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This story is about what happened to my brother in the attic of my old house.

When I was 8 years old I lived in a long row of red brick terraced houses in the city of Manchester, UK. These houses were built during World War 2 and were one army barracks and home to soldiers and their families.

If you’ve ever watched the TV soap ‘Coronation Street’ you’ll know what type of houses I mean. The whole street looked like an L.S. Lowry painting.

The house was set over three floors, the living room, kitchen and bathroom on the first floor, my bedroom and my parents bedroom on the second, and the attic had been separated into two bedrooms for my brothers.

On the night this happened my eldest brother, who was 19 at the time, was staying at a friends house, my parents were at my nana’s house who lived next door but one, so my brother who was 17 was left looking after me.

It was around 9pm that I was sent to bed as I had school the next morning. About twenty minutes later, I was already asleep by then, my brother told me he went to be after checking on me.

He sat in his room playing on his PlayStation 1 until he fell asleep around 11pm. By then my parents were already home.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, something woke me up. Groggy and tired I sat up in my bed and looked towards my door.

I should mention that I used to dream vividly as a child and had gotten used to seeing things when I was in that world of between consciousness and dreamland. So much so that I used to have full blown conversations with someone in my dreams while I was half awake, and my parents would come in my room to find me muttering to myself.

So something woke me up, I peered around my room for a second which was lit up dimly by my night light, before I looked at my door which was half open.

I saw a man. A soldier. He was wearing a khaki uniform, I’m not sure whether it was one of the camouflage ones as he was covered in mud. It was all over his clothes drying and cracking, all over his hands, on his face and under his chin.

He looked at my and asked me a question.

“Do you know where my mam is?”

I replied saying that I was sorry but I hadn’t seen his mother. He just looked and me and nodded and then walked away, I heard our attic stairs squeaking as weight was put on them.

I lay back down, falling back to sleep when I heard a scream and then rapid footsteps down both sets of stairs. By the time I had gotten out of bed the front door slammed and my dad was halfway down the stairs shouting after my brother. My mum had ran up the stairs to the attic but found nothing, just my brother duvet balled up in the corner of the room.

That night my brother went to his girlfriends and begged his girlfriends parents to let him stay. He stayed on their sofa for 4 days before my parents convinced him to come home.

In those 4 days I had told my mother countless times that the soldier went up the stairs to the attic but she just shook it off as one of my dreams.

When my brother came home he finally told everyone what happened.

He said he had been asleep when he was awakened by his duvet falling off him. Without opening his eyes he grabbed his duvet and pulled it up to his chin. Seconds later the duvet was roughly dragged off him and my brother shot up only to come face to face with the soldier.

My brother immediately thought it was one of our older brothers friends just fucking with him, so he went through shove the soldier away while cursing out our older brother. Except when he pushed the soldier he said his hands went straight through his chest.

For a minute he was shocked and looked up at the soldier, he said the soldier was looking down at my brothers arms through his torso with a look of horror on his face. This in when my brother started screaming and ran down the stairs.

No one believed either me or my brother.

The weird thing is that wasn’t the only strange thing that happened in that house. I guess there was multiple ghosts or spirits in that house because although many things happened after that, I never saw the soldier again.

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