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INTRODUCTION
I’ll start with a confession: stairs creep me out. Not in the “I’m scared of falling down the stairs” kind of way; but in the “it’s pretty terrifying to think something otherworldly can be traversing the stairs” kind of way. Almost without fail, I’m the last one to go up to bed at night—and I have a consistent ritual before I turn in. I close the blinds in every room, lock the doors, turn out the lights, and grab a quick drink of water. Then, I head up the stairs. But before I do, I ALWAYS turn on the light to the downstairs landing, turn on the light to the upstairs landing, turn off the light to the downstairs landing, and hurry up the stairs. I do this every night, without fail.
I do this because the thought of something following me up a dark staircase scares the hell out of me.
I think this started when I was kid living in Brooklyn, NY. I’ve mentioned it before, but the brownstone we lived in had a spiral staircase in the middle of it—and it ran from the basement to the top apartment. The staircase was scary—with only a soft orange lightbulb on each landing. Which meant, when you climbed the stairs between each landing—and as you followed the spiral—you were mostly covered in darkness.
I hated these spiral stairs and think about them way too often.
In this episode of The Red Treehouse, we’re going to explore 6 scary stories about haunted and cursed staircases. What happens when a normal staircase becomes the place of your worst nightmares? Are ghosts and spirits especially drawn to staircases, and if so, why?
I’ll share the stories. You decide for yourself.
I’m your host, Will. Welcome to The Red Treehouse.
SCARY STAIRCASES
According to the Cleveland Clinic, bathmophobia is a specific phobia disorder—one that seems near-impossible to be true. Bathmophobia is a fear of stairs. Though it’s unknown how many people suffer from bathmophobia is marked by the following fears:
Suffering a serious injury or death from falling down a set of stairs or a steep incline.
Tripping, falling, or being injured while going up a set of stairs or an incline.
Slipping through an opening between stair steps.
Having a heart attack, asthma attack or becoming short of breath while climbing stairs or an incline.
Navigating narrow, steep, slippery, or rickety stairs.
Something interesting: research shows females are most likely to suffer from bathmophobia and a considerable number of people may also have acrophobia (fear of heights), barophobia (fear of gravity), basiphobia (fear of falling), illyngophobia (fear of dizziness when looking down a set of stairs or a steep incline), or thanatophobia (fear of dying). It is believed bathmophobia stems from a traumatic incident—either the individual experienced a traumatic event or witnessed one.
But here’s the thing:
What if bathmophobia can be caused by experiencing something supernatural or paranormal? What about those traumatic events that defy rational explanation and reasoning?
It seems haunted staircases cross time and cultural boundaries, with stories and legends around the globe; and haunted staircases aren’t limited to homes. In fact, there are stories of scary staircases in churches, castles, mansions, and even the woods. We will explore the staircases in the woods legend in an upcoming episode of The Red Treehouse.
According to one article, ghosts haunt staircases because “they are often a central element of the property so if they are doing a comprehensive job and wandering around the whole place, they are going to spend a good deal of time on the stairs.”
Perhaps the most famous staircase in the world is in Raynham Hall, Norfolk, England—because arguably the most famous ghost photograph was taken there. The Brown Lady depicts a ghostly specter walking down the staircase and is named after the brown dress she is said to wear. It is believed the ghost is that of Dorothy Walpole, the sister of Robert Walpole—the first prime minister of Great Britain. According to legend, she was caught having an affair and was punished by locking her in her bedroom at Raynham Hall. She remained in Raynham Hall until her death in 1726 from smallpox.
Though skeptics have decried the famous photograph as a hoax or attributed it to natural explanations, the photo still stands as among the most famous; and the staircase regarded as one of the most haunted.
To this day, people all over the world have scary experiences with ghosts on staircases. Here are 6 of those stories:
SCARY STAIRCASE STORIES
Our first scary staircase story comes from a deleted Reddit user, likely a throwaway account:
“When I was 21, my mom moved into a new condo. I went to go stay with her for a while. I wasn't working at the time, so I'd be home alone all day. Everything was normal, at first. After about 6 months, things got weird.
