One of the earliest experiences I had was back when my family was living in the UK. I was about two or three years old at the time, my mother and I were the only ones home. I was sitting in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. The hallway was centrally located in the bungalow home, so you could pretty much see every room from where I sat, right in the middle of the house. I was facing the kitchen, as that was were my mother was, she had her back to me and was washing up in the sink. I remember gazing at her occasionally while I played with a sack of wooden blocks.
After a short time the light from the window on the upstairs landing changed as if someone or something had walking across the floor in front of it, this caused me to look up. It was then that I had my first encounter with a spirit/ghost whatever you want to call it. There was a solid man standing at the top of the stairs and he was staring down into me with a look on his face as if he didn’t want me there. I don’t know what his problem was that he should look at such a small child like that, an innocent child who was minding their own business. My sister and I were always quiet and well behaved, never ran around screaming nor were we destructive. This expression has haunted me all the years since.
It was my first lesson in learning that true fear can be paralyzing. I remember wanting to look at my mother for help, but couldn’t. Even at that young age I knew there was nobody in the house other than my mother and myself, I knew this man didn’t belong and I knew that he didn’t want me there. I was stuck staring at him and he in turn glowering back at me.
He was tall, dark short brown hair with tan pants and a red plaid (I believe that was the pattern, that detail is starting to fog) shirt. He appeared quite solid. He looked real, but in the same sense I knew he couldn’t be as I hadn’t seen my mum let him in.
Finally I was able to lower my eyes to my mum at the sink and when I simply looked back up again he was gone. The only way he could have disappeared was to cross that window again into my parents room, and the light had not been blocked out a second time. He simply vanished. I remember getting up and tearing into the kitchen and my mother. She searched the house and found nothing. She later told me that my aunt would never go upstairs as she didn’t like the feel of the attic.
That experience left me insecure and I became very close to my mum after that. She thinks it might have been my grandfather who had died in the house before I was born, but he had been a kind man who apparently liked children. This spirit could have been from anywhere in the local area, attached to an object or the land itself. In my heart I don’t feel he was a relation.
I wonder if he ever moved on or if he is still miserable and possibly stuck living with others in that home.