Real Haunted House Story — Submitted by: Jennifer M., Pennsylvania, USA
I never believed in ghosts, let alone haunted houses. That changed in the summer of 2016, when I moved into what I now know was truly a haunted house. This real haunted house story isn’t something from a horror movie or a creepypasta thread. It’s something I lived through. And it still gives me chills every time I talk about it.
The Beginning of the Nightmare
I was newly divorced and looking for a fresh start. I found a charming two-story colonial house just outside Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The price was shockingly low, but the property seemed well-maintained. I should have known something was off when the realtor said, “It’s a lovely home… just needs someone brave enough to love it.”
The first night was quiet, almost too quiet. I remember unpacking until around midnight. The neighborhood was still, no traffic sounds, no dogs barking — just heavy, unnatural silence.
I went to bed and around 3:00 AM, I woke up suddenly. Not because of a noise, but because I felt something watching me. I turned on the lamp. No one was there. I laughed it off. “New house jitters,” I told myself.
It Escalated Fast
Within a week, I started noticing small things. Lights would flicker. Doors would creak open slowly, even when the windows were shut. I heard footsteps at night — soft, slow, like bare feet on old wood floors. Every time I got up to check, there was nothing.
One evening I was folding laundry in my bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman standing at the top of the stairs. She was pale, wearing what looked like a hospital gown, and her head was tilted unnaturally to the side. I gasped, dropped the laundry, turned fully — but she was gone. Just like that.
That night I slept with every light on.
The Basement
The basement was always cold. Even during a 90-degree heatwave, it felt like walking into a refrigerator. I avoided it until my dryer stopped working, and I had no choice.
As soon as I stepped onto the basement stairs, I heard faint whispering — male and female voices, layered on top of each other. It was like a low hum, not loud, but enough to make my heart race. I called a friend to stay on the phone with me as I went down.
In the far corner of the basement, I found a boarded-up door I hadn’t noticed before. The boards were old, splintered, and nailed in sloppily like someone wanted it shut fast. There was something drawn in chalk next to it — symbols I couldn’t understand. I backed out and didn’t step down there again.
Physical Encounters
Soon, I began to feel actual touches. I’d be brushing my teeth and feel a hand lightly touch my back. Once, I was pushed — actually pushed — while walking down the stairs. I fell hard, bruised my shoulder, but thankfully didn’t break anything.
I started keeping all the lights on, playing calming music, burning sage — whatever I could find online. But nothing stopped it. The energy grew heavier by the day. Friends who visited would say, “I don’t feel right here,” or “Your house gives me a headache.”
One friend refused to come inside again.
The Final Night
The last night I spent in that house is something I’ll never forget. I was lying in bed, too afraid to sleep, when I heard footsteps in the hallway — louder than ever before.
Then, something scratched at my bedroom door. Not knocked — scratched. Like nails dragging down the wood.
I whispered, “Go away,” and the scratching stopped. I gathered enough courage to open the door.
Nothing.
But on the floor outside was a single, wet footprint. Barefoot. Human. And I hadn’t left my room all night.
I moved out the next morning.
I’ve never gone back. The house is still there. Sometimes I check real estate listings to see if it’s up for sale again. It never is.
I don’t know who — or what — was in that house with me. But I know I wasn’t alone.
If you ever feel like you’re being watched in your own home… trust that feeling.
Some places don’t want to be lived in.
This was my real haunted house story. If you’ve had a similar experience, I’d love to hear it.
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