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Three Nights of Hell


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« on: January 22, 2009, 03:16:43 pm »




Three Nights of Hell

“Three Nights of Hell” is a riveting account of a haunting. It was written by Linda W., as she prefers to be known, and included as part of the article “Ghost Stories” in the Hamilton Spectator on 29 July 1995. The account was prepared for publication by the journalist John Mentek who kindly extended permission to me to reproduce it here. I also have the permission of the former private duty nurse who recalled these scary three nights. The house where all this occurred is located in the Hamilton, Ontario, area.

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About fifteen years ago, I was on private duty, nursing an old woman. She lived by herself in this old house. It’s still out there. My husband and I drove by it this summer. It’s been fixed up now, but it’s still old and its brick is covered with ivy. The house is set way back from the road. It has those Amityville eyes on top, two kinds of rounded windows.

When I drove up, I got this overwhelming feeling that I didn’t want to be there. I was almost sick to my stomach. But at the time I never thought about ghosts. I went in and met the old woman. She wasn’t the nicest person, but it was a job. She was very old and sick.

That night, the weirdest things started happening. The tap turned on by itself. The doorbell would ring and nobody was there. Doors would open by themselves. I thought, “It’s just an old house. It’s got … problems.”

As I was getting ready for bed that night, she told me to put a chair under each window and leave the windows open an inch. The whole front of the house was windows. She said in the morning all the chairs would be moved and the windows would be closed.

I thought, “She’s trying to scare me.” But I did as she said, got her into bed, and went up to my room. I was upstairs, she was downstairs. The house had never been fixed up. It still had the old feather mattresses and everything. I went to sleep.

In the middle of the night I heard footsteps and heavy breathing, like moans and sighs, coming up the stairs. I’d left the hall lights on in case I had to get down the stairs to her in a hurry. The lights were out, and I thought, “Gee, she’s up and is trying to scare me.” I was always trying to find a way to explain it, you know.

So I got up and put the hall lights on and I looked around, but I didn’t see anything. I went downstairs to check on her, and she was sound asleep, so I figured she had been up and had got back into bed. In the morning, all the chairs were moved and the windows closed, just as she had predicted. Later that morning I went home and didn’t want to go back. I called the agency, but they didn’t have anyone to replace me. Later I found out that nobody wanted to go to this house. I went back the next night, and it was a little worse. There was a door in the kitchen that led to the basement. Every time I went near it, I thought I was going to throw up, the vibes were so bad.

So that night I got her to sleep, and I went through the same routine, leaving the hall light on. In the middle of the night, it was the same deal again, the heavy breathing, moaning, the footsteps up the stairs and the light going off. I thought, “Geez, this is really stupid,” so I put on the light in my room, and then I went to the bathroom.

The bathroom is right at the top of the stairs. I just sat in there and could hear something coming up the stairs. But I looked and looked and didn’t see anything. So I started talking, saying, “I can’t get out of the assignment now, but I’ll try in the morning.” All of a sudden, downstairs, one of those big brass serving trays crashed to the floor and started to spin around like a coin. I went down and checked her. She was sound asleep. I sat up the rest of the night.

The third night, it was all I could do to get myself back into the house. It was a hundred times worse. The doorbells were ringing every five minutes. The grandfather clock was going bong, bong, bong, not even on the hour. Doors were opening, and the tap was running by itself. “She doesn’t seem to notice,” I thought. So I got her into bed and told her, “Now, don’t get up in the night. If you need me, just call.” I was still looking for a logical explanation. I thought it was just tricks she was playing.

After I put her to bed, I put the hall light on and went up to my room. When I turned on the light in my room, the whole room was covered in moths. Thousands of moths, just covering the ceiling. The closet door was open a crack, so I figured they had come out of the closet. I wasn’t too happy, but I went to bed.

I woke up later that night with an awful charley-horse in my leg, and that’s the only way I know one hundred percent that what happened next is for real. As the charley-horse settled down, I heard a scratching sound coming from a three-drawer dresser under one of the eye-shaped windows. I thought, “Oh great, I’ve got a mouse in there.”

I got up — the moths were gone by then — and kicked the dresser, thinking to scare the mouse away. A drawer flew out at me, the light went out, and I heard, “Oooooooooohhhhhhhh,” and footsteps rushing up the stairs.

I grabbed my clothes and ran into the bathroom. The door was open and I was sitting in there, when this thing, this presence, just charged at me. And I started talking aloud, saying, “I will not be back after tonight. Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

Coming down the stairs, I felt something breathing on the back of my neck. I checked the woman, always the loyal nurse, and she was sound asleep, totally conked out. I went into the kitchen and called my Mom. It was four in the morning, but I said, “Mom, you’ve got to come and get me out of here. I can’t take this.”

Later my Mom said she actually heard moaning and breathing behind me over the phone, and her hair stood on end when she heard it. She said she couldn’t come till daylight. So I talked to her for five minutes and then said, “Okay, I’m going to sit in the living-room until you come.” I got dressed in the kitchen, went into the living-room, and sat with my back to the wall.

I piled a bunch of books around me to throw at it. There were footsteps pacing up and down the living-room, heavy breathing, and the grandfather clock was going bong, bong, like crazy. I pleaded with it, “I will not be back, I will not be back. Don’t hurt me.”

I was sitting against the wall and a couch to my left lifted up and turned around. There were two hours of this. It was awful. I had all the lights on and just sat there till morning.

The housekeeper came before my Mom got there, and she told me all kinds of strange stuff had always gone on in the house. Apparently even the old lady was terrified living in the house, and that’s what the business was with the chairs under the windows. She always thought spirits or whatever were trying to come in through the windows, and she was trying to block them.

When I got home, I called the agency and told them I had a cold. I never went back. 
Posted by theunknown on October 30 2008 16:30:59

http://www.true-ghost-story.com/readarticle.php?article_id=156
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