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Kristen Whaley - Simpsonville, South Carolina - 1985-2002
My parents heard strange things in our house when I was younger. Our
neighbors had a small daughter who died tragically right before we moved
into our house. She was on the back porch and a very heavy grill fell over
on top of her. There were many nights when my parents would hear a small
child crying. Thinking it was me, they would get up to check and I would be
sound asleep. This continued for several years until the girl's father
passed away after a massive heart attack. After he died they didn't hear the
crying again. I never experienced anything until I was in high school.
I had a few friends over one night. We had stayed up late telling (you
guessed it) scary stories. I remember leaving the room to check on my
brother. He was sound asleep. My parents were snoring away in the next room.
My friends and I had just settled down to sleep. It was quiet for a minute
and then we heard what sounded like a chair being dragged back-and-forth
across the kitchen floor. This lasted for several minutes. Finally the noise
stopped. This house was very small and I would have heard if someone
(living) had left their room to go to another one. The doors squeak, the
floors creak, and I knoe nobody was up. To this day, I have no idea
what we were hearing. I'd like to keep it that way.
I was sleeping in late one morning after I had graduated high school. I woke
up about nine o'clock that morning to the sound of my parents' bedroom door
opening, closing, and then the sound of footsteps down the hall. It sounded
like my mother's footsteps when she wore slippers. I thought maybe she had
called in that day and stayed home. I fell back asleep. I woke up a few
hours later and realized nobody was home. I called both my parents and asked
if either one of them had left for work late or had come back for something
that morning. They both said no. They had all, including my brother, left
that morning around seven. I thought this was an interesting situation and
decided to spend the rest of the day at the mall, or anywhere else that
didn't involve me being alone in that house.
My dad has seen the clothes hanging on a rack in his bedroom sway back and
forth like someone had brushed against them in passing. My mother has seen a
person out of the corner of her eye, and started talking to them because she
thought it was my father. It was not... it was no one. My father still lives
in that house. Sometimes I'll ask him to say hi to our "friend," or if he's
heard anything from them.