To explain the layout of the house a little, you walked in the front door and to your left, there was a garage. To your right, an open area we used as a computer room. Past that was a bathroom on the right and a staircase. Then an open living room/kitchen area. Upstairs were three bedrooms and two bathrooms.
I was alone in the house day. Sitting around on the computer, when I felt like I wasn't alone. I ignored the feeling and went back to what I was doing. A few minutes later, I got up to get a snack. As I walked past the stairs, I glanced up, and on the first landing, I saw a young girl standing there. She was no more than 5 years old and was wearing a white Easter-type dress. I stared at her for about 30 seconds and she just stared back. I slowly walked away and went into the kitchen. When I passed by again, she was gone.
About 1 month after that, I was laying down to go to bed. All the lights were off, with just the moonlight coming through. On my window, I had those plastic vertical blinds. I could hear them hitting each other and figured it was from the fan. I looked at the window, just to see. I saw a 5 year old boy in footed pajamas, walking back and forth, playing with the blinds. I could see him so clearly, I could make out the train print on his pajamas.
After that, nothing really happened for around 6 months. I was walking down the stairs, and was on the second landing. I looked down and stopped in my tracks. On the first landing, I saw someone laying there, holding the back of their head. I could see a little bit of blood in their hair and some pooling by their mouth. As I stared, I noticed the persons face. It was my own. I was so terrified, I turned around and went back upstairs. I didn't come down for three days.
I moved out about a year later. One day, my mom called me and said "I have a new boyfriend. He has something to tell you." She put him on the phone and said "Have you ever seen a little girl in an Easter dress on the stairs?"
Our second scary staircase story comes from Jack:
“In 1984, an old widowed lady lived by herself in a two story house. She was completely immobile and bound to her wheelchair. Ever since the mysterious death of her husband, she required the aid of a caretaker, who would visit her daily to help her with everyday tasks. What made it so difficult was the fact that the two floors of the house were only connected by an old and decrepit staircase. When the old lady needed to move between the two floors, the caretaker would have to carry her frail body like an infant up and down the stairs.
One day, the police received a call from the widow. There had been a murder. Since police units were scarce at the time, and the murderer had already fled the scene, only one detective was sent out to conduct the initial crime scene report. He arrived to see the caretaker’s body splayed out on the floor with her vocal chords ripped out, leaving a pool of blood on the first level of the house. The old lady sat atop the staircase in her wheelchair watching him, still and silent, seemingly in shock. He immediately ruled her out as a suspect due to her inability to move up and down the stairs, and because she was trapped up there at the time the murder took place. It was similar to the death of her husband, who had suffocated in his sleep on the couch downstairs many years ago.
The detective put on his gloves, took photos, swabbed for evidence, and covered the body until the coroner arrived later; all routine business. He scoped the entire first floor for any clues, then asked the old lady if he could look upstairs. She insisted that she was upstairs the whole time, and that no one apart from her had been up there that day. Regardless of this, the detective ascended the staircase, to which she slowly and hesitantly moved aside.
Beyond the staircase, there was a narrow corridor with three closed doors along it. He checked behind each of the doors. The empty bedroom, nothing. The bathroom, nothing. He became anxious as he slowly made his way to the final bedroom, where the old lady slept.
He opened it and everything looked normal: a bed, a wardrobe and a bedside table with a lamp. He checked every wall of the room in horror; it was not what he discovered, but what he didn’t that made him stop dead in his tracks and slowly reach for his gun in its holster. It was a detail so minor that they had completely overlooked it on the last investigation of the husband’s death.
There was no phone upstairs.
He suddenly heard a noise. He withdrew his gun and rushed out of the room, only to find an empty wheelchair atop the stairs.”
