Footsteps From Above

* Sent in by Wendy Wright

About 15 years ago when I was doing my hairdressing apprenticeship, I’d left my country home and had come to the city to gain my qualifications and secure employment.  I rented a small one bedroom granny-flat and worked at the local eatery three nights a week.  

Everything was fine for the first six months or so and I was happy and content in my little home.  Then one night I heard footsteps running above me which had me a little perplexed as my granny-flat was single story.  The footsteps sounded light as though they belonged to children, and it sounded like there was more than just one or two of them.  I checked for possums and/or rats, but found nothing to give me any clues.

I could hear the footsteps regularly from that night onwards.  They would start up at about 8pm and continue until after 10pm.  On the nights I worked I would come home to the tail-end of the pitter-patter of running feet.  After a while the sound of running feet above just blended in with my daily life and I hardly gave it a second thought.

About two months after the running noises started, I was in my bedroom getting ready to turn in the for the night when suddenly I caught a glimpse of a small child, a young girl of about 6, standing in the corner.   But as soon as I turned my head to get a better look she was gone.
It certainly shook me up but I was determined not to let it stop me from having a good night’s sleep.  But I turned out to be wrong.  Very wrong.

Not long after dropping off to sleep I was woken by loud stomping coming from above.  “OY!” I yelled and the stomping stopped immediately.  I nodded off to sleep not long after, only to be woken again.  This time I was scared.  I tried to snap on the bedside lamp only to find that I couldn’t.  It was as if there was a weight on my chest, holding me down and I was frozen in place.  The next thing I knew my alarm was going off and it was morning.
I was pretty shaken up at the thought (or memory) of it and couldn’t shake a foreboding feeling for the rest of the day.

That night during my shift at the restaurant, a familiar face came in  -  Mrs Arnot and her family.  Mrs Arnot was seen as a local matriarch and the place always lit up when Mrs Arnot and her brood came in.  She was friends with the owner and always tipped the staff liberally.  Not only that but she was my landlady as she owned the property that my little granny-flat sat on.
Clearing the plates from the table, I shyly asked Mrs Arnot if I could speak with her privately at her convenience.  She happily followed me to the foyer and waited expectantly while I fumbled and mumbled.  I just didn’t know how to start or what to say.

Mrs Arnot smiled and nodded slowly at me.  “You’ve heard the footsteps haven’t you dear?”  All I could do was nod yes.

She then went on to tell me that a double-storey house once stood on the site where my granny-flat now was.  There had been a fire and the three children and their mother had perished.  Since the granny-flat was built there the footsteps and sometimes even voices had been heard by all the tenants throughout the years.

I went home that night with a different perspective and felt quite sorry for the family who played above me.  I did a little research and was given the name and number of a medium who specialized in helping spirits pass-over, so I arranged for her to visit the following week.

I can’t describe or tell you what happened because I left her to do her thing.  All I know is that I never heard the footsteps again and I hoped that the family were finally at peace.

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* Sent in by Wendy Wright

Lady Adelaide’s Bedroom

* Sent in by Carly Simpson

When I was in my early twenties I went on a trip with my parents and younger sister Yvonne, to visit family (Aunt Jilly) in countryside England.  Sight-seeing was a main part of our agenda.

Following along with the tourist crowds, we visited a huge old country manor, scantily refurbished and in the process of repair and restoration.

My father decided to take a break, so planted himself on a garden bench while the rest of us proceeded with the tour.

Yvonne, my mother Joan and myself wandered along with the tour group, going from room to room, listening the guide talking about the manor’s ancient history.  But I noticed as we approached different rooms, I was sure I heard voices that instantly stopped the moment the door was opened.  Yvonne said she’d heard them too.  Mum seemed oblivious to what we were hearing it seemed.  I was sure there was some kind of presence around us.

The tour guide threw open the next door down the long hallway, announcing that it had once belonged to Lady Adelaide, and that everything was just as she’d left it all those many years ago.

Yvonne, my mum Joan and I shuffled to take a peek into the room while the rest of the group wandered forward onto the next item of interest.

As I looked into the room I was sure that I saw a flicker of movement in front of the heavily guilded mirror sitting atop the old dresser.  I looked away then looked back quickly and was sure I caught another glimpse.  I could hear a rustling sound, then all of a sudden the wardrobe door flew open.  I wasn’t sure what happened after that because my feet were taking me back down the hallway out the way we came in, then out into the garden in a flash  -  Mum and Yvonne hot on my heels.

Dad sat pop-eyed as we three fled across the lawn towards him.  We didn’t stop to explain, but grabbed his hand on the way past and made our way quickly to the carpark, then back to Aunt Jilly’s, to safety.

I know it sounds silly now, but at the time, we were scared stupid!

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Sent in by Carly Simpson