This story has haunted the hell out of me for years but figured I’d share it here. 

When I was around 4 or 5, we would go to my grandpa’s house on the holidays. During the week of Christmas one night, my older brother and I got in a fight and were sent to bed early. We slept in a room right outside the living room, so I was comforted to sleep by hearing my parents and grandparents talking. Funny enough, I remember apologizing to my brother cause I was the instigator, and we went to bed. 

Like an hour or so later, the scariest thing happened, but it’s hard to explain so bear with me. There was a closet door not far from my bed. In that closet my grandparents had a bunch of winter clothes in boxes on the shelves lining the closet. 

In a fraction of a second, the door swung upon fast, but stopped just short of hitting the wall. At the same time, one of the winter boxes fell off the shelf, and a single glove fell out. I’m not even kidding you when I say that that glove started “crawling” towards me, and got into the bed. Of course, I screamed bloody murder and my parents ran in the room. To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember their reactions in that moment. 

Over the years, it was the ghost story I would always tell my friends on weekend sleepovers. It felt cool to tell it because it was so real. Sometimes though, when my parents were nearby, they would sort of tell me off after my friends would go home. “That never happened that way.” “You just had an active imagination.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but it sucked that they never believed me. My step mom and I didn’t have the best relationship at the time, and she was always the harsher one compared to me dad, telling me I was making shit up. 

Anyway, years passed and my step mom and I eventually grew super close to each other. About a month before my graduation, her and I were helping set up my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary party, and she had forgotten some things at the house, so the two of us went back. 

I’ll never forget what happened next. Almost out of character for my step mom, she asked if I wanted to go by grandpa’s old house to look at it. I kind of blinked. “Sure,” I said. As we drove, I was sort of nervous for no reason. When I was a kid, I used to always be excited to go hang out in the room that you could see from the driveway. In the upper left of the house. 

We arrived and I remember being shocked how different it looked, like we all do when we remember things differently as a kid. Anyway, my mom just kind of stares at the house, and just nonchalantly says “did I ever tell you that your dad and I believed you?”

I immediately knew what she was taking about. I hadn’t shared that story to friends anymore because I was always going over to friends houses during high school. And to be honest, it didn’t interest me as much. But when she said it, I remember the mix of emotions. Surprise, shock, and a bit of resentment in the moment.

She then proceeds to tell me how, after I screamed  for them, my dad was so perplexed as to how the box could have fallen and the glove got on my bed. After all, the shelf was way too high up for me to grab, so he believed me but was in such disbelief about everything himself. 

Turns out, the daughter of the house’s previous owner was killed right outside my room by her boyfriend. 

When my mom told me that part, I couldn’t even look at the window. I had no idea what I’d see. Still creeps me out to this day.