Paranormal Activity

            Today I'm going to write about something very important to me. It's something that I'm wary sharing with most people due to the risk of being ridiculed with a solid head shaking, but it's also something I feel needs to be told. Today I'm going to tell the story of my first apartment. 

            I was eighteen when I began searching for my very first apartment for my own. My mom had pointed out an advertisement for a single bedroom place in town with a damn good price tag on her. We made the arrangements to have a look that same week. It was odd how it had just fallen right into my lap. The moment I set foot in the little flat, I was completely in love.

            It was an enormous old house that had later been turned into nine apartments. Only a short walk from both the main shops of downtown and the vast and notorious park, it sat quietly nestled in trees right on the river. The location was more than any boastful owner could ask for, let alone a first-timer like myself. The apartment itself was no less spectacular. It was the absolute penthouse of the three story building, what had been the attic many, many years ago. Being chopped up from a larger house, the layout was one of a kind. Nooks and crannies littered each corner and each room had an individual shape, giving the home deep character. The most breathtaking feature was the balcony, peering over the calmly flowing river two stories below.

            I needed no time to decide; it would be mine by the end of the month. With no current tenants to impede my arrival I could move in yesterday, and I did just that. Although the uneven, fumbling three flights of stair up to my new home were draining, it just made the experience that much more unique. I took great pride looking at the golden, shining number nine posted on the door. I was swift to call my little place 'Cloud Nine'. 

           A nervous excitement grew in me as the day drew on and I readied myself for my first solo night. I clicked off each light and buried myself in my blankets with a satisfied grin spread over my face. No sooner had I shifted my body to the comfy sleep position did the grin begin to fade. I couldn't tell why, but I suddenly became very nervous. A hot ball of nerves swelled in my gut driving me more and more on edge until I leaped four feet in the air each time the old house creaked. I decided putting on some music on maybe a night light wouldn't be too bad of an idea for my first night. I plugged in the light beside my bed and turned the radio on to a low mumble. I was just scared because it was my first night alone in a new place. It would all be fine tomorrow.

          Each day and long night I spent in that apartment, it became more and more evident that I wasn't just afraid because I was alone. I was afraid because I WASN'T alone. I had always believed in ghosts and the afterlife and all that jazz, but honestly had never had an experiences until then. To be entirely honest, I was quite excited, cautious, but excited nonetheless. And with each day that passed the presence became softer and softer. I wasn't afraid at night anymore, but more that I felt comforted that I wasn't alone. It got to the point where I felt like I was coming home to someone who had been waiting for me all day long. I slowly began to recognize the presence as a 'he'. I couldn't tell you why, I suppose it's the same way pregnant women refer to their unborn child by sex. 

          I had kept the whole story of him a secret, even from my parents. I didn't think anyone would really understand how I felt. I had no evidence that there was a spirit in my apartment, only my feelings to support me. I would have rather kept him to myself than be laughed at, told to get more sleep, or to stop watching so much television.

         He and I really came to appreciate each other. Although I never saw or heard him once, I could feel him enter the room and that was enough. He especially like it when I played my guitar or piano in the back room, where he seemed to spend most of his time. The whole room would buzz when I composed. I even wrote a song for him, knowing that he listened. I never spoke to him aloud, not once. It never felt like I had to. I would've almost felt silly actually speaking to him.

          I brought home two little white puffball kittens from my aunt's cat's new litter; the third and fourth tenants of the little flat. Much to my dismay, this was not a happy union. I was certainly not the only one who could feel his presence but I sure was the only one that appreciated it. Jack, the smaller of my two cats would tear out of the room whenever he would come in. Bootstrap, the big guy, would stalk around quietly growling, ears pinned, before exiting the room as well. It was an unsettling turn of events, but I ignored my cats. They would get used to him.

         I had noticed over time that he also never came out to visit when I had company over. Several times I had invited members of my family to come for dinner and had waited for him to make an entrance, but he never showed up. I had pegged him as a shy little ghost.

         It wasn't until many months into my residence there that I decided to tell my family about him. I cautiously breached the subject and much to my surprise, they all responded with a resonating joy. One exception stood out; my sister. She continually told me that she didn't understand how I could live in an apartment I knew was haunted. I explained to her time and time again that he was fine and I didn't feel frightened at all. She was not won over.  

        I was a very antisocial individual, working all day and spending all night with my cats and him. But everyone goes through changes in their lives, and mine was in a more outward direction. I began spending my evenings out with my sister and our friend and even spending nights at my sister's place for slumber parties. I spent very little time at home anymore, and it reflected in his attitude. I had noticed that he wasn't coming out to say hello to me as often and sometimes not showing up for days at a time.

        One night, while out with the girls, we decided to make a pit stop at my apartment before continuing on our cruise  Myself, my sister and our friend all climbed the rickety stairs up to my apartment and took our turn using the washroom, starting with me. I stood at the sink washing my hands when I felt him enter. I could feel him right at my back. I looked up in the mirror, expecting to see him I saw nothing, but I knew he was there. It was very strange for him to come out when there were other people around. His presence was different, too. It was almost a taunting feel. I opened the bathroom door to find my sister and friend wide eyed with their backs to the bedroom wall. They both protested that they didn't need to use the washroom anymore and we should just carry on. 

           I said nothing about his appearance until we were in the car and several blocks away. Immediately both my sister and friend leaped on the subject. They too had felt him, and what they felt was nothing like how I had described in the previous months. Their story fit more to my first night in the apartment; uncomfortable, jumpy, hot fear. They explained that they had felt and uncomfortable itching sensation on their spine at the base of their necks, feeling the need to push their backs against the wall. The entire situation confused and disturbed me. Why would he do that?

