When I was about 7 or 8, my family moved to North Carolina, an area famous for ghosts. We moved into a modest 2-story house that appeared normal from all aspects. Everything was great for the first couple of months, until I started to realize that something about this place frightened me. At the head of the stairs, my father's bedroom door was to the right and mine to the left. Even in the hottest weather, my father's bedroom was deathly cold. The first few events ocurred in my bedroom. My grandfather worked at Duke University and would bring home tennis balls hit out of the court for our dog to play with. Our dog would, most annoyingly, play with these balls in my room late at night. As a means of stopping this, I would lock the balls (3 of them) in my closet, which opened outward. The next morning, I would awake to find my dog playing with her 3 tennis balls with the closet STILL CLOSED.

These events continued for a while, but came to a rather startling climax. One night I once again locked the 3 tennis balls away. The next morning I awoke to find our dog laying in a pile of what must have been 50 tennis balls. To this day, I still do not know where they came from. That was the most sane event in the house. I have already said my father's bedroom remained ungodly cold. In this bedroom, I could swear I heard voices, doors opening, and music - but I was too afraid to check. I asked some of our neighbors if they knew anything strange about our house. I was told that the lot we lived on had seen many different houses. Each one had burned to the ground a few years after it had been built. I came to find out that the first house built on the lot was burned down by the owner after his wife had died in childbirth.

The final event I ever saw in the house ocurred while my parents were at work. I was watching TV when my dog started to go crazy. I then heard what sounded like an agonizing scream and a loud thud coming from upstairs. I gathered up enough nerve and walked upstairs. A faint odor of smoke was coming from my dad's bedroom and I looked in. My father's bed was resting on its headboard up against the wall. Once again, I smelled smoke. I grabbed my dog and went outside. About 10 minutes later, our house was burning to the ground. During the time it took for our house to burn down, I continually heard a scream of "NO!"

To this day, my parents think I burned down the house - but I know different.