Time for another #ghoststories post, where I tell other people’s (and let other people tell the story of their) brushes with the supernatural–all because I can’t seem to have supernatural experiences of my own.
My sisters are pretty spooky.
They know this, so it’s not like I’m speaking out of turn here.
A lot of spooky shit has happened to them–especially my middle sister. She’ll post a story or two of her own here someday, I promise.
In the meantime, I’m going to tell you about the time a ghost came up the stairs in my family’s old house!
So my sisters are in one of their rooms–the one right by the stairs–late at night. Their up, hanging out and being teenagers when they hear one of my parents coming up the stairs.
Funny, because they thought both Mom and Dad were in bed already.
The stairs are short–five or six steps total–but the sound doesn’t stop.
They proceed to listen to someone walk up the stairs continuously for more than five minutes–growing more freaked out by the second.
Eventually, too scared to sit in my youngest sister’s room any longer, they open the door and dart across the hall–but not before they see our dog, a giant Newfy named Kirby, standing in the doorway to my parents’ dark bedroom, staring down the stairs.
They run into the other bedroom without looking to see what he’s staring at.
Probably for the best.
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