I have had paranormal experiences since childhood. There are too many to share, so I will tell you of my must current encounters.
About eight years ago (2006), my husband and I moved into a Colonial home in New Preston, Connecticut. We rent. The home is situated on the East Aspetuk River (not far from Dudleytown). Upon viewing the home for the first time, I felt a presence. This happens to me often. Lorraine Warren (renowned demonologist) once told me that I will always attract ghosts because of my energy, so I wasn’t spooked out of signing a lease.
My husband didn’t believe in ghosts until our first night in this home. He, too, felt something was amiss. For months we would come home to all of our TVs on playing ’50s-style music. We would feel the pressure of someone sitting next to us on the couch or bed with no one there. Our bedroom was extremely cold, even in the summer.
After about seven months here, we began an extended dog-sitting favor for a friend. Bailey (the dog) adored me and never left my side. One night at 3 a.m. I woke to him trembling in the bed. No matter what I did, I could not soothe him. Then the smoke detector went off. Bailey took off like a shot out of the bedroom. I gave chase.
When I returned to the bedroom, my husband was absolutely white. He could not disarm the detector. Even though he removed the batteries and all the wires, it was STILL RINGING! We eventually stuffed it in a drawer under heavy clothes to muffle the sound. Bailey never re-entered our bedroom for the rest of his stay. He would lay in the doorway and whine and whimper, as if he didn’t want me in there either when I went to bed at night.
A month or so later, I was lying in bed at 3 a.m. trying to fall asleep when I heard footsteps walking along my side of the bed. They seemed to pause every once in a while at the head of the bed, and then resume their march up and down the space between the wall and the bed. I just lay there with my eyes closed. The footsteps grew louder and quicker. I still would not look. I just knew better not to. Then the most ungodly growl filled the room, waking my husband. He turned on the lights to find nothing there.
About a month later, the landlord finally told us that six weeks prior to our moving in, a tenant committed suicide in our bedroom. Interestingly enough, he was the second person to do so. Twenty years ago, a woman also killed herself in — you guessed it — our bedroom. We began praying for the souls of these tortured ghosts.
Activity has reduced greatly. Every once in a great while we will be reminded of their occupancy, but, I think that we have all learned to “live” together.