My Grandma’s house was built in the year 1848. It is in a small town in Indiana. It was built by a doctor that would give runaway slaves medical treatment. A tunnel ran under the city, and it ended at my Grandma’s house. The house had many owners over the years. And of course, I grew up next door to this house.
One night, I was staying in the house. I was staying upstairs in one of the three bedrooms. This particular bedroom happened to be in between the other two rooms. We all called it the “Middle Bedroom.”
As I was laying there trying to fall asleep, I started hearing these foot steps slowly walking up the stairs. You could hear each step and guess roughly where on the stairs the person was just by the sound of the steps.
As I heard the sound of the final step being placed onto the floor of the second story, there was a short pause. I could hear the steps turning left stepping towards the first bedroom. Once I heard the steps reach that bedroom there was a short pause. I heard the steps coming towards my room. I was fully expecting to see Grandma because I thought she was coming to check on me.
As the sound of the footsteps passed my room, I didn’t see anyone. The steps just continued past my room heading down to the last bedroom. As the steps reached the last bedroom, there was another slight pause. Then I heard the steps turn around and make their way back towards me. This time I made sure to pay close attention because I felt a little spooked that I somehow missed my Grandma. As the steps passed by my room again, it was obvious that nobody was there! This wasn’t Grandma coming to check on me, this had to be a ghost!
I put my head under the blanket to hide myself. The footsteps continued to walk back and forth down the hallway. Always stopping and turning around to patrol the hallway like a military guard.
Every couple of passes I would peek out from under the blankets to see if I could see anyone. Nobody was to be seen. I thought about just getting up to look in the hallway, but I didn’t have the courage. I decided my safest bet was to hide under the blankets and hope that whatever it was didn’t notice me laying there in bed.
I have never been so terrified in my life. I felt helpless, too scared to get up, to frightened to scream out for help. So I just continued to lay there hiding under my blanket.
When the first light of dawn started coming through the windows, the footsteps stopped. I layed in bed listening so hard that I could hear my heart beating. After 20 or 30 minutes of silence, I got up enough courage to jump out of bed.
I ran downstairs as fast as I could, ran out the door, and across the street to my house.
I didn’t tell anyone about what happened to me. I didn’t think anyone would believe me. A few weeks later, my aunt who grew up in that house asked me if I ever stayed there overnight. When I told her yes, she told me about how she would hear footsteps patrolling the hallway at night when she was growing up in that house. She said the ghost is called Mr. Sellers.
A few years later, my cousin and I were snooping around in a closet upstairs. We found this old 1800’s style photograph. In the photograph was a man. On the back of the photograph was hand written Mr. Sellers.
Since this house was owned by my Grandmother, and it was right across the street, I spent a lot of time there. This wasn’t the only paranormal thing to happen there, but it was the first paranormal experience to happen to me. And it was the inspiration for me to start Brave the Basement