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Jayme, Moore, Oklahoma - August 1998 to March 2001
When I was seven years-old my parents separated. My mom moved into a new
house with my three sisters and me. The second I entered the house I had
this uncomfortable feeling of being watched. I hated being in a room alone
because I would get this chill, and the hair on the back of my neck would
stand up like something was standing behind me. My mom had to take my oldest
sister to school, and she left me home with my other two siblings who were
sick in bed. While she was gone, I was sitting in the living room when I
felt the chair being pushed forward. It had to have been pushed a good six
inches. I was shaking and trying figure out if I had moved it when in my
left ear I heard someone say my name. My whole left side felt like ice, and
when I looked over no one was there. I freaked out and went running outside
to wait for my mom.
A few weeks later I overheard my mom and oldest sister talking about how
they had been shoved when going to get a drink in the middle of the night.
They thought it was me, but when they turned to say something I wasn't
there. They looked to find me in bed sleeping. I knew what they experienced
because of the day in the living room. I never told them about what I'd been
experiencing. One night about a year after we moved into the house I was in
bed asleep when I woke to find myself being shoved over the bar of the top
bunk onto a desk below. I started screaming, but by the time my family got
to my room I had already been shoved over the side and was unconscious on
the floor. I had slammed my head into the corner of the desk and been
knocked out. The next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed with a slight
concussion. I was terrified to go home after that night. I didn't know how
to tell my family what was happening. I didn't know how to explain that some
unseen force had tried to hurt me. Whatever it was continued to torment me
for two more years until we moved. By that time I had spent three years
living in fear of my home.
When we left I could feel this weight being lifted. It wasn't until the past
six months that I finally told my mom about what I experienced in that
house. She didn't seem surprised by it at all. She said she always felt like
there was something around me. She told me that she felt uneasy about me
living in that house because she feared for my safety. That's when she told
me that she finally decided to get away from there when she had a nightmare
that something horrible was going to happen to me. Since I lived in that
house I've experienced multiple spirits. That was the only one that has ever
terrified me. I feel okay with the others around. It's like deep-down in my
heart I know they won't hurt me. I've grown fond of knowing I'm not alone.
Sometimes I can hear them talking and laughing, and I feel this sense of
peace. I believe in life after death, and they've taught me that not all
ghosts are scary.
