I’m actually an agnostic when it comes to ghosts, but if I hadn’t experienced what I’m about to tell you then I’d probably be a fully-blown sceptic.
Sitting on the Scottish coastline in Troon, Ayrshire is a nineteenth century villa called Crosbie Towers, beautifully crafted and in the Italianate style. It is well-known in the local area and you can find pictures of it online, both in its current and former state. Even when it degenerated into a derelict and poorly-maintained building, the mansion still looked quite elegant. And scary.
When we ventured inside on a calm evening in May 2012, it really was your proverbial haunted house: dusty floors, wooden panels, boarded-up windows, a broken-down elevator, a creepy dentist’s chair, and a spiral stairacse leading up to a square tower. There was debris everywhere, old chairs and furniture, and the air was rather heavy and musty. It smelled like an old library.
My friends were just approaching the foot of the staircase when a loud, crashing bang sounded from the top. I was at the back of the queue, admittedly not the bravest of the bunch on this occasion, but the noise and shock will stay with me forever. We bolted out and returned several nights later. You could say that a homeless person or another explorer orchestrated the bang to scare us away, but that would seem an unnecessarily severe measure to take. That bang was angry, sinister even. It wasn’t like an object was just dropped or thrown casually; there was great force and will behind it. Still, I would have granted a human cause as the likeliest explanation were it not for what we would soon discover. . .
This happened to me when I was about ten, and it has remained in the back of my mind and in my dreams for years. I honestly don’t even know what the creature was, just that he seemed particularly interest in me. Here’s the story.
When I was ten I often spent time in my bedroom, reading, setting toys up in different things, usually all in front of the window that looked out onto our front lawn. I liked keeping it open because let’s face it, I was a nosy kid. I liked watching the neighbors and even the animals like squirrels and birds go about their daily routines. It was a pretty big window, there was a screen between the glass and outside I guess to keep people from breaking in or in our case the cats from jumping outside. This particular day I was sitting in front of it, reading and every once in awhile being a little people watcher.
My daughter, Grace, is 5 years old. She’s incredibly smart to the point she’s reading, writing and communicating well above her age. She has always been like this. She was my first child and I was no longer with her father by the time she turned 1. We had been on an off since I found out I was expecting, we had broken up at 7 months pregnant and got back together when she was 5 months old. Grace and I lived with her Grandpa, my father, in my Nan’s old house. She had passed away a few years previous, and we always joked that she was still wandering around house, it was almost like a daily routine that at 9am and 4 pm every day there were noises from upstairs of her bedroom door opening and footsteps to and from the bathroom, ending with the eventual closure of her bedroom (now my fathers bedroom) door. My bedroom is opposite his and I could never have the door open in the evening or at night. There was always a growing sense of someone, or something on the landing, watching all the time. But I’ll dedicate another post to that at another time.
I never really thought about it much until I was showing Grace the photos on the fireplace when she was about 7 months old. I showed her a picture of my family and was teaching her people’s names. I showed her a photo of my Father when he graduated the Police Academy, he was standing next to my Nan so I said her name and tried to get Grace to point to where she was in the photo, like she had with the multiple other photos. She looked at me and pointed behind me, to the cupboard under the stairs and said, clear as day, “Nanny.” Seems a bit unimportant, until I tell you that that cupboard is completely empty. Except for my Nan’s Urn. I froze. The temperature dropped and I couldn’t bring myself to turn round and look. I heard what sounded like the door handle squeak and the door creak as it someone were trying to open it. It stopped after about 10 seconds and I immediately heard the footsteps upstairs. We were home alone, my Father works 12 hour shifts in London and his house was in a village about 45 minute train journey away. He wouldn’t have been home for hours. After a few minutes things seemed to go back to normal, I locked us in my bedroom all the same. I never joked lightly about my Nan’s ‘daily routine’ again. I moved out a few weeks later, and my dad sold the house not long after. We don’t spend enough time at his new house to experience anything. I don’t know who she saw, but I know it wasn’t the last time she would see someone who wasn’t physically there.
I am 23, and live in a house that was built in 1905, no deaths have occurred in this house that I am aware of. No ghostly or paranormal activity…until recently that is.
I have no definite time when the knocking in my walls started. If I had to venture a guess I would have to say it started up around six months ago. After a horrible family reunion trip, but that story is for another day.
My house is situated next to an open, vacant lot which is overgrown with shrubbery, tree’s, and grass so rodents are not all that uncommon of a sight, neither are squirrels. However I have reason to believe the knocking is not being caused by a mouse or squirrel, or any animal.
This all started around 2 or 3 years ago if I can remember correctly, my family and I moved to a small neighborhood in Tucson, Arizona, our house was a rented one. Connected with another house, but thankfully divided by a wall, we had at least four dogs during this time before we ended up with seven as we care for dogs a lot than we do ourselves sometimes. Living in this small house of ours that was a two bedroom and one bathroom with a large backyard, we didn’t have much furniture during this time as a few months before we moved, my mom was accused seeing another man as my step dad didn’t wanted to see her nor my sister and I, but they always work things out and I know my own mother would never cheat on my step dad as he is a good man whom I consider as a real father to me as I gotten older.