The Haunting Within: A Family's Chilling Encounters

Haven’t we all seen things we can’t explain? Even if it’s just a flicker at the edge of our vision, we know something was there. My family has had more than its share of such experiences, and as I grew older, I began to piece together both the memories I retained and those my father reminded me of. Some are faint recollections, but others... well, they are unforgettable.

It all began when I was only two. My father put me to bed and, as always, kept a close watch through the baby monitor. I often talked to the walls, as kids do with their imaginary friends. But this time, something different happened—something chilling. He swears he heard a voice answer me. A deep, muffled male voice. Rushing into my room, he found no one there. "Fenja, who were you talking to?" he asked. I simply replied, "My friend."

Months later, around 4 a.m., I waddled into my parents’ bedroom. My dad, always half-awake, asked, "Hey, sweetie, what’s wrong?" Still sniffling, I told him, "Daddy, there’s a man in my closet, and he won’t stop talking. Make him go away." His heart must have skipped a beat. Checking the closet revealed nothing but clothes and shadows, yet I remember how real it felt.

When I was eight, things escalated. I was sitting quietly, drawing, when a pen beside me started to levitate. Not just move—levitate. I watched it hover for a few seconds before I bolted out of the room. As soon as I ran, I heard it drop to the floor. There’s a corner in that room that remains unnaturally dark, no matter how much light is shone into it. Even now, just thinking about it fills me with dread.

It wasn’t just me. My brothers have seen things too—head shapes peeking from doorways, a shadow girl strolling through the hallway, and even a doppelgänger. They swear they saw me smiling outside the window one day, yet moments later, I walked by them in the house, oblivious to what they'd witnessed.

But perhaps the most unnerving incident happened just a couple of weeks ago. I was with my brothers when we heard a bloodcurdling scream from the basement. The strange part? The brother we thought we heard was standing right next to me. Our dad wasn’t home, so my other brother, the one who wasn’t afraid to take action, grabbed a gun and shouted, "I don’t know what you are, but get out of our house!" A creak echoed through the basement, and then something answered back in a twisted version of my brother’s voice: "My house. Not yours."

We bolted the basement door with three locks—one just didn’t feel like enough. When we told our father, his only advice was to stay out of the basement. Easier said than done, especially since we can’t seem to escape whatever’s haunting us.

A few days later, I was lying in bed, and I heard breathing—slow, raspy, and getting closer. I froze as the door creaked open. A chilling, breathy laugh followed, like that of an old man who had smoked all his life. Unable to move, I did what any terrified child—or in my case, terrified 16-year-old—would do. I pulled the covers over my head and prayed. I don’t know how, but I passed out. When I woke, my father was shaking me, asking if I was okay. "Define okay," I muttered, still in shock. "Your brother heard you screaming last night," he said.

I hadn’t screamed. At least, not that I remember.

Since that night, I’ve been too scared to sleep in my own room. My dog barks at the door as if sensing something lurking inside. Even my brother had a nightmare about a man in the house that first night I stayed with him.

Something is wrong with that house—or maybe with us. And as much as I try to brush it off, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not alone.

I’ll keep you updated... if anything else happens. But honestly, I’m not sure I want to know what’s next.