As an author of horror I get asked what scares me. Do I get scared about what I am writing? I can tell you that I have be scared in my life by things I experienced and stories I have been told. I thought it would be fun to share some of those with you here.
The Bed
I lived in a small town in the middle of Wisconsin during my teenage years. Most of the houses closer to the middle of this town were quite old. Although they had been updated to include things like air-conditioning or even electric, the structure was potentially over 100 years old.
So, my mother moved us into one. I have several stories about this house, however, I will begin with this one.
This house had three levels. The first held the living-room, bathroom, kitchen, master bedroom, and backroom (this was turned into a laundry room.) The second was a basement that you had to access through the bedroom on the first floor. The third had a staircase leading up to a landing that was most likely a sitting room which lead to a bed room with a large walk-in closet.
There was a large down mattress on a wire bed-spring in this top bedroom when we moved in. The people my mother rented it from said it had been in the house when they purchased it and it was too heavy and cumbersome to move. Basically, we were stuck with it.
To say the house was weird, was an understatement. However, my mom felt it gave the house character. You will see in future stories that my mom’s viewpoint of “character” was very suspect most of the time.
I decided to make my room in the landing instead of the bedroom. Two nights of almost no sleep and horrible dreams made this decision quite easy. My younger sister actually put her bed, a twin, in the large closet. The idea of sleeping in the room with this bed was not an option.
Even though we were not on the bed, we both began to experience the same situation. We would hear talking at night. We both began to separately play music at night to fall asleep.
One day, my sister’s radio broke. She came and asked to borrow mine. When I said I needed it she asked me why? I told her I didn’t sleep well without it. The look on her face said everything. We talked about it for a minute and then decided to go downstairs. Talking about it so close to the room seemed like we had prying ears.
That night we decided to listen to what was being said. Maybe the spirit was trying to tell us something. That night we sat together on my bed and turned out the lights. We had to be patient, but then it started, soft at first, it was so quiet I held my breath straining to hear at first. Then it became more clear.
My sister grabbed my hand. It wasn’t speaking at all.
It was singing. It was a female voice singing a lullaby. We didn’t recognize the actual song, but it was clear what it was.
We slept downstairs that night.
The next day we replaced my sisters radio. When we told my mother what was happening, she said “It sounds harmless”. My thought was: until it kills us in our sleep.
My sister and I made a pact to never sleep up there alone. If one of us was away, we slept on the couch. We also never went to bed without the other. Somehow, being together in this made it safe.
Each night however, if you listened, you could be lulled to sleep my a lullaby.
Erika Lance - Author 
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