201

It was a little, redbrick apartment building just a few blocks west of campus. The apartments were small and run down from years of abuse, but to us it was an exciting new phase in our lives. We were in grad school and couldn't be more enthusiastic about our new home in apartment 201. That feeling of enthusiasm began to fade after only a few nights; a few restless nights.

 Every apartment in the building faced north; there were two levels, and eight apartments total. We had just moved into apartment number 201, which sat directly above apartment number 101. Parking was in the back and there was a small lawn in the front. Only one set of stairs, which sat directly in the center of the building, allowed access to the second floor. All of the first floor apartments were actually below ground level, or subterranean, so the stairs to the first floor descended to a lower level.

Strange things began to happen as soon as we had moved into our new home. Feelings of a presence, that was previously unknown to me or my wife, began to enter our home. We were both reluctant to talk about it at first, and I was unaware that she was experience the same things that I was. I assured myself that it was just an extension of my sleep walking, that I had suffered with nearly my whole life.

Besides, it was a difficult thing to bring up. I mean, how do you broach the subject of actually living in a house haunted by the spirits of lost souls? “Say, sweetheart, you didn’t happen to feel a presence standing over our bed last night, sometime between 2:00 and 3:00, did you?”  Maybe this would be a more tactful method, “Say, honey, is it just me or did it sound like there were a couple of ghouls in the kitchen last night?” I was convinced it was just in my mind, and I didn’t want to cause my wife any undo paranoia. Who would?

I suppose that our discussion about the state of our home was inevitable. If our apartment was truly harboring an invisible presence an encounter with that presence, shared by both of us, was bound to happen. On an unusually cold August night it did.

The season did not call for cold weather, in fact, it had been brutally hot for the past two months, but that night a cold front swept into town. We were more than a little unprepared for such a quick drop in the temperature that evening. The apartment’s only source of heat was an old, gas furnace that had yet to be turned on for the year. We had no other means of heating the entire apartment, so we added a few extra blankets to our bed and hoped that our body heat could keep us warm through the night.

The air in the bedroom became unbearably cold. I pulled the covers over my head as I slipped into a restless sleep. I’m not sure what woke me, but I know what kept me awake; a sound. The apartment was old, and the floors creaked from the slightest movement. I had grown accustomed to hearing the floors and the walls moan and creak throughout the night, but this was different. This sound was the creak of footsteps moving across the hallway floor.

Had I been sleepwalking I would have immediately sat up to see who was in my room. I may have even thrown my pillow, as I’d been known to do. This was a different experience all together. I knew I was awake, and I knew I had heard something that was real. I also knew that I didn’t want to sit up and see who was in my apartment. Immediately I reverted back to an adolescent state where I hoped to stay safe as long as I didn't expose any of my extremities out of the blankets. Something more than fear overwhelmed me. It was as though something in my room was forcing a dread upon me.

I decided that the only way to make this feeling stop was to sit up and see that nothing was actually there. At the very moment I concluded to take this course of action, I felt an immense pressure on my chest and arms. Something was holding me in place, prohibiting me from sitting up. I pushed back as best I could, but my strength was gone. The only plausible action that came to mind was to cry out. I took a deep breath and shouted my wife’s name as loud as I was enabled to.

The moment passed, and it seemed as though whatever force had been present was gone. I sat up quickly out of bed and through back the covers; my wife did the same. I quickly ran and turned on the lights to ensure nothing was there. My body was dripping with sweat from my forehead to the base of my feet. I sat back down on the bed, trying to collect my breath. I still wasn't sure what to say to my wife, because I didn't know if she had experienced it as well. I turned and looked into her worried eyes. “I felt it too”, was all she said.

The days that followed that event were marred with fear and uncertainty. Although we had not invited it we were playing host to a presence that was both unseen and unwelcome. Our situation had now become something that was well discussed between the two of us while at the same time not shared with any outside parties. We knew we were being haunted, but we were unsure of the social ramifications of making such a bold claim. One person we felt we could trust to keep our situation close to the chest was the priest who performed our exorcism.

We were assured that no further encounters would take place, which we were pleased to hear, especially considering the low rent we were paying on the apartment. Initially our problem seemed to have been rectified. No more creaking floors, no more ominous feelings of impending doom; at least for a short while.

One evening, before I had returned home from school, my wife was home alone. She had developed the habit of leaving every light in the house on, especially when she was alone; and of leaving the television on to provide background noise in the apartment. While working in the kitchen she heard the sound of the television stop. For a few minutes she didn't think anything of it, but when the sound didn't resume she went to investigate. She found the television muted, not turned off, but muted. After turning the volume back on, she returned to the kitchen to find every cabinet and drawer hanging wide open.  It was apparent then that the exorcism had not been entirely effective.

Logically, the next step was to try the professional expertise of someone who communicated with those of another realm as a means of providing for themselves financially. Our medium’s name was Colon. The availability of psychics and mediums was much more abundant than I would have previously imagined. Fortunately for us the laws of supply and demand dictated that Colon was surprisingly affordable. Nevertheless, Colon appeared to me to be a true professional; he even had his own website.

Colon entered our apartment cautiously. He had informed us that he would enter slowly so as not to offend the spirits that had claimed our apartment as their own. I was a little surprised as to how slowly he entered and subsequently walked through the apartment. He stopped in the entrance to the hallway. He closed his eyes and mumbled to himself for a long while. Finally, Colon turned to us with an expression of concern and said, “The spirits in this home are receiving mixed messages”.

To be continued….