I Think I Was In a Haunted House (of Sorts)

My boyfriend, John, and I have recently started looking at houses to start a home of our own. It’s weird for me because, per a previous post, I’m not much into suburbia, which is the area we are focusing our attention on. But it’s been interesting to see the different types and layouts of houses. We have been mainly looking at those constructed in the 60’s and I’ve always passed many in my car and thought, Why are they so stolidly rectangular? Now I know it’s due to efficiency reasons: they are easier to build and therefore cheaper, while the low ceilings and straightforward design diminishes heating and cooling costs.

Most of them need work. I have always lived in more modern homes so was completely unused to the narrow and pitched staircases and teeny-tiny closets and lack of lighting; those with absurdly low ceiling heights seemed a tad oppressive and the kitchens more suitable to a small apartment than an actual house. I’m also not fond of the ranch homes, because I like having different stories to separate some of the space from the other. However, each usually has its own unique characteristics and charming appeal, even when in disrepair.

We toured one, however, that scared the crap out of me. It was in Ellicott City, situated right on one of the main roads. It was a multi-story, grayish-blue house with porches in the front and back and decent yard space. When I entered, I immediately felt a little disoriented, as if I wasn’t sure what space naturally flowed into the next. We toured the basement and there was a part of if that was dank, dark, and oppressive. I shivered while standing there, wondering what exactly it was about the room that gave me the chills.

The feeling increased especially when I entered the top two attic rooms. There was no physical resemblance to the Overlook Hotel in The Shining, but those images of the twin girls in the movie and the spookiness I felt when reading the book came instantly to mind. It’s as if there was a strong personality or presence watching me in those rooms, especially the one I first entered on the left. There wasn’t a sense of “a spirit trying to tell me something” that crops up in horror movies; it was similar to when you’re in a room and you suddenly know that someone has entered the building you’re in because you can sense another person.

As I was walking down the stairs back down to the main floor, the floors seemed at a slant and I was afraid that I was going to trip down the steps and had to hold the banister to keep myself in grip. All I knew was that I wanted to get out there, and fast. Right away.

When John and I reconvened in the living room of the house, he said, “Yeah, this house is off the list. Definitely.” The agent nodded her head and made a note and we exited.

“Did you feel that or was that just me?” I asked when we were standing outside.

“No, there is definitely something weird with that house.” He said. “It feels wrong.”

“Yeah, like something bad happened there, right?”

“I had the same feeling, too.”

I’m not saying I’m psychic or have a sixth sense or anything to that extent. Most of the houses I’ve been in have felt neutral. They didn’t give off any positive of negative vibes. A few have exuded comfort, as if you could tell that they absorbed years of family coziness. A couple have seemed cold or unfeeling. Some sad. There was one house I was in once which almost felt dormant, as if it was in hibernation or far removed from the occupants that lived there. I always chalked it up to my own imagination.

But with this house, I couldn’t. I’ve never, EVER, been in a house that creeped me out as much as this one did. There was an atmosphere of unhappiness and sullenness, not outright anger, but a resentment of sorts that pervaded the upper floors.

Did I visit a haunted house? I don’t know. I believe that they exist, but have never personally known anyone to have lived or encountered ghosts in one. All I know is you could not pay me enough to spend one night alone in that house I visited.