For The Haunted Attic, writer T . Lynn Shapiro takes a step back in time to her childhood home where she revisits a nightmare come true. For her, it serves as a stark reminder that the energy of past events often cause a ripple effect in our present day lives. Shapiro’s story is both frightening and unsettling, and it’s certain to strike a chord with other paranormal survivors…

“Although I’ve had several other paranormal events that have occurred to me in my lifetime, there’s one that terrified me most. It has remained at the core of all my experiences, and the only one I cannot get past. I’ve lived with this for 60 years, and it hasn’t lost its grip on my memory. Describing this encounter heightens a mixture of emotions, anxiety, sorrow, and even anger.

Please forgive me, if my story seems to ramble, but I have never written about my paranormal encounter. Ever. If something so evil can appear to such an innocent mind, what else is it capable of, and who else had suffered its torture before me? This malevolent being violated every sense of my childhood, and that truly angers me.

Does it still frighten me? Yes.

This was not a ghost as some might imagine, though I’ve encountered several spectral beings, and they were truly unsettling. This was a demonic entity. A demon in every sense of the word. If this infernal creature was powerful enough to exist beyond life as we know it, and it was able to step beyond the vail of reality, then its boundaries are limitless, and nothing can prevent it from visiting me again. I’m also fearful that by telling this story it will solidify its evil existence forever.

I was born October 13, 1959. The youngest of two daughters, 5 years apart. We lived in the house of my first encounter from my birth, until 1971. This terrifying experience had left me with so many questions back then, and it still does after all these years. I reasoned that this was a fact of life, my life. I should expect this kind of thing to happen again, and I lived in fear that it would. In a way, my reasoning wasn’t far off, because that first encounter was the catalyst of future events.

Let’s go back to 1964. I can recall every detail of that forsaken house. The address, its construction, each room, every corner, and the way it stood out from the other houses in appearance. The entry door and interior doors were fitted with skeleton locks, and keys, and each door had a crystal knob. The house had to be at least 100 when we occupied it. It was likely built on farmland before the city was established, and long before the other surrounding houses were built. There was one entrance, and one exit to the community, accessible from the main road. We shared a common address number with each individual house numbered alphabetically, but haphazardly marked.

Six of these houses had the appeal of newly built cottages, with plaster exterior and an attached garage. But we had tar-paper shingles that were more suited for a roof than exterior walls, and the garage was a separate structure with barn doors. Another contrasting feature was, our house was on a raised foundation, with a cement porch stretching from end-to-end and rough wood railing. None of the other houses were built on a raised foundation, and none of the others had a front porch. Mentioning the porch has a significant meaning to my story, but I’ll get to that later.

The awful exterior was a stark contrast to the interior, which was nice. Large family room, a huge fireplace that nearly occupied an entire wall. From the dining room, our mother’s bedroom was first door on the right, and grandma’s room was in the north end of the house. A shared bathroom between the two rooms, a Jack ‘n’ Jill design. My sister kept her things in grandma’s room, and I kept mine in mother’s room. Mom assigned me a cabinet in her bedroom where I kept my reading books, coloring books and crayons, and a pair of dull edge scissors. At the end of each day all my supplies were placed back into the cabinet for the night. I never deviated from this habit.

My sister and I took turns sleeping with either our mother or grandmother. This night, I slept with our mother. For those who’ve experienced a paranormal encounter, you’ll agree that even before you’ve seen anything, you feel it. The whole atmosphere changes. It’s an undeniable feeling that you get when someone, or rather something is watching you. A prickly sensation might start at the back of your neck, and quickly race up your spine, raising the hair on your arms. Perhaps you were woken, but hadn’t mustered up the courage to look, but you’re certain that eyes are fixed on you sleeping. Other times you think if you just don’t open your eyes, it will go away.

