text: \--True Story-- We moved a lot. My father is a trucker and we never really had a permanent home for more than a year or two. I used to go on the road with him all the time as a kid. Seen a lot of things for such a young mind. I had been to the entire 48 states of the continental United States before I was 12 years old. When I was not on the road with dad, I was the man of the house. Looking over my two younger siblings. My mother was always there of course. She was a fantastic protector and made the most of the long hauls when dad was away. She was very close to us. We were all she had during those long, lonely times. We even all slept together in the living room at each house we ever lived at. This went on until I was probably 15-16 years old and decided I felt comfortable enough to sleep in a room by myself. Part of me always thought that was a bit strange. I think it may have been the fact that we never really had a permanent "home", but I did not mind. I feared the dark. So, I was grateful of the reprieve. After many years of being relocated, never being attached to one home or area, we finally dropped anchor in a small quiet town in WV. Not the most ideal location in my mind as my heart had always been on the West Coast. Regardless, I saw this as a chance at new life once again. At this point I was so used to being the new kid in school, that I actually looked forward to it. I made new friends, even met my future wife. Things didn't fare as well for the rest of my family though. My dad continued over the road. My mother became ill. She was never seriously ill, but she definitely didn't seem to be her usual self anymore. She was sick constantly. As a family we chalked it up to being the change of air, and her not being used the allergens in the area yet. The house was old. Over 100 years old. In fact, we were told it was one of the first houses to be built in the small town. Locals also explained to us some of the home’s strange history. Rumor had it that the original family had all died from disease in the house’s infancy. We even heard of more recent stories where someone had been stabbed right in the doorway of the home. We thought them to be nothing more than ghost stories obviously and didn't give them to much thought. Heck, maybe even the townspeople were getting a kick out of playing a trick on a seemingly single mother and children new to town. My mother was always spiritual. She believed in a lot of things. She was a close descendant of Native Americans. I think her great grandmother was an "Indian Princess" if I recall correctly. Anyways, she believed in the supernatural. She always taught use to trust our instincts, feelings. If they told us something it was likely true. Things started happening in the house. Unexplainable things. Strange noises at night, surreal nightmares, things falling off the wall unprovoked, and a general sense of dread filled us all. One day I ran home from the nearby baseball fields forgetting my glove for practice. I opened the doorway where the supposed stabbing took place. I was greeted by a large ball of white light. For a millisecond. I froze, not sure what to think of it. Grabbed my glove and was off, back down the railroad tracks to play some ball. That should have been a pretty clear warning sign that something about that house was not right, but I was a kid. I honestly thought I had been seeing things. The biggest “event” was the infamous family game night. My future wife was attending that evening, even my father. We still talk about this faithful night until this day. We took game night seriously. We all gathered around the huge redwood table we had custom made and hauled all the way from the West Coast. We happened to get on the subject of the strange happenings around the 100-year-old home. My girlfriend, now wife mentioned that she had heard some strange things while on the phone with me a during time when I had left it upstairs and ran downstairs to do something. After a while, my father was fed up. He did not believe any of it. In frustration, he slammed his fist down on the redwood tabletop, spilling monopoly pieces out of their correct location. **“There’s no such thing as ghosts”** he exclaimed in a loud angry tone! Immediately, every light in the home dimmed. My mother shrieked. The air felt thick.