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