Years ago, I went to New Hampshire with my mom to visit my Aunt. I fucking hated going to New Hampshire; not only was it unspeakably fucking boring, but it always involved staying at my insane Aunt's place. For reasons known only to her, she bought a little place at the ass-end of Marlowe, a place so god-forsaken that it's like 80% farmsteads and the local general store is like 8 miles down the line. IIRC it was the poorest down in the USA for a goddamned long time, and according to the locals, over the years this place has been home to virtually every form of human tragedy, and the town in general always gave me this creepy vibe in general. Fucking hated the place.
The house itself was unsettling, like it wasn't built all at once. It had unvarnished wood floors for most of the place but the walls and such were properly furnished. The only television set in the house was a black-and-white set in the living room that took like 20 minutes to fire up. My Aunt did not have a VCR, cable, or internet. She was fucking weird.
Anyway. Because I didn't want to stay with mom or with my Aunt, I wound up staying in the loft. The loft was the newest part of the house and arguably the nicest. The only downside was having to climb down this obnoxious fucking ladder every time I wanted to go downstairs. During one fateful night, however, something... Strange happened. Something that's haunted me since.
It was late - still dark out, and I had to use the bathroom, so I climbed downstairs, did my business, and then started to exit the bathroom when I got this really cold, unpleasant feeling, like something was impossibly wrong. It was quiet, save for the wind and then I heard it - the loud clomping of boots on the wooden floor downstairs. Something really heavy, and really big was down there. I checked over the banister, and in the darkness I couldn't really make out what it was - just a big shape, like a man in a big heavy coat, slowly walking towards the stairs. That's when I noticed the shape at the bottom of the stairs, taking its first step onto the landing - towards my position.
I ran to my room, slamming the door behind me, my heart beating loudly in my ears. I didn't know what the fuck this thing was, but I felt this goddamned thing intended to do me harm somehow. I grabbed one of my Cousin's 16-gauge shotguns, loaded it, and aimed it at the door from behind the sofa. I didn't care if it was my mom, my aunt, or something from the depths of hell, if it came anywhere near me, it was eating a faceful of birdshot if it came through that door.
The clomping continued until it got near the top of the steps, and then stopped. I stayed there, gun trained on the door, and the door never opened. The clomping didn't continue. I waited there for what must have been an hour or so, my legs cramping up from being hunched down so long, until the first traces of sunlight were visible through the window behind me. Nervously, I opened the door, looking around, with no clue as to where the thing went or what is was, and no evidence it had ever been there in the first place.
I unloaded the shotgun, put it back in the cabinet I got it from, and basically hid upstairs in the loft until we left about a day later.
When we were returning home, I told mom about the experience, and she immediately blanched: She explained she had had a similar encounter with a similar entity, years beforehand. One night, decades previous, she'd been staying in the master bedroom with her dog, and an entity - one very similar to the one I described - a big, humanoid shape with clomping boots - entered one night. While mom bunkered down and tried to not be noticed, her dog jumped up on the bed and barked at the intruder until it left. After it backed away, mom shut the door, and the pupper wound up nuzzling into her arms and shaking until morning.
I don't know if what either of us encountered was supernatural or simply my Aunt being an asshole (from my own experience, both are possible), but I do know this: I will never willingly go to Marlowe again. Fuck that place. Silent Hill, New Hampshire can fuck right off.