Location: Marinette, Wisconsin
Date of Encounter: 1975 to 2005
I lived in Marinette my entire life until the age of 29. I grew up on Hattie Street, a block up from the Hattie Street Bridge between Marinette and Menominee, Michigan. My house was haunted by a little boy — I believe his name was Bobby. Bobby liked to stand at the foot of my bed and stare at me. Or sit on the top stair that led up to my parent's bedroom. I spoke to Bobby once in a dream. When Bobby told me that he died, he started coughing, and grasped his chest. I now assume that he died of tuberculosis.
Upstairs, to the right of my parents' bedroom is the sewing room. When my parents bought the house it was just a small bedroom. My father converted it to a master sewing room for my mother. When you walked inside, if you looked to the right, there was a closet, and to the left was a closet. On the wall that faced North, was the attic door. The attic ran the entire length of the house on the north side. Every time I would enter that attic, I would feel a cold rush of air, and just know that I wasn't alone. From what I was told as a child, the previous owner's mother had passed away in that room.
In the basement, there was an old room that was once used to store coal, and a room that was used as a root cellar, and at the opposite end of the basement, under the stairwell, is a small storage area. I had bad dreams about the basement ever since I could remember. To this day I still dream about it. When I was a kid I would take either my cat; Sassy or my dog, Rayna with me down in the basement. Needless to say, both of them hated going down there. I don't know if it was because I more or less forced them, or if it was because something was there. Either way, I hated it. If I were to go into the house today, I wouldn't go down to the basement alone.
My father loved "his" basement. He converted the basement into his own personal workshop. My father passed away in that house on the night of December 16th, 2005, of an acute heart attack. In December of the following year my mother sold the house and moved over by the high school. From what I have been told, the first people that bought the house (their daughter) said that she could hear footsteps in the hallway upstairs across from my parents' old bedroom, and could smell old stale cigarette smoke. Coincidently, my father passed away in that same hallway, and he was an avid smoker. Those people have since lost their mortgage and had to leave. I do not know if the new owners have had any of the experiences the previous owners had, or any of the ones that I experienced.