Once upon a time, a boy lived in a big old house in the English countryside. The house had stood in the village for longer than most houses that had grown up around it, and was the biggest and oldest house for miles around.

The boy loved living there with his mum, dad and younger sister, and had an idyllic childhood in the big, comfy house.

There were two sets of stairs leading up to the upper floors – the grand staircase that greeted everyone when they entered through the main door, and what they called the ‘back stairs’, which were originally the servants stairs, to enable the help to travel freely throughout the home.

When the boy grew older, and school friends used to come over to hang out, they were often afraid to go up and down the back stairs, saying that they were spooky. But the boy had lived in his beautiful house his whole life and didn’t think it spooky at all.

But he told his friends it was haunted to cause mischief. He said a servant had fallen down the back stairs and broke his neck. So now his ghost was seen on the anniversary of this night – standing on the top tread, looking down.

His little sister joined in with the mischief and told all her friends the story about the poor servant who stood at the top of the stairs. But she added a bit more to the story and told her friends that the servant would push you down the stairs if you happened to see him.

As the years went by, the story grew bigger every time the brother and sister told it. They gave the servant a name – Fred – and they gave him a family. They called the stairs ‘Fred’s stairs’.

Fred wandered up and down the stairs now, and every night of the year – not just on the anniversary of his death. And he was mean, with glowing red eyes. You wouldn’t get a chance to get pushed or kicked because you would run away as soon as you saw those evil eyes.

The sister started to believe the tales as well, even though she knew it wasn’t true. But the endless stories and the tricks she and her friends would play on sleepovers got into her head, making her afraid of Fred’s stairs. She stopped using them and avoided going near them whenever she could.

The boy stopped going near the stairs too, afraid of bumping into Fred on a dark winters night. He also knew his house wasn’t haunted. But after years of ghost stories and spooky games when their parents had gone to bed, he had started believing it too.

The stories spread through the village and children would play knock and run on the haunted house front door, as a dare from their friends.

Mum and Dad were driven bonkers by all the silly attention their beautiful old house was getting, and finding that some of their friends were now too afraid to visit after dark.

So their wonderful old house, the oldest and proudest house in the village, became the spooky house that people were afraid of.

All because of a young boys mischief.

This is how a haunted house is born.