After living in a haunted house and seeing my dead father, I know ghosts exist

Prior to West Grove, it was easier to ignore these rare incidents. But living there has made me confront what I've suspected all along - there is a spirit world and we are all connected in some way to it. Aaron refused to sleep in her room again for six weeks following her ghostly encounter. We could no longer deny what was going on. The house had been built in 1868 by two brothers who lived there with their housemaid. I was too worried to do any further research in case it made things more real.

We did once allow paranormal investigators to come and do tests - they picked up a lot of activity including evidence of a soldier in the basement.

We could go for weeks, sometimes months, without any paranormal activity before a sudden burst. I started taking pictures to see if I could capture something on camera. I now have hundreds of shots of strange glowing orbs in the house and garden. My husband, sister-in-law, and others have all witnessed them.

My son-in-law Mark and I once saw a tall brown figure of a man with smoke coming off his shoulders walk out of the log cabin at the bottom of the garden towards the house and then vanish. A sceptic, Mark couldn't explain what he had seen that night.

Another time, two friends and I heard what can only be described as a 'witchy cackle'. It terrified us. A picture of four young boxers Martin had coached when he was a boxing coach would be thrown into the middle of the hallway with a clatter, at least once a month - the one constant "activity" throughout our 17 years there. Years later, one of the lads was involved in an accident and ended up in a coma. He survived, but I do wonder if a spirit was trying to warn us.

Fast asleep next to my husband Martin, we were both startled awake by piercing screams in the darkness. The bedroom door flew open and our 10-year-old daughter Aaron and her friend, there for a sleepover, came racing into our room.

Martin and I held out our arms to comfort them but for several seconds, the girls were too petrified to speak. Eventually, they described a grey mist appearing in their bedroom and within it, the figure of a young woman.

Both terrified girls had dived under the covers, unsure if they had imagined it or not. Plucking up the courage to take a second look, they peered out and to their horror, the lady was still there, staring out of the window. They ran shrieking into our room.

"There, there," I soothed. "I'm sure it was just a trick of the light." But both girls were adamant they had seen someone. Martin turned on the lights and checked the bedroom, reassuring the girls that the room was empty. After several minutes, we coaxed them back to bed. They even managed to sleep.

Many parents will have experienced similar 'nightmares' with children, their over-imaginative brains conjuring up images in the dead of night. But as Martin and I returned to bed, we exchanged knowing glances. We knew the girls were telling the truth.

Since moving into West Grove, an imposing four-bedroom Victorian house in a suburb of Leeds, we had each experienced several ghostly events in a few short months. We'd done our best to dismiss them as simply "weird weather phenomena" or kids "messing about".

Martin was especially sceptical. But deep down, not me. Before moving there, I had never experienced anything ghostly - apart from strange premonitions - but I had always been fascinated by spirits and mediums.

But moving to West Grove opened my eyes to the spirit world. I was beginning to believe our house was a hotbed of paranormal activity. I was right. Over the next 17 years, we would be visited by spirits numerous times. Relatives witnessed ghostly apparitions while I heard strange disembodied voices. Friends would refuse to stay over after being spooked and I'd even discover the father I had loved and lost had made a return.

Ironically, we hadn't even intended to live at West Grove. It was 2005 and Martin and I had been looking for premises where we could open a nursery with a business partner, who later dropped out. Set in a third of an acre with a walled garden, a large kitchen and dining room, living room and huge hallway, it seemed ideal.

It had barely been touched by the previous owner - Dr Stead - who had lived there for fifty years and had used it as his surgery. One of the downstairs rooms featured a stone slab that could have passed for an operating table. "That's probably where they laid out the dead bodies!" we joked.

During my first visit, I felt a "warmth" as if the walls had wrapped their arms around me. There was no sinister presence. Meanwhile, our offer of £380,000 was accepted. My adult daughters, Lydia and Dionne, were living elsewhere but Martin, Aaron and I were all excited to move in.

Perhaps I should have paid more attention. On the day we'd looked around, I'd taken pictures of West Grove. After developing them, Martin and I spotted a grey-ish misty figure in one of the bedroom windows. Was that our first "sign"?