Our third story comes from Red Treehouse listener, Chris Cataldi (IG: @chriscataldi):
“The college I went to was founded in 1775, so it’s quite old, although all of the buildings were updated or newer. During my senior year, I was a psychology tutor so several nights a week I would be in a classroom on the second floor of the psychology building in case someone needed tutoring. There was a main flight of stairs that went up the three floors of the building or an elevator. I usually took the stairs because they led almost directly to the classroom I used for tutoring. I was usually there from around 8 or 9 pm to 11 or midnight. No one ever came for tutoring, so I’d usually be alone in the building from the time I arrived to the time I left. If anyone did come in, you could hear all the doors open or close across the whole building. On this particular night, I was completely alone in the building. When my shift ended, I packed up to leave and started heading down the main stairs from the second floor to the first floor.
As I descended the stairs, out of nowhere I hear these running footsteps on the stairs behind me. Whoever it was was in a full on sprint and they quickly gained on me. It started me so much, I took a bad step and slid down the stairs on my butt. When I turned to look, no one was there. To this day, it’s the only paranormal experience I’ve ever had, but I have no other explanation because I know I was completely alone.”
Our fourth story comes from Red Treehouse listener, D.A. Hinckley (Threads: @d.a.hinckley):
“so this happened at my maternal grandparents house 2 days before my grandmother's funeral. their house was haunted to begin with. my grandfather had been diagnosed with moderate Alzheimer's the same day my grandmother had been diagnosed with cancer that had made its way to her brain. my cousins were up from KY (we lived and the house were all in OH). so my brother who is close in age to my male cousin wanted to spend the night at our grandparents house.
So, they stayed up till about midnight because of the our grandmother's viewing the next day. they slept in the living room on the hide-a-bed. both my brother and cousin wake up because they hear my grandfather get up (or so they thought) and waited for him to come downstairs, because of his Alzheimer's make sure he was ok. this was around 3 AM. they heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. once the sound stopped in the middle of the stairwell was a green orb that continued its way through the living room till it turned into the dining room and disappeared. the entire time the footsteps were still heard till it was in the kitchen. my brother went upstairs and my grandfather was still sleeping in his bed. (he was 14 at the time).”
I asked if anyone had ever experienced this since then, and she replied:
“no but my other cousin (my male cousin's younger sister) was visiting my uncle who owned the house once my grandfather was in a nursing home had someone sit on her bed (imprint and all) and could feel them patting her leg. it disappeared because her friend just screamed because it freaked her out too much.”
Our fifth story comes from Red Treehouse listener, Deb Scaife (@deb_createsfunandluvskindness), and is entitled, The Lady of the Stairs:
“When my children were little, we once lived in a very old home. It was a tall two-story white house that was built in 1903 for the Paper Mill Manager's home. Original wood doorways and a big picture window in the front room. The main stairs up to the second floor had a beautiful stained-glass window. The stairs held a bit of a curve at the top with the final three steps.
My children were only 3 and 4 yrs old at the time and my daughter was a nonverbal autistic child, she did not speak anything but a language she had created for herself. Not too long after we moved into the house and had settled in, I could hear my children playing in the front living room. I was busy in the kitchen making them some lunch. All of a sudden, I heard my daughter speaking in whole sentences. This puzzled me. I went to investigate and here she was standing at the bottom of the stairs pointing upward, having what sounded like a conversation. Now remember my girl didn't speak let alone sentences, this shocked me a lot.
So, being the curious mother, I asked her what she was pointing at. Without missing a beat, she looked at me and said, "I am talking to the old lady on the stairs rocking in her chair mommy." This left me dumbfounded and a bit shocked. After a few minutes my daughter turned and walked back to play with her younger brother. I asked my son if he had heard voices on the stairs, he had said no. My daughter didn't speak anymore for the rest of the day. I looked at the top of the stairs and never saw anyone at all.
Now this went on over the course of a few months. My daughter would carry on full conversations with the old lady in a rocking chair at the top of the stairs. Then afterwards not speak at all, just babble incoherently at times. My son said that he never saw anyone or heard anyone. He would watch his sister get up from playing and walk to the stairs as if she was being called to. Many times, she would sit cross-legged at the bottom of the stairs or on a step near the top. Yet I always felt safe and comfortable in that home. It just felt warm and cozy like your grandmother’s home.
