I tell ghost stories in group guidance during Halloween. A young kid, new as an 8th grader, said him, his mom and his sister were renting a house in the town, and that the basement was weird. When I asked for clarifcation, he just said it felt “creepy,” down there.
“Well,” I replied, “A lot of basements are weird.”
He said “No, you don’t understand, if you’re just sitting in my kitchen, the door to the basement will open and close by itself. My mom said it was an old house, and maybe that’s what it is. But one day, I was home alone, and I was bored, so I decided to go play pool on the pool table in the basement. I went down there, I cued up my balls, broke them, and started practicing. Then I heard children, a bunch of children, laughing in the corner of the basement. I got so freaked out, I threw the pool cue, ran upstairs and slammed the door.
“A little while later, I was mad at myself, because I’m a big football player and I shouldn’t be scared of anything. I felt so stupid for being so fearful, so I decided to go back down. What was I scared of, anyway? So, I threw the door open and walked back down the stairs, and when I got there, the pool table had been reset.”
A few months later I ran out on my lunch break to go get some groceries and I ran into the kid’s mother. I told her that her son was doing great, that in October when we were telling ghost stories he piped up and told his own. That was when the mom got really quiet.
“Did he tell you about the basement?” She asked quietly.
I responded, “Yes, why?”
And she said, “because there are children down there. I hear them, they brush against me sometimes. I feel like they want my attention. I always had a feeling something bad happened there.”
At 8th grade graduation, she came up to me and said, “We had to move. I couldn’t take it anymore.”