When I was young we lived in a small rural alberta city, and I had these dreams about this house that was in the city. I'd never been in it. I had no idea who owned it but I dreamed about it all the time. Whenever we drove by it I'd get this feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I'd stare into it's curtained windows, trying to see past them. Trying to see what could cause me such emotion about a building I had no ties too.
In the dreams id be caught in the house. Unable to find the doors. I'd be on the roof with no way down. I'd be in the basement, being followed by an unseen being.
It's a gorgeous house. Three stories, balcony off the top floor. Large veranda out front. Beautiful. But it scared me terribly. It was always there. Watching me almost. Sounds stupid, but I was young.
Then my mother came home one day. She told me she had bought us a new house. And I knew what house it was. It was the nightmare house. I was right. The house that had plagued me for all those years was to be my home.
We lived there for five years and it was a very strange house indeed. I have stories from it. I have no idea what I believe went on in that house. But it was weird.