the slave house

It all started when my best friend moved to a new house right behind a post office. The first time I went there was at her birthday party. The first thing she did was tell us the story of the house. It turns out that the house was 115 years old, at least. It had slave passage ways, most boarded up, but one, the one that went through her closet and connected her room to her step-sister's room was still open. Now, this was a few years ago. I was around 10 or 11, and I'd never had a ghost experience before.

We stayed up late that night, me and around 5 or 6 other girls, along with my best friend's older sister, Codi. We told ghost stories until late, then snuck down to get some candy to last us through the rest of the night. Sarah's parents were both asleep on the couch when we snuck by, and were still asleep when we made it upstairs and crowded into her step-sister's tiny bedroom, filled with junk because she didn't live there very often. We were discussing what we were going to do for the rest of the night, when Shelly, one of the girls, declared she was dressing up as a spy and went into the bathroom.

We started to argue over what we were going to do, when we heard movement in Sarah's room next to us. Thinking it was Shelly, I went out to tell her to get out of Sarah's room.

The exact moment I stepped out, the bathroom door opened and Shelly came out. She said she heard someone walking around in the bedroom. I told her we thought it was her. When I walked back into the room, people had their ears pressed against the closet door, listening through the slave passage. But when we walked in to grab our sleeping bags, because we weren't sleeping in there after that, and the lights were still off, there was nobody there. The only living, breathing souls in that room at the time were Sarah's two rats.

Sarah moved away not long after.

Source :your ghost stories