“When I was about 15 my family bought a 200 year old house in the middle of nowhere VA that actually had a slave quarters in the back yard (we kept the lawnmower and weed eater and all our yard care stuff there).
The first night we stay in the house we come downstairs to find our front door wide open. My mother immediately claims the house is haunted and we’re being told to leave. I roll my eyes and go back to my room. Then weird crap starts happening throughout the house.
In my bedroom: My computer cuts on in the middle of the night. My radio cuts on. About once a week one of my electronic devices in my room would go nuts for seemingly no reason and it was legit unnerving.
Things end up opened and closed at random for seemingly no reason. At first I suspect my little sister is playing some sort of joke but some of the windows and crap being moved are beyond her reach. And that doesn’t explain the electronics going haywire.
The worst scare I ever got was when my TV (which is in the room next to me, not my bedroom) cut on at like 3AM one night and I happened to be watching MTV2 earlier in the day and, of course, the volume is up loud and they’re playing some screamy Slipknot song or something and I wake up up thrashing trying to get out of bed. My whole family comes upstairs because it disturbed them too.
My mother decides we need to research the house. Turns out, our home is listed as a historic building and as such it has a ton of easily accessible history to it at the local library. Part of that history involves a priest who, for some unknown reason, hung himself in the room that ended up being my younger sister’s bedroom. We never told her.
Little Vietnamese lady who cuts my hair randomly tells me she believes in supernatural stuff and in an effort to entertain her I start telling her about the weird things going on in my house. She gives me a tiny statue of a little man and tells me to put it somewhere ‘high up’ in my home.
I put the statue way up on my tallest dresser, which is the highest elevated point inside the house that isn’t the attic.All unexplained crap in my room and downstairs stops immediately except there are occasional strange noises coming from the attic. We never go in the attic.
I turn 18 and move out. Eventually my family moves out of the house. It probably simply got lost in the move, but when the time comes to move everything out our little statue guy is nowhere to be found. I remember thinking ‘I hope the next family that lives there finds him’ when my mom told me.”