I moved into a really old house that stood alone on a hill outside a smallish town in the uk when I was a kid. It was 350+ years old and in serious disrepair. As I helped my dad strip back about twenty layers of wallpaper in the front room, a door outline began to appear. We concentrated on that area and sure enough, found a door that had been sealed up for God knows how long. My dad prised it open and we found stone steps carved into the sandstone on which the house was built, curving down into the darkness. Armed with a torch each, and staying a few paces behind my father, we descended into a dark, dank, forgotten cellar. We found bones buried in one corner (dog I think?) And a crude carving on the wall saying 'Stephen Carpenter 1665'. I lived in that house for about eight years from the age of six to fourteen, and never felt safe on my own. I had a couple of moments when I truly panicked that I was being followed, and both my brother and sister used to suffer from night terrors - sort of waking dreams where they would act out their dreams with their eyes open. Several times I woke to the sound of their screams, and as it was a large house my parents were oblivious to the commotion. I would go into the room to see if they were ok and they'd see me as the bad thing in the dream, scream even more and try to get away from me. I was always terrified that there must be something behind me.... All coincidence and an active imagination I guess, I don't believe in the supernatural but it was bloody scary! As soon as I moved elsewhere I felt I was safer.