Amanda's Real Life Ghost Story: Volume 1

Klamath Falls, Oregon House

September 28, 2018
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When I was in my early twenties, I bought my first house. I had just moved to a town called Klamath Falls in Oregon. It was about 30 minutes north of the California border. This small town was an hour away from Medford, which would be the closest actual city.

It was definitely a small town, isolated by the surrounding mountains. Tire chains were required during winter months and sometimes even that wouldn't help with your ability to maneuver through the icy streets. 

But this small town was amazingly beautiful. The trees. The hills and mountains all around. The lake! It was just gorgeous.

It seemed so natural to want to plant roots in this beautiful town. So, I decided I was going to buy a house.

Now, I grew up in New England, so I love charm and character in a house. I love hardwood floors and built in cabinets. I love anything special or unique. So after a very short period of time, I found a Cape Cod style home on a very steep street in the Historic District of the town.

The steepness of the hill made it so that a portion of the basement was exposed and turned into a walk out with a big sliding glass door. There were three levels of deck in front that when you turned around facing away from the house, you had a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains. From a bedroom on the second floor, you had an amazing view of the lake. That would become my perch. My spot I sat in, in my rocking chair, nursing and putting my last baby to sleep.

When I bought the house, it wasn't terribly outdated, except for the kitchen. There were beautiful pine panels across the ceiling but everything else was old and ugly. Old cabinets, seven layers of flooring, yellow appliances. It was like walking into the 70's.

So we turned our attention to that room above all others. We put in new cabinets, stainless steel appliances, granite countertops with blue flecks that sparkled in all lighting. Last came the floors. We found a natural wood looking laminate that was so cheap, we decided to also floor the walk out basement.

The house was empty when we bought it, except for these two recliners that were in the living room. We decided to move them to the basement once the flooring went in. At the time I was working at a local radio station doing the 3-7 shift.

I would pull into the driveway and go in through the sliding door and each day my ex husband would be there to meet me. This was our way of trying to have adult conversation about our days before being ambushed by my babies.

We would sit in the recliners and talk about what crazy or brilliant things the kids did that day. I would talk about work. We would just chat for like ten minutes and then get on with the night. One night we were down there, chatting away as we always did, sitting in the recliners.

I noticed that we both had just kind of stopped talking and our attention was drawn to the bottom of the stairs. A feeling of electricity ripped through the room and before my very eyes, I saw something start to form. It started as just a mass of a color I can't even explain. Not gray. Not silver. But something like it. And it began to grow. Then it began to take shape. First a head, then a torso.

Before I knew it, my ex and I were looking at each other and he just said, "let's get out of here." We looked back and it was gone! Completely vanished.

We ran up the stairs, right through the space where we had just seen whatever we had just seen. We slammed the door behind us and simultaneously looked at each other and said "what did you see?", "What did YOU see??" We finally agreed to say it at the same time. "1, 2, 3, a man!"

Now some people believe that when you do any kind of remodeling, it awakens spirits. That might be the case. But I will say, I have never felt so unwelcome and unwanted and just downright threatened in my life.

Months later, my mom flew out to visit us. We had made a spare room in the basement. Now my mom is super paranoid about that kind of stuff anyways, so I didn't tell her what happened.

She would later tell me that our foster dog, a chocolate lab named mocha, spent the week sleeping in her bed with her, staring at the bottom of the stairs.