I Lived In A
Haunted House
By Anna Abner
I’m not the kind of person who looks for
evidence of the supernatural. I love to read and write about it. My favorite TV
shows all have paranormal and supernatural themes (Buffy the Vampire Slayer,
Vampire Diaries, Teen Wolf), but I never had a concrete stance on whether
ghosts are real until I moved into a haunted house.
In 2008 my husband, our daughter, and I moved to
Ogden, Utah into a sixty plus year old home. We were native southern
Californians and this was our first experience living in the Beehive State. My
husband’s job transferred him to nearby Roy and we were excited to find a cheap
house within fifteen minutes of his office.
The house has a main floor plus a full basement
that can be used as a “grandma apartment” with its own kitchenette and
bathroom, and an attic with two bedrooms and a bathroom. Though there were only
three of us, it was perfect. We could have a playroom for our daughter, a
rumpus room downstairs, and both my husband and I could have our own home
offices. I loved it.
 |
| The basement is level with the car. The main floor is in brick. The attic is above that. The garages are in the back. |
The first unusual
experience happened almost immediately. At the rear of the property was an
older garage with a much newer garage addition built onto the side. I adopted
the older garage, but when we moved in it looked like it hadn't been used in
decades. It was coated with dust and cobwebs. Someone had dug their own
mechanic’s pit into the ground and miscellaneous car parts and shop tools were
rusting in drawers and cabinets. The first thing I did was cover the mechanic’s
pit and clear out the space from top to bottom so I could park my car inside
without being afraid of breathing in the Hanta virus.
 |
| What the garages looked like before we moved in. The old one is to the right. You can see part of the newer addition on the left. |
After a rough day
of cleaning, I was standing in the doorway of the old garage and I saw a man
behind me, to my right, on the edge of my peripheral vision. Scared that a nosy
neighbor had snuck up on me, I spun around. No one was there.
 |
| My little girl is standing in the same spot I was when I saw someone who wasn't really there. The old garage is on the left. The newer one is to the right. |
The kitchen on
the main floor didn't usually have any supernatural or scary vibes. But one day
my three-year-old daughter and I returned to an empty house. With her in the
lead, we rounded a corner into the kitchen. Something by the windows caught her
eye and she called out, “Hi, ghost.”
 |
| I'm writing at the kitchen table in front of the windows where my daughter saw someone. |
There was no one
in the house but us and I didn't see anything. When I asked her what she’d seen
to make her say that, she didn't want to talk about it.
 |
| My daughter is making a potion with her grandma while I cook dinner in front of the windows that spooked my little girl. |
The worst area of the house, though, was the
attic. When we bought the property the previous owners, who’d only lived there
two years, had been using the adorable attic bedrooms—with their hand built
shelves, wood paneling, and sloping ceilings—as storage space. I couldn't
understand why!
 |
| The attic. Here is my daughter and her friend playing in the pirate ship playroom I made for her (complete with canvas sail and freestanding ship's wheel). This is the room my brother slept in. Once. See the light spot in the background? |
As soon as we moved in I swept the two rooms and
spread out my daughter’s impressive toy collection, made curtains for the
windows, and lay down colorful play rugs. I couldn't wait to spend hours of
fun, imaginative play in there.
Except no one ever wanted to go up there.
One reason, which has nothing to do with the
paranormal is, heat rises. During the summer, the attic was the hottest level
of the house. Beyond that, though, I always got a bad feeling up there. The
stairs leading into the attic were narrow, steep, and covered in thick green
carpet. I slipped on them at least a dozen times in the three years we lived
there. My daughter fell so badly once, while carrying a play set down, that she
still remembers it six years later. When I used those stairs I purposefully
gripped the banister tight and planted my feet solidly on each step because it
became an almost certainty that if I wasn't paying attention I’d slip. Especially
on the way down.
And the attic stairs were always cold. Winter or
summer, it didn't matter; they were colder than the rest of the house.
All those toys in the attic used to power on
constantly and randomly. My daughter still has a lot of battery powered toys
and I can honestly say, except for Zhu-Zhu pets that come on if something
touches them, none of them power on by themselves. None.
But in the attic, toys would sing and light up and talk without human
interference all the time. We just got used to hearing the little piano start
playing music, or the animatronic bear say, “I love you,” or the electronic
book sing the Alphabet
Song. At any time of the day or night.
When we had overnight guests, I set them up in
the attic. They would have privacy and their own bathroom. So, when my brother
came to stay for Thanksgiving I made a place for him in the attic. I didn't say
anything to him about the strange feelings I got up there because I didn't
think he’d believe me and I also didn't want to influence him. Maybe it was
just me.
The next morning he described his night spent in
my attic. First, the plastic vanity against the wall turned on, flashed its
lights, and played a bright, tinny melody. He hadn't touched it, even by
accident. Once he’d actually fallen asleep, he said he woke up to a man bending
over him, his twisted and angry face inches from my brother’s.
My brother wouldn't sleep in the attic again
after that. When he visited next time, he slept on the pullout couch in the
basement and was much happier.
