You can probably guess where this is going, but not a week or so after we moved in, we lost the keys. Boxes still littered the house, and we were still in unpacking hell. So my dad (obviously stressed from the whole situation) started getting loud about the keys. He accused me of stealing them, he was cursing and being a general pain. Then out of nowhere, we hear the keys hit the floor in the living room right in front of the couch right onto the floor. He picks them up, try’s to rationalize what just happened, say’s f-it and leaves the house for work. Over the next few months, the stupid keys are the center of the activity. My dad would put them in a glass bowl on top of out tube tv every day after work, and somehow they would be moved by the morning. My favorite spot by far was when we found them in a sealed box of pots and pans that we needed to unpack. It had those little handle holes on the side of the box, and its like someone just shoved them into the hole out of spite. We all got a good laugh out of that one.
Right now, you’re probably like “ok, whats spinechilling about some noises and some keys moving around?” Well, here you go.
The worst thing that happened fairly frequently was the stomping. Most nights around 2-3am there would be very heavy footsteps pacing in the hallway outside of our bedrooms. I confirmed with my dad when i was older that yes, it kind of freaked him out too. We had been living in this place for about 8 months at this point and i was probably around 8 years old. I heard the stomping one night and i just couldn’t take it. I screamed out into the hallway “STOP STOMPING AROUND! I NEED SLEEP TO GOD DAMN IT” 15 seconds of silence was abruptly interrupted by what sounded like a bull running full speed to my room. Then my door had 3 very aggressive slamming knocks on after another. It was so loud my dad woke up and came to check on me. My stomach started to turn, and I suddenly felt like I had to use the toilet. I was frozen in bed when i heard my dad call out to me. “You ok buddy?” From his bedroom. I mustered up the courage to head out to the hallway. As i got up, I could tell something wasn’t right, i was shaking like a leaf and my bowels were trying to evaluate while i was walking, i ran as fast as i could to the toilet, but it did not help. There was a trail from about halfway between my bedroom and the toilet. And my poor dad, worried about my safety follow me into the bathroom to figure out what the hell just happened. I explained everything, crying on the toilet, making a mess of myself and the house. I was embarrassed and terrified. After this, my dad told me, “If you ever feel uncomfortable, you can come sleep in my room. Nothing can bug you when I’m around”
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