Our family rule growing up was all seven of us had to be at the table before anyone could eat. Everyone remembers me being forgotten in a large old spooky church, not just once but many times. My family volunteered their Sunday afternoons to restoring a beautiful church after the service. They would finally remember me when they would sit down to Sunday dinner.
I woke up one night when I was 12 because I dreamt that my older brother got into a car accident. I got out of bed and wandered downstairs to the kitchen to get something to drink. My mother was sitting there and asking me why I was awake. I told her “Had a bad dream and need something to drink”. I got a glass of water when it ringed at our door. My mother went to look who is there in the middle of the night.
Two police officers that asked if they could come inside for a moment. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about because I was still in the kitchen and they were in the hallway. After the two officers left my mother came back to the kitchen completely pale and told me that I should go to bed now. I asked her whats wrong when she informed me that my brother was in a car accident and she needs to wake up my dad and go to the hospital now.
When I pointed out, that this was the bad dream I had before waking up, she only looked at me for a couple of seconds. I prepared myself for comments like “Don’t be silly and go to bed now” but instead she said “Me too”.
So basically. We both had the same fucking dream of my brother having a car accident. And we both woke up minutes before the police came over to tell us it really happened. My brother survived with some minor injuries and we’ve seen the photos of the accident in the newspaper the next day. It looked 100% like in my dream. To the smallest detail. The way he lost control over the car, where it flipped the first time and the tree it came to a stop.
Even today my mother and I talk about this. Nobody else believes us when we tell the story.
My mom said that I used to have “premonitions” when I was little, under the age of 10.
My great-aunt and great-uncle were like grandparents to me and used to come visit in the summer from Mexico (to the US).
I would miss them terribly then they would go. One year when they were leaving, I cried and cried.
My mom said “Don’t worry! They’ll be back next year.”
I remember sobbing and throwing a small child fit.
Apparently I said to my mom “No you don’t understand! Tío (great-uncle) is NEVER coming back!”
And she kept trying to reassure me they’d be back next year.
I kept repeating “He’s never coming back!” (I didn’t say anything about my great-aunt)
Sure enough, he passed away and never came back within a few weeks or months.
My mom said it was really creepy and I also predicted my great-aunt passing as well.
Not that creepy but I found out recently when I was eighteen months old I phoned Australia (from the uk) and had a nice chat with whoever answered
In the house I grew up in every night at around midnight these big loud footsteps would go stomping up and down the hallway a few times, I’d often think it was my dad getting up in the night so sometimes I would stick my head out in the hall to see him but there was no one there and I’d hear him snoring in his room. This isn’t a particularly creepy story but it’s just strange that everyone confirms they heard these footsteps and no one was ever that bothered by it, it’s like it happened for as long as we could remember so we just accepted it.