It was dark and all was quiet in my house and in the neighborhood. I wasn’t asleep and my mind was very clear.
This event happened just as I went into a hallway where the stairs led to the bedrooms. That’s when I thought I heard something. So I stopped breathing to listen better and, indeed, sounds were coming from above. Slowly, I walked to the foot of the stairs.
When I got there, I heard something I never wanted to hear—little plaintive cries coming from my father’s old bedroom. He had died in 1987. That was the same bedroom where, years before, my mother sister and I had heard strange footsteps.
Icy chills invaded my body. Something told me to save myself but I wanted to be sure I was not dreaming. So I stayed at the bottom of the stairs alone, shivering and listening to those horrible cries.
No, I was not dreaming. Those chilling sounds were coming out of my late father’s room and they were not coming from his ghost.
I say chilling, because those plaintive cries were not human or animal. They were both sweet and powerful, lightweight and violent, bass and treble— a wild and weird mixture I had never heard before. I became very afraid.
In fact, I was so scared that I did not go up the stairs and look in my father’s old room. No, I felt much too much negativity coming from those sounds to explore the situation any further. The negativity seemed so strong I would even call it evil.
At the height of my fear, the cries suddenly stopped and I never heard them again.
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