This thread looks like it was all 2 years ago but I may as well chuck my thru'pence ha'penny into the mix. About 15 years ago now, I lived in Fulshaw Park South which is a small semi-village between Wilmslow and Alderley Edge. You can walk to both village centres from the flat I lived in. The flat was ideal, really. It was the top floor of an old Victorian house, the top floor had been renovated. The house, I assume, had a large garden and that had been sold and a cul-de-sac was built on the old grounds. It was a nice place; I liked it because I could literally walk to work (took me about 20 minutes) and Wilmslow is a nice place in South Manchester so there were loads of coffee shops and nice shops to visit at the weekends. It was also very trendy. At the time, I was single and I got lucky on dating sites and would invite quite a number of ladies up to the flat and what have you. When I first moved in, things were fine. I best set out the way the flat was configured. It was a top floor flat and as you can in to the flat you entered a hallway that - to the right - was the kitchen and the living room and to the left was the bathroom and the bedroom. Basically what this meant was that when you were in the shower you were staring down the corridor straight into the kitchen. As I say things were fine when I first moved in. But slowly things felt odd. For a start, I stopped using the living room; and spent most of my time either eating standing up in the kitchen or in the bedroom. Secondly, as time went on, I found myself not sure of myself in the flat. It was like the mood of the property had changed from the time I arrived to the time I was now living there. I became unpopular in that flat you could say. I found myself staring down the corridor when I was in the shower, washing myself while looking all the time. Thirdly, I started to wake in the middle of the night. That's not unusual but what was unusual was that I would wake and be sitting bolt upright and staring immediately at the open door to the bedroom. And that was another thing, the door to the bedroom wouldn't stay closed. In the end I had to place a towel inside the door to keep it closed from opening. But all of this was simply a precursor to what happened when I finally left the property in the December of the year I moved in. I remember that it was a warm night and it was quite still. No wind was blowing a gale etc. The night I left, I had to complete all the administration to do the hand over. This meant clearing the property completely of all my stuff and checking the utilities in the basement of the building. I had never been down there before and to get down there, I had to go speak to the old guy who lived at the front of the building. He was an old RAF guy who had lived there for years and years. We sort of got on and he had the keys to the basement door which was permanently locked. To give some idea as to the position of the basement, as you walked in the main door, the basement was off to the right and the stairs going up were to the left. There were children's drawings on the wall in the basement area that had been set aside for me but the main reason for going there was to check the electricity meter and take the readings. So we did this, and then went back up the stairs and he locked the door and then he left. I then spent the next hour moving all of my stuff down the stairs to my car. I had just returned from the third trip when I walked in the main door. At that point, all I heard was a repeated smashing noise against the basement door from the inside (i.e., basement side of the door). I can't explain what made that sound to this day. There was no one in the basement, there was no wind, there had been nothing, not a single noise from that door in all the time that I had been living there. I was petrified and got the next door neighbour to come up to my flat to take any food that they might like to have while I grabbed the last of my stuff. I was glad to be gone from there; it was a strange place in the end.