So I remember probably one of the most traumatic things that happened when I was living in that house.

Happened one night, it was shortly before my dad and my sister and I decided we're just going to move out, we're done, we're gone.

And I was laying in bed and I remember waking

up around 3 o'clock in the morning because my feet felt really cold. And I remember that feeling

of dread and hopelessness. And I remember looking down at the end of the bed and my blankets were bunched up like this,

like something was holding them.

So they were up off of my feet.

And I have like such a phobia about like my feet sticking out of the bed now.

I never did before until that moment.

But it was up like this. And I just

said, Jesus, and it just dropped and like fell and covered my feet again. And I just started crying.

I didn't know what to do. You could run and go somewhere else because it, I mean, even if I went to a room with my sister,

something weird was going to happen in there too.

We would have, there were nights when we'd hear the dog, my mom had this like little chihuahua,

and we'd hear him walking up the staircase, his little nails on the hardwood floor,

and come to the door and whimper and, you know,

we'd open the door and let him in.

Well, then it would happen and we'd open the door and there's no dog there.

It was the weirdest thing.

Like computers would turn on in the middle of the night.

So we started sleeping with our Bibles with us and with worship music playing really low.

And that would help.

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