My niece graciously wrote some memories down from their time in the Blue House in Clinton, IA, the story gives the street name but we won't give the address. Here is her story:
I have had crazy paranormal experiences for as long as I can remember. I would like to blame it on my large family always growing, always fighting; energy balled up in old houses. Seven young children, two young parents, and a religious grandmother all on top of one another trying to make a house hold run as smoothly as possible. Both of my parents, my grandparents, aunts and uncles (on both sides) have had multiple paranormal experiences. Though I feel like most of my family's experiences were environmental, something attached to the old Victorian homes we lived in, something in the land; I believe through blood, hauntings can continue.
Through constant exposure to paranormal experiences, entities, and haunted environments I believe this caused myself, and my brother to be more sensitive to energies. We hated moving constantly (due to a fast growing family) not only because our environment was not constant (no matter how hard our parents tried to keep us comfortable despite always moving) but because every house we went to, it seemed there was something worse in the "new house" than the last. We were not the only ones to notice this... My parents and grandmother said with every move there would be more riled up energy. More things would move, be thrown, fly off the walls, be hidden ect. I have considered maybe it wasn't the houses that were haunted but we were. I have also thought maybe with every move we would drag things with us that attached itself to our items or our energy.
Though every house we moved to was terrifying, I only have select situations that really stick out. As hard as it is to believe, when all you have known is hauntings, the experiences become less prominent and more of an every day routine. Almost nothing stands out anymore, you learn to deal with the cards you were dealt.
My parents always felt like "The Pink House" (yes, our house was pink) was the worst house we lived in, but the houses after that stood out to me.
"Blue House on Dunham" was so terrifying to be I refused to step a foot in that house after we finally moved our last box out...
The layout of the house was very unique, mine and my sisters room was in a loft in the upstairs, my grandmother had a separate room just off of ours. I would sleep in her room regularly as my bed would always shake, and if my bed wasn't shaking, I was paralyzed unable to move anything but my eyes watching energy (I describe it as like a bubble under water, you can see the outline but you can see through it)... I remember at 13 trying to lay down to read and I was overwhelmed with this sense of despair.. A sense of hopelessness. It was so strong I actually started to cry. My first though was 'Omg if this is puberty', until I put down my book and say this black mass sitting at the end of my bed. I was in shock. I couldn't scream. I couldn't tell it "Get out in the name of Jesus" like my Grandmother told me to. It felt like and eternity before I could blink, but when I did it was gone though the dent at the end of my bed was still there. I jumped from my bed and ran down the stairs as fast as possible, it felt like if I didn't get down the stairs fast enough something horrible was going to happen. The feeling of someone right on your tail about to catch you, the heart pounding sensation of pure terror. I dreaded going up the stairs to that loft... I tried to always look down as once I made the mistake of looking up the rail to where the banister stood and saw a pale boy (like white, white skin) with black eyes and a black bowl-cut, expressionless and looking at me. It ran toward my side of the loft, needless to say I didn't sleep in my room that night.
Funny enough, I dreaded one place worse than I did the loft: The Basement.
The basement, try as my dad did, would never be the family's hang out. He made a bar, put a Foosball machine down there, we even had a walk in shower down there! Like a locker room! We still had very young kids and it was very easy for mom to shower the younger kids down there together, that is until we couldn't stand the smell. It was like each day the whole basement just stunk worse, and it wasn't long until the air was thick. Cut a knife through it thick. We had our laundry room down there and 3 of the 4 boys had a room down in the basement. I give them props because they stuck it out, even with the smell of the shower room. The basement was laid out with the stairs coming down right into the bar and game area, facing the stairs the laundry room was to the right, farther back was a storage area. To the left it went behind the stairs to the shower room, but if you kept going left into the room beside the bar it was the boy's room.
Coming down the stairs was an experience in itself, felt like someone was going to grab your legs and trip you down the stairs, and on a few occasions this happened. My Grandmother had the most experiences in the basement (as far as I know, the boys won't really talk about what happened there). She was our second mom, while my parents worked full time jobs my Gran would make sure we had our clean clothes, the house was tidy, my baby siblings were taken care of while my parents busted butt to make sure the bills were paid and we had food in our stomachs. One day while my Grandmother was doing laundry she started to hear a ball rolling across the Foosball table. When she turned around she seen a few of the "players" starting to move. And in Grandma's nature, she told it to stop with a stern voice, shockingly it just stopped. (See why I bunked up with her?) Though no matter how many times she told it to quit and it did, it took every chance it had to annoy my grandmother. After the smell of rotting eggs and seeing a black cat (we had a bird and a fat lazy dog, no way we had cats) and the sounds of running up and down the stairs, the black shadows hiding everywhere in the house, and even "orbs" jumping around everywhere my Gran could no longer just tell it to stop and have it continue another day. She told my parents we are getting our pastor to bless this house. It didn't go well... After being in the basement he refused and left.
