“Don’t remind me of that house,” moaned Grandma. But all of us grandkids wanted to know what happened there and wanted to know if it was haunted. “Is it haunted?” we all wanted to know, it was beginning to annoy Grandma. She finally gave in and said “All right! All right, no one knows for certain if it is haunted or not, but I will leave that up to you…” What Grandma said made the hairs on the back of our necks rise in suspense as we listened to Grandma tell the grim tale.
It was after Thanksgiving, and I was just about to get the Christmas decorations from the attic. As I made it up the stairs, I was thinking where the boxes full of Christmas decorations were. I opened the hatch that led up into the musty attic. Dust was caked onto the cardboard boxes. I then heard a noise. I thought I had bats again, but then remembered that there was no way for them to come back in. So I just kept looking for those boxes, and I heard the noise again. It sounded like it was coming from behind me. I turned around and saw a box, pushed it out of my way slowly- not to frighten the thing that was behind it. The noise became louder and sounded like someone crying. As the box was moved out of the way, I saw this little boy in tattered clothes. He was sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest and his head on his knees with his lanky arms around his legs. This small boy was crying. I moved closer and asked ‘My dear boy, what is wrong?’ the boy looked up at me and vanished into thin air. Although I have never seen the boy again, I can still hear him crying and sniffling.”
We grandkids were shocked to hear Grandma tell us of her paranormal experience; and never asked her to tell us one of her ghost stories ever again.