It is March 3rd, 1935 and my family and I are moving into a new house, if you want to call it that. It was a house owned by a man my father worked for in the cotton fields. It was a modest house with three bedrooms, a living room and kitchen. The bathroom was an out house about a half block from our back door way back in a field of tall grass. My mother and father shared one bedroom, I and my seven other brothers shared the second bedroom, and my eight sisters shared the last bedroom.

So needless to say we were quite cramped but this was all we knew so it wasn't a big problem for us that was just the way it was. On the side of the house was a well, and the rumor that we heard at the time was that the owners son drowned in the well and was never brought out. We heard that no one would move in the house because it was being haunted by the boy who drowned there many years ago.

But my father said for the price his boss was asking he couldn't turn it down it was just too good a deal. So ghost be damned we had a roof over our heads that didn't leak for a change, and that made everyone happy. Our first night in the house was quiet and calm no ghost or goblins, even though me and my brothers tried to scare the girls until my mother put a stop to it. A week passed and my father decided to invite some of his friends from the cotton fields to come over to see the house and party a bit. It was about twelve people by my count peeking in every chance I got, and they were drinking, and dancing and laughing loudly while the music blasted.

Just then I heard a loud noise just ahead of me come from the ceiling above, so loud that it caused dust from the ceiling to fall upon the heads of some of the people dancing. They looked up and sort of wiped off their heads and hats. Then it happened again a loud thud as if someone were walking with a wooden leg we heard a step then a clop, another step and then a clop. The music stopped and everyone was asking my father what he had in the attic making that noise and my father said that he hadn't even been in the attic since we moved in the house.

After saying that, people started to exit the front door for their cars saying this is too weird for us man we got to go! My father was very angry because this wasn't just a party but it was a way for him to sell his home made brew to his friends for extra money. After everyone exited my father walked around cursing to the ceiling until my mother told him to calm down because the kids could hear him. I heard him say that he was getting a flash light and going up in the attic to see what is was making that noise and he bet her it was some kind of animal that had gotten in.

I watched as he let the old stairwell down and climbed up into the attic. I followed him up the stairwell with the flashlight and shine it so he could see in front of himself as he walked with a big stick in his hands. We came upon a bucket with what seemed like dried feces in it, and a rocking chair with one of the arms broke off. Nothing else was there that could explain what we heard coming from this place earlier. So we went back down and told mother what we saw and close it up without ever finding out what it was that everyone heard in that attic that night.

The next day my Father was in the cotton fields and some of the men that were at the party were talking to each other about the strange happenings that transpired.

My father said that one of the older men in the group said that not only did the young boy drown in the well but his brother who was retarded was kept out of sight from the community. The old man said that the family kept the boy in the attic and never let him come down. They would feed him every once in a while and bathe him once a month.

The rest of the time he was chained to the floor, and could only walk about ten steps in either direction.

The boy got a disease from the filth he lived in and soon lost the use of one of his legs, but the father would not seek a doctor, he just gave the boy a wooden cane to help him walk around.

The cane caused so much noise at night that the father would go up in the attic and beat the boy for moving around at night while they were trying to sleep. One night the boy was making a lot of noise in the attic and the father went up and beat him to death, then disposed of the body.

It was believed that he left the boys soul in that attic.

My father came home and told us what he had heard about the house and said “Everybody get your things, cause we are out of here.”

We left that day and moved into another house that was not quite as nice, but it was quiet, peaceful and most of all not haunted.