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….
