Reminds me of our house in Bulawayo, there was just something about that house that I didn't like. I couldn't stand to be alone in there, even in the daytime sometimes I would feel a presence there, that was quite uncomfortable. The worst times were at night, the feeling of something being there always grew stronger, I would always be very afraid if I woke in the middle of the night, I would cower under the bed sheets, as if they could offer me protection.
Shortly before my Dad died, when he was very ill, I was awoken suddenly one night and I was frozen with fear as I looked out and I saw people in robes carrying a coffin past my bedroom window, (my parents room was adjacent to mine) I know I wasn't dreaming as I got up and put the light on and called for my mum.
We continued to live there even after my dad had passed on, my mum took on an extra job in the evenings and no matter how hard I tried I would always end up sitting outside on the front porch with the light on and the pets to keep me company. I would wait there till she came home, I just couldn't bear to be inside.
My mum continued to live there even after I moved away from home and when I went back to visit I wasn't so bothered by anything, except for the odd reminder now and again.
Well, I could go on ...