As soon as I walked in the door, I thought of this.
They were coming for me. The house was about 160 years old. Actually two old cape cods joined by a modern kitchen and living room, the house was a little bit spooky. And a lot scary.
This lady's eyes seemed to follow us everywhere we went.
I slept next to a typewriter that I was convinced would start typing away as I tried to dream of things other than giant damn monsters, dead girls climbing out of wells and Jack Nicholson frozen in a topiary.
No actual apparitions were seen, and I am not one to get freaked out easily, but the house flung off creepy vibes by the shit-ton. It also had doors that led to nowhere and small closets filled with old lace dresses and other weirdo things.
Even the outside was a bit sinister. The freakiness was compounded by the isolation of the area. Part Overlook, part Turn Of The Screw, part sort of interesting.
We all made it out alive. I think. Maybe I am living The Sixth Sense and haven't realized it yet.