During college, my friend Lee rented a small 1 bedroom house situated by itself down a dirt road in the woods outside of town. I hung out there quite a bit. It was a great place to build a fire, drink beer, and listen to jazz. But, we soon came to call it the Blair Witch house because of all of the creepy shit that constantly happened. 

Frequently, country music could be heard coming from outside the house when we were indoors, but the music would stop as soon as you stepped outside to investigate. No one was ever around. 

We constantly caught glimpses of movement out of the corner of our eyes when we were indoors. Things would always go missing and then inexplicably turn up where we had previously searched. Once, his .38 that he kept under his pillow went missing. That really freaked us out and we tore the place apart looking for it. We found it later on the couch in plain sight. He kept it in a lockbox after that.

The creepiest thing though, was that there were no animals. If you've ever lived in a rural area, you know that animals are common. However, there were never any raccoons, opossums, squirrels, armadillos, or deer in the yard. Ever. 

Lee bought a dog, Fitty Cent. At first there were no problems. Later, Fitty refused to go in the bedroom. He would sit in the livingroom and look into the unoccupied bedroom. It was always very unnerving. Several times he would whine to go outside and then refused to come back in. Later, he just stayed outside all of the time. Even if it was raining. He would crawl under my truck rather than come in. One day, Fitty just wasn't there any more. We looked for him, put up flyers along the road, asked the neighbors down the road, and had the animal shelter keep an eye out for him. But, no luck. He was gone.

The last straw for Lee was a bizarre occurrence that happened one night when I stayed there. I frequently would drink too much and crash on the couch. I was asleep on the couch in the wee hours when Lee woke me up by yelling at me and calling me an asshole for almost giving him a heart attack. He kept yelling about me almost getting shot. Once he saw that I was genuinely confused and was asleep he became silent and went to make coffee. 

I followed him into the kitchen and asked him what was up. He explained that he woke up to see someone standing at the foot of the bed with a pillow case on their head. When he reached for the pistol box and looked back, the figure was gone. He assumed it was me playing a joke. It wasn't.

He broke his lease a week later and moved into a crappy apartment in town.