I grew up in a haunted house in Canada. From ages 7 to 18, I saw and experienced a lot that I cannot and will not attempt to explain. The house was obviously haunted. We had doors slamming, orbs, shadows, and electronic phenomena. You name it, and this house had it. Whatever resided there was never malicious to any of us - it was maybe even playful when we were kids. I was not afraid of it, just a little confused.
As my wife and I rounded the banister, it felt like I walked into the saddest, angriest place I have ever been. On one wall were WW1 medals, on the other were WW2 medals, and in the middle was a rocking horse. I felt like I had to run for my life. The darkness that saturated every inch of that room was indescribably terrifying.
I sprinted from the building and sat on the front steps, waiting for my wife to come down and ask what was wrong with me. She eventually meandered down and said, 'Yeah, you felt that too, huh? The rocking horse started rocking when you ran.' And this, folks, is why I will not be going back there.
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