My grandfather’s house was haunted. Which is weird because he built it. It’s not like it was old and people had died there.
It was a long ranch style house, fitting because it was in the middle of nowhere on a cattle ranch. We had our own wing of the house practically. One room was the official kids’ room and the other was just a guest room. That is where I got to stay with two other older girl cousins, because I whined that I was not a kid, even though technically I was only 3 from the bottom in age.
Mostly the rooms stored our mother’s wedding dresses, heirlooms that had traveled from Germany with my grandfather’s great aunts and other things that are creepy in the dark when you are 8.
The rooms just had a creepy feeling and no one ever knew why. They just were. Then one night after giving into bedtime, my cousins and I were lying in bed, when we heard a crash in the bathroom. Everyone was too scared to move.
Finally, being the youngest it was determined that I would go see what had happened. A cosmetics bag that I distinctly remember putting on the vanity cabinet against the wall was lying in the middle of the floor – and not just rolled-off-the-counter lying on the floor, but a-ways-from-the-counter lying on the floor. Which confirmed all of our suspicious: My grandfather’s house was in fact haunted.
That’s my ghost story. What is yours?