January 23, 2009
The Grey-White ManRate this encounter: Emily - British Columbia, Canada - July 14, 2008
I moved into a new house at the beginning of July in a town I knew precious little about. The house I knew less about -- it was a good hundred or so years old was all I was told. The neighborhood seemed nice and the neighbors were pleasant enough and didn't warn us about the house, so I thought we were home free of ghosts. The first few nights there were uneventful and quiet, save for the noises a house regularly makes. Our new house was a three-level split -- there was a renovated basement with just a main room and a bedroom with a bathroom; a main floor with kitchen, dining room, bathroom, master bedroom; up about two or three steps was the third floor, which had a bathroom and mine and my sister's bedrooms.
It took about a week for things to start acting up. On the twelfth, I was home alone after school (so it was the middle of the day), when I heard the door open. I heard footsteps going into the kitchen, and then heard (and this was the only sound in the house since my speakers were busted) distinctly, my dad's voice calling, "Em, what are you doing?" like he usually does when he comes home. I yelled back, "Nothing," then waited for him to ask me how school was... like always. But he didn't. So I went down to the main floor to find him. What I found instead was the deadbolt still locked, and my dad's shoes and coat still gone. He hadn't been home yet -- he was still at work.
That same night I heard lots of footsteps on the main floor, just aimlessly wandering from the sound of them -- never going up or down any of the stairs. The next day, the thirteenth, was a weekend, so everyone was home all day. I felt a lot more comfortable not being alone, and although I hadn't told my parents or sister, Leah about the "encounter," it was obvious to them how shaken up I was about something. We had a family night that evening because of it: watching a movie, hot chocolate, and the fireplace lit. Leah went out that night, and mom and dad retired early. I stayed up in my room on my computer, trying to get some weekend homework done. I knew Leah was gone and my parents were asleep because the house was totally silent, but now I could swear I could hear the kind of creepy music score that you get on the DVD menu of a horror movie. I went into the living room to check the television to see if anyone was up and watching a horror movie, but the TV was off. I went back to my room, but right away heard it again. This time when I went out to check, there was an almost shapeless shadow seated on the couch facing the TV, which was off, but I could hear the horror music coming out of it. Being young as I am, my natural instinct when I saw this was to scream... which I did. The shadow didn't move, though, until my parents came rocketing into the living room thinking I was getting murdered or something.
The fourteenth is the highlight night of the whole experience, however. It was about midnight to one o'clock, Sunday night, and I was trying in vain to get to sleep for school the next day. Leah and my parents were (probably) fast asleep by this point. I have my bed jutting out into the middle of the room, with a three-compartment headboard pushed against the wall. On the top of the headboard I have a lamp that you can only turn on by touching the gold part. And it has to be skin, I know because I tested this on the first day I got it. I tried every single thing I could think of, and nothing but skin contact made the light go on. Tap once, it's a dull light; tap twice, it gets brighter; three times it's almost too bright. I was just falling asleep, and the entire house was quiet, when my lamp flickered on... full brightness. Which should technically be impossible. I fluttered open my eyes, expecting to see Leah there (perhaps she had tapped thrice, and I just didn't hear any of them?) but it was not my sister standing by my bed. There was a grey-white man leaning over my face. He was barely transparent, with very tatty clothes. I could see some blue accents around the edges of his very thin face. The man's eyes were not there, it was just hollow sockets. In a voice I'd never heard before, but that sounded so familiar (perhaps it was him who had imitated my father) he asked, "Em, what are you doing?" Once again, I screamed bloody murder. After this night my parents put me in the room in the basement, and I haven't been bothered ever since. Neither has Leah, she says, but sometimes I think she looks as scared as I did after hearing and seeing everything over the weekend.