Haunting in Detroit: My True Story

by Juanita
(Ohio, USA)

I became interested in horror films after a haunting experience that occurred when I was eight years old.

I grew up in a relatively older section of Detroit in a small bungalow. When my father's dream house (a 3-story brick house built in the late 1800's) went on the market, he was thrilled. The price was right and despite the fact that he'd had some trouble selling our modest bungalow, he bought it.

My parents both worked in car factories and the aunt who lived with us worked two jobs, so it worked out perfectly that our new residence was only two doors down from another aunt who agreed to become my full-time nanny.

Everything seemed perfect, but soon odd things began to happen.

The day we moved in, a door that was leaning against the wall (taken off the hinges so furniture could be moved in with ease) fell over and landed on my head while I was playing on the living room floor. I thought I heard a shuffling of feet and a laugh, but I couldn't see anything with the blood pouring into my eyes. My aunt ran into the room and frantically asked what had happened. She could barely lift the heavy door off the floor and wondered how it could have fallen.

After we were fully moved into the place eerie phenomenon began to escalate. Cupboard doors would open and slam. Knicknacks would fly off the shelves. Once when my aunt was reading me a story, a heavy shelf fell off the wall and landed on her face, giving her a black eye. We all heard voices.

Once I heard marching in the basement. Startled I went to tell my mother, but before I could say anything she said in an unrecognizable voice 'Go downstairs'. I was terrified and ran away.

I developed an imaginary friend, an old man who used to play games with me. I'd never had such a friend before. Once my mother left me in my room playing. She said she ran back a few minutes later when I began screaming. When she opened the door (which was jammed shut), she said massive chunks of hair had been ripped from my head and I was pointing at the ceiling screaming. I was bleeding as well (I have no recollection of this). My mother ran down the stairs to go to my aunt's house, but hundreds of birds had flown into the chimney and lay dead all over the floor.

We only lived in the house three months. My mother and aunts swear it was haunted. My father simply says 'the house just didn't feel right.' Every time we drive past it, it's for sale again.