Never Ending Footsteps


For those of you who know me, I’m a sucker for scary things. Let me rephrase that: I’m a sucker for scary things that I’m not physically apart of (e.g. watching scary movies, reading scary stories online, etc.), unless it involves clowns, fuck clowns. Yeah, I get goosebumps, the chills, and sometimes my eyes gloss over as if I’m about to cry, but even though I get these same reactions every single time (mostly from reading scary stories or hearing someone retell a scary story, as opposed to movies/tv shows) I eat that shit up! (Out of curiosity I looked up that last “symptom”, because I was young and naive and thought it only happened to me. Luckily I was wrong, so I’m a little less weird than what I previously thought.) But, turn the tables and put me in a situation where I’m about to see some unexplainable shit, I, just like the majority of human existence, try to play it cool and then casually freak the fuck out. As is the case with this story. Enjoy!

I’m just going to cut straight to the point: my parents house is haunted. When we first moved in, we took a picture of the house to send to relatives and there was a silhouette of a girl in one of the windowpanes on our front door; my dad woke up to a girl (same one?) sitting in his computer chair in his office; my dad saw a figure at the end of the hall in the windowpane of our basement door; I’ve gotten in bed at night only to find warm spots as if someone was previously sitting there; etc. Anyway, apart from the bed thing, I’ve never really encountered another instance of paranormal phenomenon until that night.

It was sophomore or junior year of high school and I was telling some friends of mine at school many of the stories I just previously listed. Reaping all of the glory that comes along with living in a haunted house (of course there’s glory to that!), one of my friends asked me if I’ve ever physically saw this ghost, to which I said no, thus tarnishing my paranormal street-cred. But, I wasn’t going to let that disappoint me. Just because I haven’t seen anything doesn’t mean it’s not true, so I brushed it off and continued with the school day.

Fast-forward to later that night – my mom, the only other person home at the time, was downstairs working out in the basement. I, being the studious person I am, was sitting in my dad’s office “doing homework”, minding my own business, when suddenly I heard the faintest of footsteps on their hardwood floors. It was noticeable enough to catch my attention, but I brushed it off and told myself it was probably my mom downstairs. A few minutes went by and suddenly I heard them again, but this time they were clear enough that I could pinpoint where they were coming from; the hallway parallel to the office. So, being the brave person I thought I was, I mumbled to myself, “I’m going to regain my previously tarnished paranormal street-cred and sit right here until I see this ghost.”

Glossy eyes fixated on the open door, I sat there as the steps got louder and louder. What started as a valiant effort towards this whole “being a man regaining that street-cred” thing, I began to break with every step I heard, trembling in the chair. Each step sounding like it was the last step until I saw the mystery person/thing, I couldn’t take it anymore. I hopped up from the chair and took off down the basement stairs. With how fast I was going down the stairs, I’m surprised I didn’t fall like the dumb girl in those scary movies who always fall when they’re running from the killer. Once downstairs, I poke my head into the workout room to see what my mom was up to. Of course I already knew she was working out, but to my surprise she wasn’t there…

Just kidding, she was there wondering what all of the commotion was. I didn’t want to tell her exactly what happened, so I said what any loving son would say: “Oh, that was just me running down the stairs to check on you :)”

So there you have it – my anticlimactic ghost story, in which you probably thought you were going to find out just who, or what roams the halls of my parents house. Of course, looking back on it now I’m pissed at my 16-17 year-old self for not having the balls to see the outcome, but put me in that same situation again and I’ll sit through the whole thing. I think. It’s probably the same thing that tried to choke me while I was sleeping a couple of months ago at my new house, but we’ll save that one for a rainy day.


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