop.
A few years later when I was 21, I moved out because my grandpa’s health had been deteriorating due to his alcoholism, and despite my help, he just wouldn’t help himself and I was getting sick of it, plus it seemed like the activity wasn’t going to cease.
Six months later, my grandpa died. It came as a huge shock, and for a while I blamed myself because I thought, maybe if I had stayed with him he would have somehow lived longer. Maybe I could have done something. But I kept my feelings to myself, because my mom was completely devastated, as she was pretty much his favorite kid and everyone in the family knew it. It was always kind of like that. My grandpa, my mom, my siblings and I.
The house was sold to the bank because he just honestly didn’t take very good care of it, and luckily the locks hadn’t been changed right away because I needed to grab a few personal items for my apartment that I’d left there.
When my husband and I walked through the house, it was eerily dark and cold, like a ghost of the house I knew growing up. I soaked it all in, all the memories that I’d never be able to visit again, because he was gone.
I still struggle with his death to be honest.
But I felt like I was being watched the whole time, which I didn’t mention to my husband because it was just the vibe that you felt at that house and nothing new.
But the weirdest part of all of this, is months later, my mom and aunt spoke to an alleged psychic, who said my grandpa hasn’t moved on yet. She said he’s staying with “The boy”, who we assume is my little brother who has down syndrome.
My grandpa watched my brother at least every other weekend for his entire life. Before he was cremated, my mom tried to gently tug my brother into looking at GP (which is what all of us called him), but he shook his head and refused.
We think GP stays with David to keep him at peace. But the psychic said GP also hangs out with someone in the after life.
An older man, who has a beard.
They spent weeks trying to decipher who the psychic was talking about, until they told me about what she said and I immediately gasped and said “Frank!” Their eyes lit up. “Oh my God, I think you’re right!” My aunt was stunned.
To this day, I firmly believe that when my grandpa isn’t with my brother, he’s hanging out in the afterlife with Frank, haunting the house with the ghost that haunted him. To the next person who ends up living there, good luck