I've got two stories, the first I experienced first hand, the second is a story my memere (Grandmother) told me.

I grew up in a fairly old New England house. It was one of the first in the area before the mills were built. As the people came to work at the mills, houses started to be built around "ours" and eventually it became a crowded neighborhood. Our house had a dirt floor basement and old granite rock foundation. I always had strange feelings when going down into the basement because it seemed weird to just have ground there with no floor. Our house creaked and cracked at night, doors would slam, lights would flicker, animals would act strange. I woke up one night when I as 8 years old and went to the bathroom down the hall. As I walked back to my room (facing the stairs that led to our living room, which are directly above the stairs down to the basement) there was this faded white woman floating at the top of the stairs, hovering. She was wear a long white dress and had this sad look to her face. I stood still for a minute, then closed my eyes, and screamed bloody murder until my parents came running out from their bedroom. I swear to this day that there is a body of a woman buried in our dirt cellar.

My memere used to stay at her grandparents house when she was a teenager during the week because they lived close to a place that she worked. Her grandmother had this old cat that eventually died but it used to sleep with my grandmother in her bed during the week. For a few weeks after it died, everytime she went to bed, she felt the "cat" climb onto the bed and sleep curled up at her feet. She thought it was her imagination but there was a dent in the blankets.