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

It was supposed to be a fresh start, one of those quiet little resets that happen after life turned sideways.

A modest home tucked into the calm corners of Essex, nothing strange, nothing sinister, just a boy,

his brother and their mother, doing their best to move forward, but sometimes places don't like

to be forgotten, and sometimes they're not the ones doing the watching. In 2006, the house was just a house. It didn't creak in unusual

ways. No lights flickered. No chills crawled through the floorboards. For more than a year,

everything was fine, almost too fine, until late one afternoon when the silence shattered,

not with a scream or a bang, but with a knock.

It was just the beginning. From that moment on, the walls of the home seemed to breathe a little

differently. An invisible presence made itself known, but never fully seen. It started with taps,

then shadows, then cold spots that touched your skin like a whisper.

But was once a refuge slowly transformed into a place of uncertainty, where the line between

memory and fear began to blur. The boy, now a man, has carried this story for years,

and now for the first time he's decided to share it.

Let's get to the letter. They write, Tony. This is the story I've never stopped thinking about.

I've written it and deleted it more times than I can count, but something keeps pulling me back.

Maybe it's time. Maybe it's just that the house still doesn't feel empty. We moved in during

the summer of 2006. My mom had just left my dad and she brought me and my brother here to Essex to this

plain little house on a quiet street. Nothing special about it. One of those places with pebble-dash walls, a creaky gate and a front door that sticks in winter.

We were just looking for somewhere to breathe, somewhere without memories attached.

For the first year and a bit, that's exactly what we got.

The walls stayed quiet, the floors didn't groan, and if anything weird

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