When we were packing to move after being in there for two years, I remember my daughter crying on the stairs. I asked her what was wrong, she looked right upstairs and said that the old lady was crying to see us leave. I still never heard or saw anything at all. I gathered my daughter in my arms and called up to the top of the stairs, "don't worry I'll take good care of her. She'll be okay." My daughter stopped crying and waved like she was saying goodbye. I asked her if she was okay and she responded, "she stopped crying momma, you made her smile." then crawled out of my arms and went to play. We moved away from that house and within a few short weeks it was destroyed by a house fire after some squatters made it into a drug house.
My daughter is 25 years old now and has been verbal for many years. She barely remembers much of her childhood yet remembers the old lady at the top of the stairs that told her stories and made her smile.
It is a memory that has become a family favorite. How a young nonverbal autistic child would speak to the Lady of the Stairs.”
Our sixth and final story comes from Red Treehouse listener, Claire (@claires_nonsense), and is entitled, The Old Man on the Stairs:
“I guess this is a story of two halves. I’m not sure if they’re related; it may just be pure coincidence that they’re related to sleep, but nevertheless, I feel my earlier experience adds context to my later experiences, so I’m including it here. My family is the history of sleep disorders. It only seems to affect the female line - my dad and my brother sleep soundly, but my mum, my sister, my daughters and I all suffer from various degrees of night terrors, sleep walking and sleep paralysis episodes.
During my childhood there were plenty of times I had to stop my mum from jumping out of her bedroom window when my dad worked the night shift as a fire fighter; she was fast asleep, convinced ‘they’ were after her. This is a common thread in my own night terrors. I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but I often wake up in strange places in my house, trying to hide from ‘them’. My husband puts a pillow between us when we sleep because if I’m having a bad night, I’ll start lashing out in my sleep, fighting ‘them’ off. My daughters, both teenagers, also talk about similar feelings. But this isn’t about ‘them.' This is about something else.
The first bout of sleep paralysis I remember having was when I was around 9 years old. I felt something jump up onto my bed. I was excited, because I thought it was my cat. My dad doesn’t like cats, and so forbade my cat from coming upstairs despite me wanting him to sleep on my feet. That he might have snuck upstairs to come and see me was like a dream come true. I tried to sit up so I could pet him, but that’s when I realized I couldn’t move. But I could still feel my cat on my bed, placing each paw carefully on my body as he walked up it slowly. First my calves. Then the backs of my thighs. His tread was heavy and dug into me. I tried to move again, but I still couldn’t force myself to turn over. The ‘cat’ continued prowling. Its paws dug into my lower back. Then crawled up my spine until they reached my shoulder blades.
By now, the weight was crushing me, and I was feeling panicky. I had no idea what was going on, why I couldn’t move, why I couldn’t turn over. Then, and I will never forget this, right next to my ear, I heard a deep throated cackle. The weight lifted, and I could move again. I sat up, terrified. There was no sign of the cat. In fact, he was outside, so it couldn’t have been him. Fast forward over 20 years. I’m now in my early 30s. I still have episodes of sleep paralysis, but I know what they are now. They’re still frightening, but I can rationalize them away. But the paws, or whatever it was… they never came back.
Most of my later sleep paralysis episodes are more of the classic ‘old hag’ style. We own our own house. It was built around 1890/1900, but that’s not unusual for this area. My husband and I have been married 10 years, and I’ve just had our first child, a girl. Her birth was difficult and I’m breastfeeding her, so night feeds are my responsibility. I’m tired. Really tired.
I’m also convinced I’m being watched.
It’s 2am. My husband is sound asleep. It’s 2009, so I’m reading the news on a Blackberry phone, trying to keep myself awake because I’ve had the fear of God put into me about falling asleep when you’re nursing, about how you can suffocate your child if you’re not careful. No other lights are on. My skin prickles. I look up, towards the bedroom door. can’t see anyone, but I know he’s there, watching me. The old man. He watches me from the landing. Our house is small, and our upstairs comprises of only 2 bedrooms with a small square landing at the top of the staircase. The bathroom is downstairs. He is standing on this square at the top of the staircase. I can feel it. He isn’t hostile… not malevolent… but still, it freaks me out. I mention it to my husband a few weeks later, but he says it’s just sleep deprivation. I think he’s probably right.
