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Diary Of A Ghost Hunter

Where It Began

By ParabnormalUK .Published 6 years ago 6 min read
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Here it is. The obligatory chapter where I tell you all about experiences with ghosts. Experiences not out there in the wilderness of England and Scotland, but within the comfy confines of my own house.

Let’s start in a desolate, graffiti-covered, alcohol-soaked street in Crewe. Living there for twenty-odd years left me without a shadow of a doubt that the place was haunted. Now that I am grown up I can pass a sceptical judgement on the things that happened. Some of them at least. One occasion which springs to mind was me, a little sprog, sitting on my bed and – from what I remember – staring at the radiator. These were the nineties kids – we didn’t have iPhones or Netflix to keep us amused. One must make their own amusement, and if that came in the form of a radiator so be it. Suddenly, the bed lurched, scaring the hell of me in the process.

Looking back, this could have easily been explained – the bed could have been resting on an uneven floor and chose that moment to slip. Or maybe it was a ghost giving me a nudge because of my unhealthy fascination of the radiator. I’m leaning more towards the former – the bed slipped.

But then we stray onto the memories of things which could not be explained quite so easily. My wardrobe, standing in the same place it had stood for a year, suddenly shook. This made me run downstairs crying and muttering incoherently. My mum gave me her bible and sent me back off to bed. I had no idea what the bible was meant to do – did she want me to strike up a religious choir with the ghost? Anyway, unless that room had a lot of uneven floorboards, it is hard to say that was just a normal wobble. Something must have pushed it.

When we add our family pets into the equation things get even more spooky.

We owned a cat. A small tabby called Jess. She adopted me, spent a lot of time in my bedroom kneading me with her paws as she settled down for a nap. One night, she was on my stomach kneading away, I was reading a book. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw something by the door. Instinctively I looked. There was nothing there, so would have just put it down to a trick of the light or my eyes creating things that aren’t real … It would have been easy to forget, if Jess hadn’t looked too. But she did. Without missing a beat, she looked at the same time and in exactly the same place as I did.

Fast forward several years. We adopted a dog, a little Jack Russell with tons of attitude. We were sitting downstairs, he was happily curled up beside me while me and my mum watched a movie. Suddenly his ears pricked up, and he started barking quietly. Within seconds he’d launched himself from the sofa, ran to the bottom of the stairs and stood there looking up. His hackles went on end and he began to bark ferociously. The “get the hell out of my house or I’ll rip your leg off” bark. Being brave (and perhaps ever so slightly stupid) I went to investigate. The Jack Russell had lost all his courage and wouldn’t follow me all the way up. He abandoned me halfway up the stairs and went running back down. I didn’t find anything, save for the creepy as hell baby doll my mum insists on keeping in her bedroom. I resisted the temptation to set the thing on fire – seriously, it looks like the spawn of Chucky – and returned downstairs. My little brave companion was huddled up with my mum with a look that said: “I could see you had the whole situation under control.”

When we welcomed another dog, a border collie, into our home, for no reason he would go outside and stare at the windowsill. This was long after dear Jess had died and, strangely, the windowsill was her favourite place to sit.

That is not all, either. Me and my mum came to the agreement that the box room – the room I inhabited until my brother moved out, freeing up the bigger room – was the room which had something unpleasant in it. Our house was perfectly placed so on bonfire night we could go up to the box room, turn off the lights and watch the firework display in the local park. But doing this left us with a huge sense of unease, like something else was in the room with us. That room was always colder too, which didn’t make sense – it was about the only room upstairs which was carpeted, had a large radiator and double-glazing.

Growing up, the occurrences were few and far between. It seemed that whatever had haunted us incessantly when we were younger was quieting down. But there were still small happenings that could not be explained.

I had owned a necklace which I intended to donate to a charity I volunteered for. It was one I didn’t wear, since I was not a necklace-type person, so figured someone else could get pleasure out of it. But it vanished. I looked in my locker at work, turned my bedroom and the entire house upside down, and eventually resigned myself to the fact I must have lost it between floorboards. A few days later I was having a bath, left all my clothes on the floor as always. When I got out, I saw the necklace lying there on top of my jeans as if it had always been there.

A similar thing happened to my mum. She lost a hair clip, looked everywhere for it, only for it to reappear on the middle of the kitchen table several days later.

The last thing I remember from that house was at night. Both parents had already gone up to bed, or they were out somewhere. Either way, I was alone downstairs. I began to lock everything up, turned off the kitchen light and heard a voice from the middle of the kitchen, clear as day, say: “Good night”.

*

Time went on. We moved away from Alton Street to a house which had its own set of ghosts. We’ve not been here long, but already I know there are more than three people (and two dogs!) living here. Footsteps which sounded as if they were right outside my bedroom door, a feeling – even as I am typing these words – that cannot be explained. A sense of unease. Something gently poking me on the arm when there was nobody in the room with me.

It seems like wherever I go, I have a paranormal friend alongside me. So, since I do seem to have inherited the ghostly sixth-sense from my mum and grandma, I figured why not put it to use – why not go exploring and find ghosts in far-flung places?

I am not an expert and sure I might be getting things wrong. But I want to give it a go. I'm documenting my experiences on Youtube - parabnormalUK (intentional misspelling if you wondered!), so head over if you want to see for yourself the spooks I have already captured.

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About the Creator

ParabnormalUK .

BOO! Welcome to my little personal space on Vocal. We're ParabnormalUK, a small team consisting of me - the ghost hunter and explorer, and my brother - the photographer. We tour abandoned, spooky places and try to prove ghosts do exist.

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