The house was bigger than our last one

When I was in elementary school, my family moved to a new house while I was away at camp. The house was bigger than our last one, with two floors and a lot of space. It was an old house, built a long time ago, but it had been fixed up recently. My room was large because it used to be the master bedroom before the renovations. My sister and I shared it for a while, but later, she moved to another room.

Down the hallway from my room was a guest bedroom. It had two little closets and a tiny attic door, barely up to my knee. Since I was a kid, I liked playing in there and pretending it was my secret hideout. One day, while I was playing, I noticed drawings on the upper part of the wall. They looked like a child’s scribbles, and the moment I saw them, a strange feeling washed over me.

I don’t scare easily. I love horror movies and ghost stories. But something about that room felt wrong. I ran downstairs to my family and refused to go back in alone.

Years later, I had a sleepover with my friends—let’s call them Lily and Jess. Since my bed wasn’t big enough for all of us, we decided to sleep in the guest room with the king-size bed. The moment we turned off the lights, we heard something fall inside the closet. The air in the room suddenly felt freezing, and Lily asked if anyone else felt cold. Jess, usually the brave one, whispered, “This doesn’t feel right.” Without hesitation, we ran back to my room and slept on the floor.

After that, weird things kept happening. Doors slammed shut on their own. Objects would fall for no reason. One day, both of my dogs got stuck in that room. We heard them whining and scratching at the door. When we finally got it open, they were hiding in the corner, terrified. The strangest part? The door was locked from the inside—something that shouldn’t have been possible.

I still live in that house, and I’m almost in high school now. I still avoid that room. My sister sleeps there now, and she only complains about strange dreams, but I know it’s more than that. We’ve had the house blessed, but nothing changed. Someone told me to yell at the ghost and tell it to leave. Maybe I’ll try.

Was it a child who used to live here? Or is something else hiding in that room, waiting?