My friends and I shared a house that was built, we think, in the mid-forties. It was a lovely thing, quite full of character with cut glass doorknobs and rounded walls in the kitchen. For the first little while, I quite enjoyed our cute little house.
One night, though, I was on my own. One friend was visiting family in a different city and the other was working. I was relaxing in the sitting room, watching TV and not really thinking any spooky thoughts at all when I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. I shifted and grabbed a blanket, as it was getting chilly, and tried to ignore the change in the air.
As I sat on the sofa, the air started to feel heavier, more malevolent. I suddenly felt as though I WAS NOT wanted in the house. It was like the very walls were glaring at me; at my audacity to be sitting in a space that absolutely did not belong to me. I was intruding, I was an interloper.
By this time it was around ten o'clock at night and pitch dark outside. I certainly didn't want to leave the house but the longer I sat there, the stronger the feeling of needing to leave became. At ten-thirty, I grabbed my coat and felt as though I was being pushed out of the door almost forcibly.
I ended up walking to meet my friend at work and as we walked home, I told her how I felt and how the house felt. She believed me but seemed a bit bemused at the same time. For my part, I was afraid that the house was going to feel just as sinister when we returned as when I'd left.
But it wasn't... We walked through the door and everything felt fine. The house was quiet, but not in the same creepy way it had been. There was no overwhelming feeling of not being wanted.
I admit that I didn't sleep well that night, and for a couple of nights afterwards. That house was well haunted, but I never ever felt the need to just vacate it like I did that night. I sometimes wonder if it was an anniversary of something bad happening, and whoever was in the house wanted its privacy to relive of old events not bothered by the living.