The Haunted House

Growing up in East Hampton there was a group of "Summer People" that would hire  you to watch their homes during the off season. This usually entailed a visit to the property and a quick tour inside the home to make sure there were no problems. A list was provided for plumbers,electricians and any other contact individuals in the event something required immediate attention.
My mother did house cleaning for these people and my Dad would do the house sitting. There was one home in particular. It sat across from the harbor on a small hill. It was a small salt box style home and quite old. Vines and Ivy covered part of the exterior and the house had a kind of gloomy feeling to it. The old wooden floors would creak and groan. The doors would mysteriously open. A big old fireplace in the living room was very utilitarian in appearance.
An author,I can't recall his name,lived here during the summer months. I never met this gentleman but imagined him sitting in this house writing gloomy stories. He probably snacked on sardines and crackers and drank wine. There was a dark side to him I'm sure of it.
Now this particular house was known to me as, The Haunted House. One day in the late afternoon a storm was brewing. My father said he was going to the haunted house to check on things. I asked if I could come along and he said yes. On the way there my father told me a little more of the history of this place. The author that lived there claimed to have recorded voices in the night but in the morning the tape was mysteriously blank.
We arrived there just as the wind began to blow a slight gale. A quick check in the yard showed nothing to be concerned about as everything was secured. Time to go inside and check there. Opening the back door we entered the dark kitchen. The floor was creaking with every step and there was a faint smell of something foul in the air. I followed along behind my dad as he went through the living room checking the rattling windows to be sure they were closed. In the far corner of the room was a narrow old door,thin planked boards that showed the cracks between them. This opened to the bottom of a very narrow and very steep staircase. With each step a feeling of dread crept over me. All at once my father stopped. Quiet he said and then just stood still and listened. OOOOOhhhh ! I can still hear that sound. We continued up the stairs and into the first bedroom. Snapping on the light we both looked anxiously about. Nothing here. we finished the inspection of the upstairs and saw or heard nothing more.
We left that house and went back home. My father admitted to hearing that strange sound. I wonder if it was a spirit ? Is this house still standing ? I wonder.