Who is in the room
This is something that happened to me in my old house when I was about 12 or 13 years old.
I lived with my mother and my little brother in a house in a small mountain village on the first floor (the owner lived on the ground floor and we lived just above).
The apartment was oddly laid out with a hallway, and at the end of it was the kitchen, then my bedroom, and then my mother's room.
To get to my mother's room, we had to go through the kitchen, then my room, and finally we arrived in her room.
We also had a cat that used to roam everywhere but also went outside.
This house was great, but I don't know why I always had this fear or this frightening feeling when I had to go into my mother's room. I don't know why, but that room always made me feel uneasy. One summer day, I was in my room with the window open. There was a ledge, and I often sat on it to chat with my neighbors, my mother, or other people who were outside.
My mother's bedroom door was often closed because I didn't like seeing that room. Except when my mother left it open, of course.
One day, when my mother was outside getting some fresh air and watching my little brother play, I sat on the windowsill to enjoy the fresh air and see what they were doing, and maybe chat with him a little.
My mother's bedroom door was, as usual, closed. It had a round handle like on old doors.
So I was sitting on the windowsill when suddenly a rather loud noise startled me.
I turned around and saw the door handle moving as if someone was trying to open it, but it wasn't turning; it was just shaking.
I wasn't worried and thought I might have accidentally locked the cat in the room.
Then suddenly, as I was about to get up to open the door and let him out, I saw the cat outside near the garage, not far from my brother. My heart started pounding, and I began to panic. It was just my mother, my brother, and my cat in the apartment, and everyone else was outside.
I ran outside at breakneck speed, crying and completely panicked, to tell my mother what had just happened. My mother, being very pragmatic, decided to calmly go upstairs to show me that there was nothing in the room and that I must have just imagined it.
Indeed, there was nothing in her room, but I still don't know to this day what could have possibly moved the doorknob like that.
Several other strange events have occurred there, and to this day, I still get that anxiety whenever I think about that infamous room in that first apartment.