Real ghost stories from real people. This is Into the Paranormal with Tony Bruske.

It starts with a sound, small, familiar, and easily ignored, like the clicking of old dog's nails across a linoleum floor.

But what if that sound doesn't fade with time? What if it returns long

after the dog is gone? Echoing from empty rooms in the dead of night. Tonight's story isn't just

about a haunted house. It's about a haunted life, a woman named Lila, who believed the strange

experiences of her youth were just childhood fears. But when the whispers came back in her

20s, followed by shadows, cold breath and phantom voices, she was forced to ask a question

that chills anyone who's ever felt watched in the dark. Is it the place that's haunted?

Or is it me? What makes this story so unsettling isn't just the eerie encounters.

It's the moments when others saw, heard or felt the same thing.

When a guest moved from the couch seconds before something struck the wall,

when a boyfriend woke up to see her kneeling at the end of the bed

only to find her beside him

sound asleep. Are we dealing with trauma, a brain trying to make sense of fear, or something else

entirely? Something that can follow, attach, and wait. Let's get to the letter. They write,

we had this dog when I was a kid. Her name was rags. She was a mutt, graying, and gentle by the time I really remember her.

She'd been around long before I could talk. By the time I was 11, she'd grown so slow and stiff that we knew her time was coming.

When she passed, I cried for a day and then moved on the way kids do. I didn't expect to

keep thinking about her, but I did, every night, in fact. It started with a sound. At first I figured

it was the old pipes or maybe the house creaking, but it was rhythmic, soft taps, then a pause,

tap, tap, tap, silence, tap,

like claws on linoleum.

...