I believe in ghosts. The harmless ghouls that make your hair stand on end. The spirits that lurk in your halls and walls, that cause you to feel that you aren't alone.
My family lived in such a house: a house haunted by a single ghoul (we think) who roamed our rooms, in Port Hope, Ontario.
It doesn't look like a haunted house. It has some quirky steps outside, a gracious veranda, and lots of windows.
Creaks and ...groans? Yes, every house has those, right? Unexplained tumbling vase of roses? A face, floating...
The specifics have since left my memory. I can't give you the year, or the date. But I can tell you what happened. In the middle of the night, and months later.
My bedroom, visible as the two upper windows in the first picture, was spacious. My bed was on an inside wall, with the two tall windows to my right, and my door (complete with transom) was on my left. The floor was made from wide pine planks, and the walls were covered in yellow floral wallpaper.
One night, I awoke, and found myself frozen in place. I was laying on my back, covers pulled up to my chin. Frozen. Frozen with fear. The "ghost" was in my room, and for the first time, I could "see" him. No one in my family had caught a glimpse of the "presence" in our home.
Until that night. He wasn't looking at me. His profile, a man with dark, tight curled hair, and a beard like Abraham Lincoln, was suspended in the air, across from my bed. I only saw his profile, because he was looking out my window. I remember closing my eyes, and opening them again, only to still see him "suspended" in the air. I didn't want him to see me. I didn't dare move, call out, or pull the covers over my head.
Eventually, I fell back to sleep. The next morning, I reported the sighting to my family. Along with a name...Walker.
Months later, a property search for our address (performed for our realtor) showed the second owner of the land to be "Walker".