I had just moved into my new home in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I thought it was the perfect home. Dazzling. Marvelous. Until my first night living there, that is. I found out it had a lot of spirits that weren’t about to let a stranger live comfortably.
I’d just moved everything in, and I was microwaving something. I went upstairs to read a book. As I was sitting silently on my bed, I heard a loud crash of something made of metal. Startled, I hurriedly ran to my kitchen, to find a cabinet of pots and pans thrown about. I’d dismissed it as a loose cabinet door. In the days that followed, I heard various scratching on the wooden doors throughout the house. One Thursday night, my bedroom door handle rattling. It frightened me to the point which I didn’t move until five hours later. When dawn painted the sky, I ran out of the house and rented an apartment for five days.
I returned to the home. Nothing happened for at least a month. I thought it had all been pure coincidence. I was wrong.
Months later, I was sitting on my bed, thinking about my dog Kita, who was nipping at my feet. Suddenly, Kita stopped. She turned towards the doorway and started barking wildly. As I asked “What’s wrong, Kita?”, I heard a man grunt. I called out to whoever was there, and got no reply. Fearing a burglar, I called out again. This time, I watched in horror as a man floated past my bedroom doorway, with only an upper torso. I got up silently as I hurried out the door and downstairs, with Kita following. I broke out into a run as a flying pot missed hitting me by inches. I dashed out the front door, got in my car, and floored the gas. I didn’t look back.
I got my friends to help me move my things back into my old home. I will never go back to that place. It was just too much. I now live peacefully back at my original house. Besides the occasional footsteps I hear coming from my attic…