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I grew up in a house that was haunted. The man who lived there before us died in my brother's room.
I would feel him lay in my bed at night. His weight would sink down the mattress beside me, and the springs creaked under him. He breathed in my ear. I told myself that it must be my breath, or my heartbeat echoing in my head, but I'd hold my breath and my hand over my heart, and sure enough... it was neither. It was breathing with a different rhythm than I made, at a faster pace, and I could feel the breath hit my ear.
I started sleeping with headphones because the thought of an old man lying next to me, breathing heavily, kind of disturbed me.
He would do things like grab me by the ankles and lift my feet in the air until I starting kicking and telling him to leave. I think he was just messing with me, though.
My brother was the only one to refuse to believe me until one night he was awoken by the old man standing over his bed. He slept in the living room for a month after that, and for an asshole jock older brother, it was kind of a big deal that he was so frightened.
