My name is Tiffany. I am twenty-two now, but at the time I was about fifteen and lived in a cute house downtown. I have three stories I would like to share.
First, I often slept in the living room downstairs, because I didn't feel comfortable in my room on the second story. One night I fell asleep on the couch before my mom went to bed. At about 2:00am I woke up for no apparent reason and all the lights and TV were off (I usually left the TV and bathroom light on, because the house made me feel weird). I should tell you that the foot of the couch was facing the front door.
When I woke up, I saw a man standing in the front of the door. I stared at it for a few minutes, because I was to scared to move. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was awake and my eyes were in focus, and I can assure you they were. This door had a half shelf window at the very top of the door and the figure was standing right in front of it, covering half the window. He had a sort of short top hat on and what looked like a long trench coat on. Finally I got up enough courage, and ran across the living room and turned the light on. When I turned back, he was gone. After that, I had my mom switch the furniture so that I couldn't see the front door while sitting in the living room.
Second, the reason I slept on the couch was because this house had four bedrooms, but my brother and sister occupied those other rooms and my parents. My room, no matter how hot the house was, was always cold. My dad checked the vent, and it was on and working. Almost every night around 5:00am, I would hear two loud thumps coming from the attic, right above my room. I would ask my other family members and they said that they didn't hear anything. My mom said it was an animal or something (she is a non-believer). My brother believed me, though every now and then he would see the attic light on, and there is no way of turning it on unless you open the sliding panel and pull a cord. So one afternoon, we both went up there and at the back of the attic was a shelf. On the shelf were fliers of a party set from back in the 50's and a bunch of tin cans. One tin can had a needle in it, and another had a pipe. We put the stuff back and left. My brother switched me rooms that day...seems he is a much harder sleeper than I am.
Third, my brother, some friends and I were hanging out in the basement one night. This night, my parents were also harboring a friend that was going through a bad divorce. At about 5:00am we heard footsteps, and thought that it was the friend's husband breaking in, or my dad going to the bathroom. We heard them go through the kitchen and come to the basement door. My brother being much bigger and tougher went to the door opened it and nobody was there. So we all thought maybe it was the dog or something. Not thinking anything more about it, we put a pot of coffee on (seems it was a school night and we didn't get any sleep). Everybody went back to the basement for a few minutes, until we heard the footsteps again. This time, we all went up stairs and nobody was there, again. I went to check the coffee and saw that there was coffee all over the counter and the floor. I asked my brother to come and look, and we both asked each other where the pot was...we looked all around the counter and didn't see it. I looked across the kitchen to the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room, and saw on the table the coffee pot - completely clean and cold. I remember watching the coffee drip into the pot when we made the coffee, because sometimes the coffee pot didn't work. The next morning I asked my parents, and their friend if they were downstairs at all that night, and none of them were...not even to go to the bathroom.
After that night, my brother and I had enough and decided to go to the library where they keep old newspaper clippings. We came across an article that said In the 1950's, there was a big drug party that went bad. One man was shot in the front door because he was helping a man steal drugs from someone in the house. Two others were shot in the attic - one was a guy who was stealing drugs, and the other was the man who owned the drugs. They shot each other above my room in the attic; the stealer died right away, but the other suffered for some time before he finally died. It took two days for the police to find the bodies in the attic. I personally don't think that any of them left. I haven't lived there for about four years, but I still love that old house and think about it often. I never was able to find out how old it was, but I did find out that the bricks that were used to build the house, ceased being made in the 1920's. There is only one other house in my town that is built using the same bricks, and that house was built in 1910.