The unsettling sounds began as soon as we moved in. We'd hear the front door rattling and footsteps on the floor but attributed them to the creakiness of an old house. One morning, we heard the distinct "Bang! Bang! Bang!" of a brass knocker on the front door. Jumping, we raced to the window to see who was there...no one. Days later I realised: We didn't have a front door knocker.

As a teenager, I was aware my mother, Eileen, had some sort of 'gift' but she never talked about it. I started to wish I'd asked more when she was alive. My own premonitions began when I was 17. My first was of a plane crash in the ocean. It was so vivid and I recall seeing a child's doll floating in the wreckage. Weeks later I read about a plane crashing into the ocean killing all adults and children on board. Of course, any sceptic would - understandably - put that down to coincidence. But I know what I saw.

My premonitions became less vague over time. I once dreamed a chemical plant had leaked and I "walked through" a school hall where people had been evacuated for the night, now huddled in blankets.

When I woke, I was stunned to see news reports of a chemical leak at a plant. What's more, the reporter was standing in the same school hall I'd been in earlier. A cynic would suggest I'd heard the news before I went to bed, but I had been asleep for hours beforehand.

Realising I sounded completely mad, I kept my visions to myself. I wasn't particularly close to my mother at this point and my father had died in hospital of a heart attack on my 18th birthday. One time, I told a colleague I had "dreamt" about a particular airline making an emergency landing at Manchester airport whereupon it tipped onto one side.

The next evening my friend called. "Turn on the news!" she urged. I did. There, on the screen, was a plane - the same airline - at Manchester airport, its wing tipped to one side after an emergency landing. My stomach flipped.

At one company where I worked, specialists were sent in to rid the whole office of static electricity because I set off photocopiers when walking past them. Another time, when I was working in a gym that Martin and I ran, a pen floated up off the desk, hovered and hit me in the face. My daughter Lydia and one of the gym staff - Jamie, a non-believer - both witnessed it. Neither couldn't explain what had happened.

Could it be that I'm a beacon for this kind of thing? I don't know. But my family and friends refuse to hear the details of dreams I have about them!

I mostly liked living at West Grove as I didn't sense any harm. But not knowing what would happen next wore me down. I started hearing voices in mid-conversation, catching glimpses of orbs in the corner of my eye and was even gripped by the feeling of someone lying on the bed next to me (even in Martin's absence). I considered seeing a doctor. Then I bumped into a woman I knew from Aaron's school. We weren't friends - but we spoke for a minute before she said: 'Are you worried about someone laying on your bed with you?'

"I froze. She explained she was a medium and could see that a man was standing with me. "It's your dad," she said. "He trying to comfort you when you're scared."

I was almost moved to tears. After that, if I ever felt scared of the spirits then I'd ask my dad to protect me. One time I asked him for a sign he was there and found a large white feather at the bottom of the bed.

On one birthday, I decided to ask my parents - by now both deceased - to show themselves to me. Later that night as I went up to bed, two grey "pillars" of mist - one about six inches shorter than the other, just like mum and dad - were standing there. I'm convinced it was them and felt so happy.

As I lay in bed that night I heard my father's voice say, "Anne" and I sat upright. "Yeah, I love you Dad, thank you," I said. It was beautiful. But neither of them has contacted me again.

As the years went by, we grew used to our ghostly guests. Sadly, my marriage to Martin eventually broke down. By now Aaron had moved out with her partner, Rob, and I was left in the house alone with Brad, the son I'd fostered years before. He too was a cynic until he saw the orbs himself.

I often wonder if any of three of my daughters will inherit the "gift"? Aaron shuts down any conversation about ghostly visits. Dionne and Lydia have also had their scary moments in the house and perhaps don't want to encourage it.

Today, at the age of 66, I still work for the distributing company I own. Although I still own West Grove, I moved out last August. The land is being developed and the house is being demolished. It has nothing to do with the hauntings. I wanted to live closer to Aaron now she is a mum herself.

Moving out was hugely emotional. I didn't want to leave the spirits, especially as some had been loved ones.

But if I have a "gift" then wherever I end up, it may not be the end.

My father, who was resuscitated following a previous heart attack, said to me after it: "Don't ever be afraid of dying, it's a wonderful experience."

So, I am no longer afraid of ghosts in this life or the next.

Anne Bateson was talking to Jill Foster. A True Story by Anne Bateston (£7.99, Amazon) is out now. Find Anne on TikTok @annelbateson22