The house I grew up in.

I've told this story before but the house was built in like 1976. A freak tornado came down and tore it down when it was 3/4 completed. The builders got the insurance and built it again and when they finished it it caught fire and burned to the ground.

The builders got the insurance and built it again and another tornado came through and destroyed it a week before it was supposed to be completed.

In pythonian fashion the fourth time it stayed up, but one night I was down in the basement doing laundry on a dark and stormy night and I saw a movement to my right. A man in a full trench coat and wide brimmed hat was standing next to the water heater. I screamed as any preteen boy would and the man walked around the water heater and dis a fucking peared.

I ran upstairs screaming there's a man in the basement there's a man in the basement and everyone came down to look and there was no man in the basement. The doors were bolted locked from the inside.

A few years later my mom built a room into the basement and turned it into an extra bedroom. My sister woke up one night with a woman clad in all white with long black hair holding her feet down and crying and crying and crying.

She screamed and the woman disappeared.

My mom still lives in that house and will probably die there. That house is fucking haunted and was haunted before it was ever built.

I've told this story before and my friends have said maybe it was built on an ancient Indian ground or something and to me that is hilarious because I am native American so why the fuck would they bother me?