I've done a lot of different jobs in my time, usually things that fall into my lap and happen to be convenient for the way I'm choosing to live my life at that particular moment. One such job a few years back that I stumbled into was as a special needs worker. Now when I say special, I actually mean special. Yes for a few years I worked as a bonafide 'tard wrangler. The stories I amassed from that would fill their own thread but let's zero in on spoopery.
The dead woman son was a special lad. Now I use special heavily implying it's dual meaning, the man was retarded but also someone who defied literally every doctor prognosis since before his birth. <He wouldn't survive the first 1-2 years >Is 51 now <He'll never walk >Is walking today, stopped needing a helmet some 30+ years ago <He'll never speak >Speaks with a heavy impediment, but not a crippling one <Would never write >He can peck out pretty much any words set in front of him and navigates the web pretty well searching for himself. My tardshielding aside (I'm downplaying it all, serious time/life movie tearjerker irl shit fambo), I got very close to him and his mother close to the end of her life and had to handle a lot of affairs and things far beyond anything proposed when I started working with them.
When they lived in the aforementioned ghost house, the now dead woman noticed odd fits and violent rages her son would fall into. The stereotype of "tard-strength" is a real thing, he would tear doors off hinges, smash cabinets and punch holes in the wall all while allegedly speaking in a voice very different than the one the dead woman was used to. Being a frail old dying lady, this scared her terrifically.