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Witness: Sindy
Location: Iceland
Date of Encounter: 1992

I tend to tell myself that matters like these do not exist, but there are advents in my life that can't be explained by any logic. In 1992, my parents moved to my grandfather's farm, but he had given up his business and moved away a few years ago. The house had therefore been deserted for a long time and there had been rumors in the neighborhood about a haunting in that house for decades — we just didn't believe them.

Our first night there, we all woke up because of some noise that emerged from downstairs. We all got out of our rooms, but when we went to look there was nothing. "It was probably the wind," my mother said, and we all went back to bed. Nothing happened the rest of the night, but every night from that point on there was something going on in the house.

In the coming weeks we could barely sleep because of whispering voices, doors opening or closing, footsteps, and all kinds of bangs on the walls. Even with the furnace turned as high as possible, parts of the house were always freezing and I always felt that there was something watching me. We all felt horrible living there, but my father just wouldn't move. Even though he admitted there was a problem… I really hated this place.

One night though, things turned more aggressive. Because we had just moved in, we had yet to put pictures on our walls. My mother had just been finding places for them so they were scattered around the house. In the hallway she had decided to hang a picture of a butterfly I had made as a child. She placed it on top of a big cupboard in the hallway, because my father was supposed to put a hook for it on the wall. That night, I desperately needed to go to the toilet and started my way through the hallway. As I passed the cupboard, that picture was suddenly thrown off of it, so close to my head that it made a scratch on my forehead. It ended up hitting the opposite wall, the glass shattered all around. My parents woke up by the bang, and only when I saw them come, could I start to scream. My mother tried to explain it by draft… but as far as I know, drafts can´t possibly do this. A couple of years later, my baby brother's behavior got very odd. He refused to go to sleep and began talking about some woman he used to call "the dead mother." Note that he was only two and a half and didn't have a clue about anything.

Strangers that would drive past our house often thought they saw something shadowy on the road in front of them, but it always disappeared when they blinked.

I finally moved away when I was 16 years old. I had been living there for five years and by each year that passed, I hated it more. Now I never go there, and hope I'll never have to.

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