There is mention of suicide, so if you're easily triggered by that kind of topic, don't read this chapter.
There may also be some material that some may find offensive.
So my house was made sometime in the 1960s or '70s, when the suburbs began to expand.
I am part of the third family that has lived there. The wife of the first family had some kind of neurological disease (MLS, I believe), so they installed an elevator inside the house to help her get around the house because she couldn't walk. That's all the information I have on the first family. I don't know what happened to the woman. I don't know if she died while living in the house or not, or whether they moved out. I do not know if she is still alive to this day.
The second family had four sons (I believe?) and they had to add ob some rooms above the garage to make room for the family. This added a long hallway, an office and two large rooms. One of the sons had depression and he ended his life in my house. A few days before he comitted suicide, I was told that he was sitting on the side of the curb crying with his head between his legs.
He had locked himself in the basement before hanging himself.
This person went to my high school at the time, and apparently many other kids had ended their lives around that same time. I do not know the year he died in, but I think it was in the early 2000s.
Then in 2006, my family wanted to move and I discovered there was an open house because I was a nosy little kid. We moved, and when I was eight or nine, I found out about the person who killed themself in my house.
I feel I was a pretty messed up child in a way.
I wasn't scared about the story at all. In fact, I was the complete opposite: I was absolutely fascinated by it. I think I even pinpointed the exact spot where they hanged themself at.
A ledge that used to be next to the stairs in the basement.
I would try to ask my parents for more info on the suicide, everytime finding out a bit more information. It really was like reading a child a chapter of their favourite bedtime story, and leaving them itching to know what would happen next chapter on the next night. I don't know what brought me as a little kid to be so fascinated by people ending their own lives. Even when I was younger in grade four, I was fascinated by the history of Pompeii; hoping I would go there one day. Three years later, I actually went to Pompeii, and I loved it.
When I first moved in, I was told to sleep in one of the larger rooms from the expansion: A beautiful, light blue room overlooking the big backyard and pool from the one large window. The perfect room for a spoiled seven year old. But for some reason, I never slept in it. I couldn't sleep in it, no matter how hard I tried. I also think the person who comitted suicide had slept in that same room.
I am for certain I share the room of someone who died by suicide. It really is facinating in some sick way.
There have been two deaths in my house: The boy from the second family, and my own father in 2016, from ALS.
Now.. I will talk about all the paranormal experiences I've had in this house over the years.