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I've shared this before, but items always my go-to story for these threads.

When I was nine, my parents divorced and my dad moved into a new house. He had a couple roommates, including a pretty cool guy named Barney. A creepy neckbeard lived in the basement apartment of the house.

After one weekend with Dad, my little brother (five at the time) told me his closet door opened by itself, and the house scared him. I told him the house freaked me out, too, and he asked me not to tell Dad. Because I was sometimes a good sister, I didn't tell Dad. I did, however, mention it to Barney. He agreed with me that there was something wrong with the house. One day, when my dad took my brother and me out, Barney sprinkles holy water throughout the house. Things seemed a little bit better for a day or so, but then we all went back to feeling creeped out all the time.

Last summer, nine years after my dad finally moved out of the house, he and I were drinking and playing cards and talking about old times. I said, "Brother and I always thought the old house was haunted, and Barney played along." My dad, usually a skeptical, cheerful guy, put down his cards and said, "When I was home alone, not even Neckbeard was there, I was pushed down the stairs. I felt hands on my back, pushing me down. And another time I found all the kitchen knives stuck in the ceiling. I never told you guys, because I thought it would freak you out."