Personal Experiences: Patrick

Location: Southern New Brunswick, Canada

Log: 

People often ask: "How can you be stupid enough to believe in ghosts?". Well trust me, if you had seen or felt some of the things I have, you would be a believer and not asking such a stupid question.

It was said that my childhood house was one of the oldest in the neighbourhood, arguably the oldest. The house had been built at least 150 years ago and trust me, it showed. The feelings, sights and sounds I experienced in this house would lead me to develop unusual habits and make me a believer in the paranormal world.

Many memorable and frankly quite terrifying things happened to me in my childhood home. Things as insignificant as hearing footsteps and noises from the upstairs to events as extreme as seeing objects levitate before my eyes and being touched.

My first and most frightening experience with the paranormal world occurred around the age of 5 or so. I remember it clearly, it was a nice summer day, the smell of dish soap filled the air. My mother was at the sink doing dishes, my sister sat at the table doing homework. I, however, was on the kitchen floor diligently building a lego house, ignoring my sisters advice to "Lap the Blocks". She had given up on teaching me how to build a sturdy lego house and turned her attention else where. I go to grab another block and freeze at what I see. A 2x2 blue block of lego had simply started floating, the block floats to about a foot and a half, levitates over my lego house and lands right in the centre of the unfinished house. This is when I started believing in the paranormal.

Another slightly less drastic story is one that I never bother to tell. If I recall my mother was at the local bingo game, my father was working and my sister was at her boyfriend's. I wake up at the usual time of about noon and carry on my business for the day. The sun had just started to go down. I was exiting the bathroom when suddenly the air got a mild chill; I wouldn't call it cold. It was then that I felt a light touch on my shoulder, I turn around, knowing that no one would be there. And alas I was right. I ran out of the house, completely panic stricken, threw up and, if I recall, I called my sister crying and she swore at me before trying to comfort me.

Countless less significant things happened in the house. Needless to say my childhood house was haunted and it would seem that the ghost bothered me more then anyone else in the home. My parents assured me that the ghost was simply "Old Andrew" and not to be afraid, but I wasn't convinced.

Personal Experiences: Kristal

Location: Southern New Brunswick, Canada

Log: 

When I was five and my mother was pregnant with my brother Patrick, they decided to buy the 150 year old house outback of our current rented home.  With 4 bedrooms it seemed like the perfect place to grow their family. I remember being really excited about it as well.

It didn't turn out quite the way we planned.

I am not sure what happened to deter my parents (since I was so young), but they ended up completely closing off all of the upstairs.  3 Bedrooms up there were then unusable and mainly used as storage.  They kept the door shut at all times.  I ended up in the one bedroom downstairs while my parents slept in the living room.

I never thought anything of this when I was younger - or even when I was living there.  But now it seems really strange.

As a child, I did venture up the stairs with my friends upon occasion. It always had a creepy vibe to it and there was always a fight over who would be the last one down the stairs.  It always felt as though their was a presence on the very top just standing there, staring at you.


Then, if you were alone in the house, you could always hear shuffling and moving upstairs.  This happened almost without fail to numerous people throughout the years.  My brother and a few of our adult neighbors would never venture into our house by themselves.


Once when I was a pre-teen and Patrick was six or seven our parents tried to move us upstairs to the bedrooms.  This was the first time they attempted to use the upstairs.  Patrick refused outright and moved into the bedroom downstairs while I moved into the smaller one upstairs.  There was no door on the bedroom and I could always feel someone watching me.  I ended up putting up a blanket, but I still had the strange feelings.  Every night my dog would sleep in the entryway or on my bed.  In the morning, I would run down the stairs as fast as I could.


We cleared out the medium-sized upstairs room with a door, and I moved into that when I was sixteen.  I had my Dad put a lock on it so I could feel safer (even though it wouldn't have stopped anything anyway).  When the door was closed, I felt safe.  It was, strangely, the one place in the house I felt completely normal. It was my haven.  My dog continued to sleep outside the door.


Over the years, the sounds, feelings and sensations I felt in the house I grew up in made me into a believer.  Although I never contacted the spirit (who we believe is Andrew, the builder of the house) I know he/she was there with us.  It never did us any harm except to freak us out a little once in a while and change the channel on the television.


So, I grew up in a haunted house and I am a believer.  What's your story?  Let us know!