In the mid 90's I did property protection (securing foreclosed homes) all over New England. I was on the road for 3 days straight, sometimes in rural Maine. After a 14 hour day I would stay home where I was to save money on a hotel.
This one house in Hamden, Maine, remember these houses don't have any utilities, they've all been disconnected. This one house was a former turn of the century gigantic house, extremely neat and freshly painted. I would look for higher rooms, usually on the second floor, because the daytime heat would stay in these rooms longer. Even in summer, the nights can be cold.
Anyway, that night I fell asleep around 9pm and was suddenly woken up by the sound of someone banging on the front door downstairs. I wasn't in a good mood, I was very tired after working all day, so I hurried downstairs expecting to see the sheriff and I would show the order and explain the reason for my presence and he would leave, but there was no one there!
I went back up the stairs. This time I thought I was more tired than I thought, and I wasn't cheerful when my imagination woke me up from a deep sleep, so I thought. A few minutes later, as I was falling asleep, there was another banging, I sat up and there was definitely someone banging on the front door. I shouted “hello” and the banging stopped, then I headed back to the front door and…yes, no one?
I walked around the country estate, no one there. Now I'm wide awake and miserable, but I'm still not thinking about anything supernatural, so I go to bed. I had been sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag, but now I had one eye open and both ears open. When it started crashing again, I listened… and then I shouted, What do you want? The banging stopped at the front door downstairs and then started at the wall in my room without missing a beat. Needless to say, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I grabbed my stuff and threw it out of there.
ps. I never stayed in that house again.
