The First House In Washington State

I was young, just turning 21 in a serious relationship, I moved across country to be with him. He was in the Navy, a submariner, he had been in offshore duty for a year, due to a series of personal issues and he needed to recoup his mental health before being deemed seaworthy again. I moved into a big house located in Suquamish. His roommates were all Navy though they weren’t all on the same sea schedule or boat. Their girlfriends would frequently visit and stay from time to time. They weren’t home a lot and often gone for months at a time so they were fine with me staying and looking after things plus I cooked and cleaned. I introduced everyone there to many Southern favorites like biscuits and gravy. Food can win anyone over.

I knew nothing about the history of this house for a few months after I started noticing very strange things. As I mentioned them they began to share some of their stories about some activity there and eventually told me some of the histories, I guess they didn’t want to scare me since I was alone a lot but they didn’t have much choice as things began to happen anyway. The house was in a nice neighborhood close to the waterfront. I often watched the boats out of the kitchen window while washing dishes. It was like a one-minute walk from the beach though I was heavily warned against going there alone, no explanation as to why. We lived on an Indian reservation, so they frequently held celebrations on the waterfront, they had forgotten to tell me this so around Christmas when I was all alone I’m awoken middle of the night to sounds of drums and screaming and people and fireworks, they explained when they came back.

This house had a very depressing feel to it and a heaviness, but I chalked it up to it being more bachelor pad set up no hominess to it really. Though I did find the rooms strange, the one I slept in, in particular, it reminded me of a hospital room, something to do with the wallpaper. That’s silly, I think, and let it go. Home alone I would hear things, people walking, scratching the scratching kept on and on. Until one day I mentioned it to one of the guy’s girlfriends. She says oh, I gotta show you something. She opens this closet that I had never opened. In the closet, I see claw marks all on the walls just everywhere. She says we don’t know how they got there, weird huh. I notice the whole wall nearest to me is covered in holes like nail holes but all over I ask why are there so many holes? She said oh, you didn’t know. This used to be the medication room. What do you mean medication room, she elaborates oh this was like a small nursing home at one point and this is where they kept the medications locked up. It all begins to make sense. The footsteps the scratching and of course, people died there. Some were not mentally sound when they passed and they didn’t all pass on. I hated that closet. I suspect many things happened there and that patients were mistreated. It also explained why I never quite felt alone there.

I remember the time I saw the angry girl there come flying towards me from the closet. She was wearing a hoody, I strongly suspected she was a young girl who had gone missing and had been disposed of somewhere along the shoreline. Though I never encountered her again she was clearly angry about what had happened to her. I would say she was in the age range of 16-18 and I highly suspect she went missing, from across the water over more towards Seattle. At this point and time, I was still cowering from my abilities terrified of them thinking something was just wrong with me. I grew up in a small town, a very religious town, and the devil was involved with things like that, etc. As time went on I never felt comfortable in that house and when I finally moved it was amazing how much of the heaviness had lifted, though my apartment was somewhat active, but nothing too terrible.

Published by izzysconfessions

I was born and raised in the smallest of towns in Southwest Virginia. A town that is extraordinarily active, yet a town that is like it's very own little mini Bible belt. My dad was Baptist, my mom pentecostal, and I'm paranormal. I would venture to say it is somewhat of a family trait. One that is met with equal acceptance and curiosity as much as it is met with skepticism. Individually and collectively so much has been experienced and witnessed at times to such a degree that one might wonder how on earth there is room for doubt. I dont have all the answers, I do not have it all figured out. Im as human as everyone else relying heavily many mornings on a lot of coffee and a little Jesus. In fact, I can't decide what I want for dinner most days. One constant is I cannot go a single day without chocolate. Pour a cup of coffee, or a little tea and whiskey and join me in my confessions of a haunted freak.

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