Every day that passed our homes uninvited guest(s?) started to be come more restless, as if that were possible. One move in particular that was bold of this thing was to go after my brother, and second oldest. The other person deemed "sensitive". My brother is hard-headed, he tried to ignore the things he seen and heard. He would always tell himself, oh it's the house settling, must be the little ones running upstairs; until one day he went to go upstairs to the main floor, but as he almost reached the stairs a toothbrush was thrown at his leg. He was the only one down there, he didn't step on it, he didn't even know they had a tooth brush was down there (as the only bathroom anyone used anymore was on the main floor). After running upstairs and telling my parents and tried as they did to justify what happened there was no explanation. This was a big deal for my brother because it wasn't something he could explain away or ignore.
Unfortunately that wasn't the only brother scared out of his wits by inexplicable beings. The 3rd youngest boy, Payton. Growing up with 2 older sisters, 2 older brothers, and being a big brother of 2 other siblings, being scared was not an option. Even at his young age. He seen his older siblings handle what was happening, it wasn't long before he had learned to ignore what was going on too. In the same place my brother Devon had the toothbrush thrown at him, Payton ran down to the basement for a shirt for school. He knew you go down and you go back up you don't linger. But he was down just long enough for the same creepy little boy I had seen upstairs to look at him from behind the stairs. He explained it to me to the exact detail. I never told anyone but my Gran what happened, and it's a fact she would never tell one of the younger siblings. On top of that this happened MONTHS later. He said he looked glaring at him and his eyes were black as black. Terrified he jumped the first three stairs and hurled himself out of the basement and slammed and locked the door.
My sister, the third oldest that I shared my loft with was always very hesitant, like my brother, she always tried to explain away things so she wouldn't scare herself. She followed my brother's excuses for the ridiculous things going on (which were originally my parents excuses to try not to scare us, which they now admit they were trying to keep us calm. They knew what was happening). Until one night, we were laying down for bed, I was gonna be a big girl and sleep in my bed for the first time in weeks, protected by my Edward Cullen poster my Aunt Tracy got me. Until I started to hear a low growl under my bed. I instantly went to her bed when it started to shake. (Nothing happened to her in her bed, it was her safe place) She was convinced I was shaking it until I got out of it and it continued to rattle. Needless to say we slept with Grandma that night. Our Hero.
One night in particular was the weirdest night of our life. To this day we look back on it and we still cannot explain it. It's split up into multiple parts to tell everyone's experiences we were having at the same time in the same night.
*Gran: She woke up from her sleep, for no reason to see a huge white light. It was a full moon that night when she seen something going across it. She explains it like "Santa and his reindeer going across the moon". She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She hopped out of bed toward the front of the loft, by the stairs to see it out of the big bay window but there was nothing. It was gone.
*Myself and my mother: My mom had just gotten home from her shift (1am), sitting by the open sliding door reading a book; I came down for a drink and met her in the kitchen (coming from Gran's room oblivious as to what was happening). While I went to get a drink we heard the sound of bare feet running across the roof. My mother looked confused and went out to the deck, I followed. To our surprise there was nothing. Not even squirrels, even though we knew they were NOT any kind of animal. They were feet. Heavy, bare feet. RUNNING. It wasn't but a moment when we heard screams coming from the little one's room (2 youngest). We ran to go see if they were okay.
*Abigail and Hayden: The two youngest of the seven. They were innocent and unaware of anything happening to myself, my mother, or grandmother. When me and my mom came rushing to their room they were both screaming and crying. Abigail, the youngest was crying saying she seen "monkeys" crawling on the walls. Hayden, just older than her, was crying we assume because Abigail was so loud her scream scared him out of his sleep. Abigail for a long while could not get to sleep, scared that the monkeys would be back to get her. I don't think she seen monkeys, I think that was the closest thing she could describe them as...
This is not even close to all of the experiences that happened in this hell hole. 5 years of abuse happened here, but not by my parents or grandmother. By the disgusting creature or creatures I believe still roam that house. 5 years of "tripping down stairs", waking up to burning scratches and bite marks, growling, hissing, being held down in beds and couches, slamming doors, doors locking on us, things coming up missing or being toyed with and so, so much more.
We know a family who has lived in the house since. The activity still continues and the same intensity as we left.
Our neighbors in the next house passed in a fire just a couple years after we left. Rest in Peace Tonya, Fran, Tyler, and Patrick. You are dearly missed.
**UPDATE** - I have since spoken to my brother (2nd oldest) about his experiences in "the blue house" and this was his quote...
"I didn't sleep in my room the first night, and things didn't really start for me until about a year after living there and sleeping in my room full time. It started with scratching on the sheet rock, hands brushing over the top of my blanket while I tried to sleep. When the activity picked up it went to the sounds of bare feet slapping on the basement floor all night long. The steps would even follow me up the stairs... Then there was that damn toothbrush being thrown at me! Horrible dreams every night, weird black mists by the bar, back under the stairs, and toward the dining room by the sewage drain. Then there was that creepy damn kid I kept seeing in the basement"...(where his room was. This was first he said about the kid to my knowledge. Until this I was under the impression it was only me and Payton who had seen this thing). "I remember having horrible dreams... I hated when bed time came! A couple times I seen lights coming from the basement drains."
This brought up another memory I had one night when our cousin was spending the night. He was freaking out because he was seeing black little balls darting toward the basement. I didn't say what I seen, but when he asked if I seen what he did, then proceeded to explain exactly what I saw. My mind was not playing with me. The anxiety wasn't getting to me. It was real.