When I was 16 years old babysitting was an additional source of income, and I was lucky enough to have many families in my area that needed a babysitter. A lady that babysat for quite often asked me one day if I would mind caring for her sister's baby, she mentioned that her sister had a hard time keeping a babysitter—well, of course I thought it was due to the child HA! I didn't mind at all, I quickly accepted the job meaning more income for myself and she was a super nice lady however, her husband was ... well ... a real jerk ... he didn't want to be bothered with the baby at all and he was always in a mood—for the most part he was away a lot.
My first day, she made a point to tell me that the house was “quirky” making a lot of strange noises and whatnot ... She told me to call her if I had any problems. I thought it was strange but dismissed it as just being because she was nervous to leave her baby with a new sitter.
My first week was really uneventful—a few weird noises but I just dismissed them. One distinctive thing that I remember about the house was that it was always dark ... Even on the brightest day, it was always really dark. During the day, you still had to have the lights on, even with the curtains open.
The baby, who was only six months old, had a cute rainbow nightlight. It was an older one that you manually had to use some force to click on and off. Once it lightened up some in the morning, I would go and turn off the nightlight. Well, morning came and I turned off the nightlight. I went out to the living room to catch up on some homework and as soon as I got settled the baby started screaming, I rushed into his room. He was hysterical and the nightlight was on.
I know for a fact that I turned it off. It wasn't a mistake or something I thought I did–I played it in my mind over and over and over again. I know that I turned that light off. I took the baby and comforted him. I was so disoriented and scared I didn't even try to turn it off again. I thought if something wants it on, it can be on.
I didn't tell the mother about the nightlight. Every day, she would come and ask me if everything was okay. And I knew she wasn’t just talking about her son.
Over the next few weeks, the experiences came more and more often. Lights turning on and off and doors closing by themselves.
All of the events finally came to a peak. I was in the kitchen mixing oatmeal for the baby, when from behind something tugged the bottom hem of my shirt—and hard. It was so hard that my shirt tightened around my neck. I turned around and no one was there... I screamed and ran into the living room where the baby stared at me from his high chair like I was crazy!
I didn't tell his mother about this either, I don't know why I didn't tell her - maybe I was scared that she would think I was crazy, or maybe I just didn't want to bother her with it - or maybe I was just scared since I never told anyone.
Finally, she and her husband moved out of the house that fall, making their stay only 10 months. I was the only babysitter who managed to be permanent during their time. I never discussed the events that happened there...
Later, I did some research on the area. It's incredibly rural, and as south as you can get. It also has a rich history in Indian tribes. While looking up the house, I discovered that during its construction, evidence of a full Indian burial site had been discovered.