My mum and dad's house in West Yorkshire is a post war build and isn't particularly spooky to look at, but some of my most profound ghostly experiences took place there.
As a night owl, I am usually the last one to go to bed, which means it's usually me who has to switch all the lights off downstairs - one of my least favourite jobs.
One night, in my early twenties, I was standing in the doorway to the living room looking in when I switched the light off - and there, standing inches in front of me in the darkness was a middle aged man wearing an orangey brown coloured suit. If I could put an era to him it would be the 1960s or 70s. He was there for a moment and then he was gone - but he was as clear as anything.
I raced up the stairs in super quick time.
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