The old man still watches me, though, whether he’s real or not.
Fast forward again. My daughter now has a younger sister. They share the second bedroom. Much later on, my husband and I I will surrender the upstairs to them completely so they have their own rooms, with us converting our small dining room into our bedroom… but that’s by the by. My youngest daughter is a terrible sleeper. She didn’t sleep more that 3 hours a time until she was 19 months old, and didn’t sleep through the night until she was 4. Needless to say, we are all tired.
At this point, my eldest is about 11, my youngest, 9. I go to bed one night, and just as I’m in that liminal space between here and there, I feel my cat jump up onto the end of my bed. Now, my dad’s not here and so my cat’s allowed to sleep where he likes, and he likes to sleep with his mama, so I’m not worried when I feel paws on the back of my calves. He’s a big boy, so I expect the tread to be heavy as I feel him crawl up onto my back and settle down across my shoulder blades.
But when I try to move…You know where this is going. I can’t move. But that’s not the only thing that’s wrong. I also can’t hear any purring. My cat is a mama’s boy. He is spoiled rotten and he purrs like a rusty saw. While he will settle on my back, he usually heads for my pillow so I can pet him. He doesn’t bear his entire weight down so I can’t breathe. Now, I’m beginning to realize that this what it seems. I have do snap out of this. Try to wake up. My body has locked down, but my brain is still awake-Right next to my ear, a low, throaty cackle. I throw myself up, panting. No cat. I look at my phone. Only been in bed 10 minutes.
What the fuck.
I hate sleep paralysis. But how are all of these things tied together? So far, yes, they’re a bit strange, but they don’t seem connected. I thought that too, until I overheard my daughters in their bedroom the next morning. They were discussing their dreams, as little girls often do. Except… these ones made me pause. My eldest was recounting her dream. She was at the bottom of the stairs. She wanted to go upstairs, back to bed, but she couldn’t, because there was an old man at the top who wouldn’t let her. He kept trying to grab her each time she tried to get past him. He was ‘doing a creepy laugh’. Then my youngest told her about her dream. How she was in their bedroom, and she wanted to go downstairs, but there was a creepy old man who wanted to chase her down. He, too, was laughing. I had never told anyone apart from my husband about the old man. No one. And when I told him, my daughter was a literal babe in arms. Months old. And there are my tween daughters, oblivious to my eavesdropping, talking about a cackling old man on our staircase.”
CONCLUSION
These stories have been among my favorite to share—and I promise, I don’t plan on changing my “before bed” routine anytime soon! In fact, the more I think about it, I realize my dogs often pick up on something near the stairs in our home. There are times when it’s just me and them—we’ll all be downstairs in the living room—when they hear some strange noise and immediately pick their heads up or walk over to the staircase. They sense something even though I can’t see it for myself.
A huge thank you to each person for each person who shared their scary staircase story—I’ll be thinking about these long after this recording is done! Do you have have a scary staircase story? If so, email redtreehousepod@gmail.com and I’ll feature it in an upcoming Listener Stories episode.
As we close this episode of The Red Treehouse, we’re left with these lingering questions: What happens when a normal staircase becomes the place of your worst nightmares? Are ghosts and spirits especially drawn to staircases, and if so, why?
I’ve shared the stories. Now you decide for yourself.
I’m your host, Will. Thanks for joining me in The Red Treehouse.
SOURCES
1. First story from deleted Reddit user:
2. Second story from Jack
3. Third story from Chris Cataldi
Find Chris on Threads and Instagram: @chriscataldi
4. Fourth story from D.A. Hinckley
Find D.A. on Threads: @d.a.hinckley
5. Fifth story from Deb Scaife and her daughter, T-Bird
Find Deb on Threads: @deb_createsfunandluvskindness
6. Sixth story from Claire
Find Claire on Threads: @claires_nonsense
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