A story about a haunted house I used to live in and the current inhabitants stories. (both of ours are fairly the same)
I lived there with my pregnant mother, step-dad, and 3-year-old brother. I was six at the time, still too young and naïve for people to believe me when I spoke to them about this, but intelligent enough to know that it was real. The house was on a secluded corner on Topeka Boulevard in Kansas, beside it was an old barn, and a garage still filled with so many things I could not count, even a sleigh that I believed belonged to Santa.
The house was old, although it did not look completely run down. It had three bedrooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen and a living room. Then the most peculiar, the basement, completely unfinished, you could see all of the support beams, the floor was just brick and concrete and there were bare wires hanging low from the ceiling.
From the day we moved in, the house had a cold feeling about it. I was not afraid, the house just seemed very peculiar and intriguing to me. After about a week of living there, I started noticing things out of place around in the house, like my dolls lying on the floor, across the room from my toy box. I knew I had not left them there, I had to put all of my toys away unless I wanted to get in trouble, I did not like getting in trouble. Then, every once in a while I would see shadows cross the room when I was turning the corner. At first it started out as nothing, I always thought my eyes were just playing tricks on me, oh was I wrong.
One day my older brother and my cousin came to visit us, my brother being one year older than I am, and my cousin being 3 years older. Them being boys, decided that we should go checkout the old barn behind the house, me being, well, me, decided to go along. The padlock was rusted and broken; the door was open about half a foot. The door creaked and almost fell off its hinges when we opened it. When we walked in there was a stench of rotting hay, the scent so strong I believe I about fainted.