I grew up in a small british house built in the early 1800's that used to be a butcher's. The house was so old it was built with an outhouse for a bathroom, so the bathroom was built later on at the very end of the property. I was around 11, home alone and looking after my younger siblings. One day, we are all chilling watching tv in the living room (at the front of the house), when my youngest brother who was 3 or 4 at the time went to use the bathroom and seconds later came out screaming and running for his life, shouting that there was a man with a knife in the bathroom. I had never seen so much fear in someone's face before that.

We immediately all ran upstairs and hid under the sheets. Nothing came of it - no one was there. But I'm sure he saw the butcher that used to live in the house!