Saturday, May 21, 2011

PART 2 "My Haunted Life": The Thing at the Top of the Stairs, Based on a True Story by Chris Matheny

"My Haunted Life"
Part 2: The Thing at the Top of the Stairs
Based on True Events by Chris Matheny

I Loved Going to
My Grandma's House
to Play as a Child.
 As I mentioned before, I was five when my ghost story began. It was a simple enough encounter. Not much to be worried about — or so I thought — but the madness was only just beginning. The first sighting was just a portent of things to come — things that would only get worse; much like the calm before the storm. Just when I was beginning to believe that I had imagined the entire event, it was about to be driven home forever.

I was at my grandmother’s house less than a half of a mile from my first ghost sighting. (See Part 1 for that story.) My grandmother’s house had been built in 1903, and looked very much like a haunted house. Yet, I never felt uncomfortable there. It had always seemed to be a warm and loving home despite its rundown appearance. In truth, it was my favorite place on Earth

I was enjoying a beautiful day playing in the sandbox that my grandfather had built for my brother and myself. I loved the sand between my toes and the sun on my face. It was one of those dreamy summer days that seemed to last forever. However, storm clouds were beginning to gather upon my horizon. 
My Grandma's House was
My Favorite Place on Earth.
I slowly became aware of a strange sensation that began to permeate the air around me. The day no longer felt light and friendly. I began to feel as though I was submerged in water, and the day took on a surreal quality. Every hair on my body slowly rose to stand erect. I felt as though I was about to be struck by lightning. Somehow, I knew someone, or something, was watching me.
My Attention Was Drawn to
a Window in the Attic.
The years have sanitized my memory and I cannot recall all of the details, but I remember my attention being drawn to a window in the attic. Just as I looked at the window, I saw something move. The attic was only used for storage, so I knew that no one was up there.

I had been up in the attic with my grandmother a few times. She made it a point to tell me that I was not allowed up there without her. I had wondered why she had been so insistent about this. When pressed for a reason she would only say that it was dirty and dangerous. I ask you, how is that suppose to deter any five-year old boy?

 "I stood in the attic doorway,
and looked up those dark stairs
with my heart in my throat."
 The entrance to the attic was located in the bathroom. I stood in the attic doorway, and looked up those dark stairs with my heart in my throat. I was afraid, to be sure, but I was compelled to continue. Therefore, with trembling little hands and unsteady little feet, I gripped the banister and began to climb the rickety old staircase.

It was dark and stuffy. The air had a stale and musty smell. There were no lights in the stairway. The only thing I could see was a sliver of light escaping under the door at the top of the stairs. Every step I took upward was answered with a groan from below my feet. The boards on the old staircase were warped and ill fitting. I was as likely to fall through them as trip going up them.

When I reached the top step, I gently placed my hand on the knob, took a dust filled deep breath, and turned it. It seemed that the squealing hinges had never been so loud before. I was sure that everyone in the house, both living and dead, knew where I was and what I was doing. I waited for my grandmother’s voice to call out a rebuke, but I was greeted with silence.
I entered the attic. It appeared as I had remembered it, cluttered and dirty. This room had been a catchall for over fifty years, and was piled high with stuff. On the left side of the room, there were about a hundred mason jars. There was also a trunk on the right side of the room that I had been forbidden to touch.  
I Was Forbidden to Touch
the Trunk  That Had Belonged to
My Grandmother’s Baby Brother, Fred.
It had belonged to my grandmother’s baby brother, Fred. He had been a fighter pilot in WWII. He had been shot down, and his body was never recovered. The trunk contained his personal effects, and as far as I knew, had never been opened.

Something was not the same though. There was a feeling I could not define at that time. Looking back, I can say that it felt like being in an elevator with a bunch of people. I felt crowded.

I had not even taken three steps into the room when I saw it. (I am honestly getting cold chills writing about this.) Suddenly, off to the right, a shadowy figure moved in the corner. I heard glass mason jars rattling on the other side of the room. When I looked toward them, there was a flash of movement to my right, and something charged across the floor of the attic straight toward me. Something fast and unseen was rushing right at me. Fast footsteps boomed across the floor as it ran.

I was gripped by panic, unable to get my feet to move. I remember wanting to run, but I was frozen fast. Fear was tearing at my mind with vicious claws. Then I heard the voice.

“YOU!” the invisible entity said with a raspy and hollow voice. Then it repeated louder and right in my ear. I could even feel its fetid breath on my neck. “YOU!”

I can’t relate to you what happened next. I have no memory of any further events that day. All that I do know is that I didn’t go back in that attic by myself for many years. When I did return, it was for a very important reason.


Read the other segments of "My Haunted Life," based on true events by Chris Matheny. 
Also, read our blog journal, "My Life with Chris," written by Kimberly Brouillette. 
Part 4 Coming Soon!
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Thank you!
Chris & Kim

4 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

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  2. Thank you very much for the story. It's really very interesting. I've downloaded your GRANDMA'S beautiful house photo as I like it vey much!

    Gladis Simonian Minassian

    ReplyDelete
  3. We wish we still had that house in his family. Chris has a lot of great memories there.

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Chris & Kim