The final incident I can share happened over the
summer when my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and nephew were visiting. Because
it was hot, we were all chatting in the rumpus room in the basement, directly
under the main floor living room.
Keep in mind our house was older and had wood
floors. It made noise—pops and creaks—all the time as it settled, expanded, and
constricted in different temperatures. But that day I heard the front door open
and close. My husband always came home through that door, never the basement
door, so I knew who it had to be. I remember leaning back my head onto the
couch and following the sound of his footsteps as they crossed from the door to
our bedroom on the other side of the house.
Excited, I announced, “Sounds like he’s home.” I
rushed upstairs to greet him, but the house was empty. The front door was still
locked. There was no car in the driveway except mine. There was no one there.
 |
| The red arrow points to the attic window of the room my brother slept in. The blue arrow points to my brother, yes, but also the front door I heard open and close from my spot in the basement below |
I still haven’t researched the property or its
previous owners. Half of me is scared I’ll find nothing. The other half is
afraid I’ll discover I was living in some hellish murder house. But I have
never had any other supernatural experiences in any other home I've ever lived
in, and because of my husband’s job I've lived in nine different homes since we
got engaged.
By the time we moved away that adorable playroom
in the attic I’d spent so much time decorating was being used for storage and
no one ever went up there unless they had to.
Spell of Vanishing
Dark Caster Series
Book 3
Anna Abner
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Mild Red Books
Date of Publication: Nov. 1, 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9914031-3-4
Number of pages: 300
Word Count: 70k
Cover Artist: Jaycee Delorenzo
at Sweet & Spicy Designs
Book Description:
Cole Burkov is a formidable necromancer, but waking from a devastating nightmare spell has left him confused about what’s real and what’s fantasy. Afraid of hurting more of his friends, he casts a vanishing spell on himself, except something goes wrong. He’s not invisible to spirits. He’s invisible to everyone.
Talia Jackson doesn’t want to help Cole cast his vanishing spell. She’s on a mission to collect him for the Dark Caster. But when Cole uses her, against her will, to create the spell she becomes the only human being on earth that can see him.
Together, the unlikely allies will seek out one of the most diabolical casters in the dark cabal—the White Wraith. But when the witch fights back, Cole and Talia discover they may not be strong enough to survive her furious assault.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Rough asphalt
dug into Cole Burkov’s knees, but he couldn’t remember why he’d knelt in front
of a burned down church in the first place. His memory was in tatters, made up of
a pinch of nightmare, a dash of reality, and a whole lot of lost time.
Blood was what
brought him back to himself. The old, itchy blood on his hands and the fresh,
slimy blood smeared across his left forearm, obscuring the line of scars of
varying ages running up his wrist like railroad tracks.
When he cast
magic he was always careful to cut shallow slices, but maybe sometime during
the night, lost in his muddled memories, he’d cut himself too deep.
He couldn't
remember.
Cole sucked in a
deep breath, hoping the rush of humid, North Carolina air would stimulate his
memory, but it only made him dizzy.
As he gazed up
at the charred skeleton of a former religious building, he got the funny
feeling he was supposed to be doing something. That he wasn't there on his
knees by chance.
A large, ebony
crow peered at him from a willow tree at the edge of the parking lot. Crows
were bad luck, but one in a churchyard was an omen of death. The bird flapped
his wings once and took flight, soaring low over the parking lot before
disappearing behind a brick wall.
"Cole!"
A familiar ghost appeared in front of him, her face a mask of agony. He had
never seen his spirit companion Stephanie so distressed. "I found Dani.
She's coming. Can you hear me? She's on her way. Just hang tight and everything
will be okay."
Daniela Ferraro.
His friend. The witch.
Bits and pieces
of the last few days resurfaced. He had strangled Dani in a hospital room and
then escaped, hiding out on the streets and in the woods ringing the town. The
night before he’d slept sheltered among a copse of pine trees behind Auburn's
movie theater. The night before that? Hard to say. He thought the clothes he
wore, black scrub bottoms and a yellow smiley face tee, were castoffs from the
hospital. Or maybe that was part of the nightmare spell. Maybe he’d never been
inside a hospital.
Either way,
unable to suffer the guilt a moment longer, he’d come to the Dark Caster's last
known gathering place to face him. Or join him. That, too, was vague.
Of course the
bastard wasn't there.
But if Dani was
on her way it meant one of two things. Either he was still in the nightmare
spell and Cole would be forced to kill her again when the evil inside him rose
up, or he hadn't killed her and she’d try to stop him from going to war with
the Dark Caster.
Neither of those
things was going to happen.
“Tell her not to
come,” he said. “Tell her not to come anywhere near me.”
About the Author:
Anna Abner has been a writer for nearly her entire life, but some of her day jobs have included teaching, childcare, and real estate. She lives in North Carolina with her family and loves hearing from fans.
@AnnaAbner
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1 comment:
The post is beautiful. Thank you! I love your site. :)
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