For some reason, the fact that they needed to specify "brutal murder" in this question fascinates me. Because people would be okay if it was a "kind and gentle murder?"
The house I lived in after I was born had had a suicide (hanging) and a murder (stabbing,) which I didn't know about until after we moved out when I was 6 years old and we moved into a house where a 5-year-old boy had died. The old house, there was...other stuff. The walls of the basement were made of boulders taken from the Delaware Water Gap, and later on when my father finally sold it (he rented it out for a couple decades after we moved,) I went back for a last look and got chased out of that house by a woman who stood in the window of my parents' old bedroom glaring at me and moving the curtain. I've done plenty of "ghost-hunting" as it's called now that it's in vogue, and that was the only time that happened. And I was pissed.
The strangest part of the old house for me: when I small, I would lay in bed next to my sister and hear these voices just calling my name, over and over. There might have been a dozen or so, all different. When I got home from my first day of kindergarten, I marched up to my parents and demanded to know what my first name was. I had gotten in trouble because I hadn't answered during attendance, because I didn't know my name was "Rebecca." No one had ever called me anything but "Becky," ever. It was years later that I realized those voices had been calling "Rebecca," not "Becky." So even though I hadn't known my own name when I went to school, somehow I--and they--had known it before that.
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Date: 2009-11-12 08:40 pm (UTC)The house I lived in after I was born had had a suicide (hanging) and a murder (stabbing,) which I didn't know about until after we moved out when I was 6 years old and we moved into a house where a 5-year-old boy had died. The old house, there was...other stuff. The walls of the basement were made of boulders taken from the Delaware Water Gap, and later on when my father finally sold it (he rented it out for a couple decades after we moved,) I went back for a last look and got chased out of that house by a woman who stood in the window of my parents' old bedroom glaring at me and moving the curtain. I've done plenty of "ghost-hunting" as it's called now that it's in vogue, and that was the only time that happened. And I was pissed.
The strangest part of the old house for me: when I small, I would lay in bed next to my sister and hear these voices just calling my name, over and over. There might have been a dozen or so, all different. When I got home from my first day of kindergarten, I marched up to my parents and demanded to know what my first name was. I had gotten in trouble because I hadn't answered during attendance, because I didn't know my name was "Rebecca." No one had ever called me anything but "Becky," ever. It was years later that I realized those voices had been calling "Rebecca," not "Becky." So even though I hadn't known my own name when I went to school, somehow I--and they--had known it before that.
Apparently I'm in Sharing Mode today. Sorry. =P