         The passing days were no more simpler. He continued to disappear and upset the cats until he went away entirely. He had been gone for nearly two weeks when I had a horrible dream. In the dream he got so angry I had to leave my apartment all together. In my dream he was a dark, twisted figure sitting on the balcony looming over at me. The dream did nothing to settle my nerves, but I told myself if it was just a silly dream and he would return and all would be normal again...I have never been more wrong in my life.

        I tucked myself into bed like any other night when I heard an odd scratching sound coming from the back room. I lifted my head and heard it again and again. I slipped out of bed and went to investigate and found that I was coming from the window, but there was nothing there to create the noise. There were no branches near the window and the wind was still. I heard a creaking noise come from the bedroom. I cautiously followed it to find my closet door had swung open. I shut to door and snapped the latch tightly. The scratching stopped and I slowly curled back into bed, keeping my eyes fixed on the closet door. I watched for only a short minute when right before my eyes it opened. The closet door had never opened on its own and I had ensured I sealed the latch. The scratching sound returned as I lay paralyzed in my bed. I sick fear had washed all over my body as I felt his presence enter, angry and dark. Bootstrap came stalking into the room growling low in his throat. I called to my disturbed cat and he looked up at me but his eyes were vacant, like he was looking at me but focusing somewhere else. 

        I did the only thing my body made possible for me; I ran. I ran down the stairs, an uncomfortable itching starting in my neck, and aimed straight for my car. As I cleared the first few feet from the building's door I felt it in the back of my neck, which was now facing the balcony. It felt like he was reaching right through my neck and into my spine, pulling. I stumbled into my car and drove like a bat out of hell to my mom's house and showed up a sobbing, shaking mess.

          I told her everything, barely catching my breath, but begged that my cats were still inside that hellhole and I needed to get them out immediately. I had fled in such a fury I hadn't even thought to grab them. The thought of them alone with him up there was horrifying. My Mom called my Dad over and the three of us headed back to the apartment to rescue the cats. We pulled up to the building and I stepped out of the van, looking up to the balcony. My knees gave out and I was on the verge of vomiting instantly. The horrifying emotion I felt that night can not even be described by words. It was the most terrifying, depressing, angry fear I had ever felt in my entire life and will ever feel. It was the definition of terror. 

          My mother and father got my cats safely out of the apartment that night and I was moved out the next day. I had only lived there for five months but had signed a yearly lease, so the empty, haunted apartment sat in my hands. My family had gone to collect my things for me as I had explained to them that I could not bring myself to climb those stairs ever again. Without me saying a word about the itching in my neck, after moving out my belongs, each one of my family members testified to feeling it. My father, being a man of science and reason, said that when he opened my closet he felt a wave of goosebumps flood over him.

         When I had contacted my landlord and informed him that I would not be living in the apartment, but would continue to pay rent until my lease was up, he quietly accepted my story. He was a tough, hardworking man and he asked me one solitary question...what kind of presence I felt. I spared him the gory details but enforced that it was not a good place be in. I got the feeling that he had had this conversation before. His tone was not mocking or even irritated; he was stone serious and concerned.

         Many months passed while I lived with my mother and the apartment sat empty with me still holding the key. My brother approached me one day, asking a very difficult question. He wanted to set up a microphone in the apartment over night to see if he could capture anything. My immediate reaction was a definite no. I didn't want any one of my family members going near that place. He continued to ask, with the support of the rest of my family, until I finally let in. I had told him that when he went up to set up his laptop and microphone I would go with him. If anything were to happen, I wanted it to happen to me. His girlfriend and my sister also came along, strength in numbers. I told my brother that if anything were to be captured, which I had severely doubted, it would be in the back room where he appeared the most. I stayed in the living room with my sister as my brother and his girlfriend venture to the back room to set up.

        As we sat in the living room in silence, I assured my sister that I didn't feel him, therefore he wasn't there at the time. The moment on tranquil relief didn't last long. I felt his presence enter the apartment and the crippling fear worked its way up my legs and into my chest. I looked to my sister and saw her face, fear stricken as well. We called for my brother, screaming for him to hurry up. We needed to get out immediately. We didn't know why, but we had a great urgency about getting away. The four of us, thundered down the rickety stairs, I made sure I was bringing up the rear. I felt the itching in my neck again as I felt a push at the back of my knees, sending me stumbling into the wall at the first landing. I could feel a definite pushing sensation with each step I took. It felt like someone was trying to push me down the stairs. I gripped the railing tightly. Finally we broke out of the building, leaped into the car and drove away safely.

          My brother returned the next morning with his girlfriend to retrieve his laptop, without me; he assured me he would be fine. He reported back that while they were up there, they felt nothing and that after listening to the recording, he heard nothing more than a couple non-noteworthy clicks. I had refused to listen to the recording, terrified I would hear something the others couldn't. Even thinking about the sound of the empty apartment, the white noise, sent shivers up my spine. That was the last time any of my family, including myself, visited that apartment.

           Since leaving, I have heard three separate stories about other tenants living in that apartment, none of them with happy endings. Most of the fellow tenants are amazed that I stayed as long as I did. One of the story tellers also accounted for the itching at the back of the neck and the backroom being a hot spot. Occasionally when I drive by, I'll see the lights on in that old attic penthouse as new tenants move in but they never last very long.  

           I assure you that everything I have stated here is the honest truth. You may chose to believe it or not, but ultimately the moral of the story is; let your cats be the judge of your new apartment! Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to give me any feedback or tell me your stories! I'd love to hear! 


                   Thank you!