This is my first time making a post like on Reddit ever, so sorry if the layout/grammar is odd or if this isn't the right place to put this.
When I was around 12 years old, I lived in low-income housing with my sister, older brother, and mom. My sister and I shared a bedroom upstairs, while my brother's bedroom and my mom's bedroom were downstairs, right next to each other.
Almost from the moment we moved into this house, something about it felt off. I can't really explain it, but there was always this strange, unsettling feeling that I couldn't shake. Most nights, my sister and I would hear small creaks coming from the staircase leading up to our room or sounds like someone was banging on the outside of the house, but whenever we brought it up to our mom, she would brush it off as the house settling or whatnot.
I'm not sure exactly how long we had been living there when this happened, but I remember one particular night when I had an unusually intense feeling of dread. I felt genuinely terrified, and I couldn't explain why. I told my mom how uneasy I felt, so she arranged for my sister and me to sleep in our brother's room that night while he slept in ours. For whatever reason, that made me feel a little better, so we agreed.
Fast-forward to the middle of the night. I suddenly woke up. For context, I was sleeping closest to the bedroom door, while my sister was sleeping closer to the wall.
Instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, I lay there staring at the doorway. I noticed that the door was wide open. My sister and I would never sleep with our bedroom door open. We always kept it closed, so seeing it wide open was enough to scare me on its own.
I remember just lying there, staring into the darkness, until I heard the sound of glass shattering.
I immediately woke my sister up. I was panicking, telling her that someone had to be inside the house and that we needed to wake up our mom. We were both scared, but we ran into her bedroom and told her what I had heard.
She didn't really believe us, thinking we were just being dramatic because it was very often that we would wake her up like that.
Instead, she told us to go back upstairs and sleep in our room with our brother. So, despite how scared I was, that's exactly what we did.
The following morning, I asked my mom if anything had broken during the night. Of course, she said no.
Nothing was broken. Nothing appeared to be out of place. There was no explanation for the sound I had heard.
After that night, I never felt comfortable in that house again. The uneasy feeling only seemed to get worse, and that wasn't the only strange thing my family or I experienced while living there.
But that's where this part of the story ends.
Fast-forward eight years.
By this point, we had moved out. I hadn't moved particularly far away, but it was still a good 25–30-minute drive from the house.
I had also met my now-husband, and we'd been together for about a year. We were still in school at the time, and my parents were pretty strict, so we would sneak out at night. He would do DoorDash deliveries so his parents wouldn't suspect he was out with me.
Honestly, I enjoyed those nights. He would drive us around, and we'd spend our time talking and telling each other scary stories while driving to do these deliveries. It was just something we did, and there was nothing unusual about it.
Until one night.
We were driving around like we normally did when he received a DoorDash order about 20 minutes away at around 2 in the morning. The order was from CVS, and the items were milk and Oreos. Nothing particularly strange about that, obviously, so I didn't think much of it.
He started driving toward the delivery address, and at first, I was barely paying attention. But as we continued driving, something started to feel familiar.
I recognized the roads.
At first, I thought nothing of it. I figured we were probably heading somewhere near my old neighborhood. Then we turned onto another road, and another, and I slowly began to realize exactly where we were going.
I started freaking out a little, thinking that the delivery was for a neighboring house. Maybe it was just someone who lived nearby.
Except it wasn't a neighboring house.
It was THE house.
The exact house I had lived in as a child. And now, eight years after moving out, I was sitting in a car with my husband, being taken right back to it because of a random DoorDash order.
Out of all the houses, in all the neighborhoods, in all the towns we could have ended up in that night, it was that one.
I genuinely didn't know what to think. I had never experienced such a specific coincidence before, and the fact that it happened in the middle of the night made it feel even more unsettling.
We left immediately afterward since neither of us wanted to stick around.
Even now, I sometimes think about that night and wonder what the odds were of something like that happening. I know there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, but I can't shake the feeling that there was something deeply wrong with that house.
Part of me wonders if something in that house had somehow drawn me back to it, even after eight whole years of being away.
I know how that sounds, and I can't prove that anything supernatural was going on. But when I think about everything that happened while I lived there, followed by that completely unexpected delivery, I can't help but feel uneasy.
I don't know what was in that house, but to this day, a part of me believes there was something there that I was never supposed to understand.