He Never Came Over Again
I grew up in a huge 17th-century house. While we lived there, it hadn’t been remodeled—it was still in the beautiful old style with art, ballroom, marble floor halls, statues, etc. During my nine years living there, I discovered that it had been a house of ill repute, a plague hospital, a regular hospital, and a morgue.
Just the whole nine yards of spookiness. During WWII, it had also been a German SS post before half of it got blasted up, destroying about 20 Germans. There were also three families who lived there that were each victims of manslaughter. As a kid, I saw a lot of shadows and heard a lot of weird noises—the usual.
My sister, who lived on the third floor, came down to my room often to stare at me while sleepwalking. The doors creaked and opened and closed by themselves a lot, and the alarm would often go off during the night on its own. But everything paled in comparison to this one event.
One time, my parents were away for business. My brother and sisters and I were sleeping elsewhere because my parents were going to be away for some time. I had to go to hockey practice but forgot some gear, so my friend and I went to get it. The house was engulfed in darkness and very silent.
As we walked out of my room, we heard footsteps in the attic. Two of my siblings had their bedrooms there, so I thought one of them was at home. I shouted at them, which made the footsteps stop.
After five seconds or so, we heard the footsteps coming closer to the stairs and actually setting foot on the very old wooden creaky steps—one step at a time. I then felt a “weight” setting foot in front of me. It was very strange. I saw nothing. We noped out of there fast.
Outside, my friend had a total nervous breakdown because he saw some scary face or form that looked like an alien to him. He never set foot in my house again. Story credit: Reddit / Doctor_Philly