I, opened my eyes…

In the corner, closest to me stood a small child, visibly illuminated in the night of the room. By all accounts it was a full-bodied apparition, watching me. I can’t explain how I knew that this entity was a boy, but I knew. He didn’t look like any of the other boys that I played with, his appearance was something I’d never seen before that night. When this spirit looked at me, he conveyed utter desperation and sadness. His eyes were unusually large, with a furrowed brow expression. Neither of us ever uttered a word, we were in a transfixed conversation. I don’t know why, but I was more curious about his presence, than I was alarmed. Perhaps it was an empathy that I felt for him. He seemed to beg for help, or possibly pleading for forgiveness of what was inevitably going to happen next.

“I wish that I would have woken my mother…“

Without warning, another figure stepped out from the dark abyss, but this time I was instantly terrified by his appearance, and his expression towards me. He was a tall skeleton-man that illuminated enough to see every feature of his hideous face. His bulging eyes were blue, and his face was distorted by evil. He had an insidious grin that widened with each beat of my racing heart. I gasped, but couldn’t scream. His delight was evident from my terror. I took a glimpse at the corner for the boy spirit, but he was gone. I knew that my torment had only begun.

This evil demon intently watched me struggle but I couldn’t move a muscle. My tiny body was paralyzed by fear. His toothy grin shined bigger and brighter in the darkness. Once he was confident that he had my attention, he turned his gaze at my cabinet. With slow strobe-like movements he stepped towards it. His hideous face looked in my direction once more before he reached inside the cabinet. He found what he wanted. Held in his bony hand were my scissors, clipping the void as he strode towards me.

Finally! I was able to scream. I scurried under the blanket, and over my mother’s body screaming hysterically. My poor mom had no idea what was happening to me. She called my name over and over. But I wouldn’t budge from underneath the covers. I huddled next to her body, while sobbing and screaming between cries.

I carelessly thought that enough time had passed, so the monster had to be gone. How foolish I was. I lifted just enough of the blanket to peer my small face out for a peek, and those disgusting ethereal eyes were waiting next to my face, with the scissors clipping at my face. I covered my face again and started to choke, I couldn’t catch air between the screaming and crying. My mother jumped out of bed, turned on the light, and panicked believing that I needed a doctor. By this time everyone in the house was awake. My grandmother, and sister came rushing in to check on me. Their confused expressions were almost too much to bear, because I had never displayed any kind of behavior like that in my life. My mother checked me over as she held me tightly to comfort me. Once everyone was satisfied that it wasn’t a medical emergency, I was able to go to grandmas’ room, and my sister got into moms bed.

The next morning, I crept into my mother’s room looking for my shoes. I was cautious of every step I took, while my face darted around the room, watching for the ugly creature to appear again. I figured with daylight the monster must be gone. As I rounded the foot of the bed, I stepped closer to where I had taken my shoes off at side of the bed, but my shoes were not where I left them. So, I stepped over to the other side, and gasped… my scissors were laying on the floor! Proving that everything that happened the night before, was real.

• 1970, the suspended overhanging entrance crashed to the ground during an earthquake, and the house was condemned by the city thereafter.

• 1971, we moved into another house that our mother purchased.

• 1972, the house was eventually demolished, and debris was removed, all except the cement porch.

• 1987, the cement porch was finally removed

• It served as a constant reminder of the horror I witnessed back in 1964… every time I drove by that address.

I never slept in my mother’s room again, never!

Conclusion: Wherever a horrific crime was committed, or a tragic death had occurred, a haunting can follow.

I strongly believe that this was a case of child abduction, and murder. I believe that the malevolent entity was once human who had previously occupied our house. I believe that the man had abducted this child and performed unspeakable acts on him prior to murdering him. The child might have been a neighbor, or a runaway, or a farmhand, but he was likely a relative. My heart aches for the child entity, because I believe that he has been held captive in that darkness for all these years. What I regret most from my encounter: Since the house was demolished, and replaced by another structure, there is no way to release this poor child’s spirit to give him the peace he deserves.”

Thanks to T. Lynn Shapiro for sharing your story with us.

Do you have an encounter you’d like to share, or an article you’d like to contribute? Get in touch at: fionadodwell1982@gmail.com