The man next to my father, submitted by Elizabeth.

I grew up in Louisiana.

My family's house has been in our family for a couple of generations.

The history of the house is that it had been a slave house for a sugar plantation.

Needless to say, it was haunted.

But by spirits my family knows.

I had two great-great uncles.

One was named Rudolph, yes that's his real name, and the other Anisit, again real names.

They could not stand each other. They always fought like cats and dogs.

Uncle Aniset passed away first. Uncle Rudolph passed away from a box fan blowing his lit cigarette onto his bed while he slept.

You can still see the smoke ash at the top of the room walls.

Years and years later, my family moved into the same house. My mom, dad, two sisters, my sister, my grandma, and uncle and me.

I was the youngest out of me and my sisters.

At night, and sometimes during the day, we would hear this terrible commotion in the kitchen.

It sounded like all the shelves were falling down, along with all the pots and pans.

But when we'd go look, not one dish would be out of place.

After falling back asleep, we'd hear the noise again.

After the third or fourth time, we finally had enough.

We said out loud Uncle Rudolph.

Uncle Anisit, cut it out.

Let us go to bed.

We didn't hear the noise again for the rest of the night.

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