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My first experience was when I was a preteen and visiting family in Kentucky. Our relatives lived in an old mansion that allegedly had been built by a Confederate bigwig. Amazing old house with several nooks and hidden spaces. Quite a remarkable place to hang around in as a youngin.
One day my cousins and I were playing hide and seek and I decided to hide out in the upstairs sewing room, this cool old space with coffered wood walls and tall skinny windows. I always found it appealing because it was off limits to us youngsters.
So there I am laying under the big 12’ central table winning the game and all of sudden with no warning several yards of fabric, tools, and straight edges worked their way off the table and crashed onto the floor. I high-tailed it out of there before you could say boo and never went back.
Fast forward to the present day and I’m starting to think the house I moved into last year (built in the early 1800s by one of the town’s founders) is haunted. Just about every night between 11-2 one can here an occasional wall knocking and what sounds like someone walking on the creaky wood floors on the main level.
I guess that’s a long way of saying “yes I do, absolutely”.
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