>Last night, Mr. H and I watched Paranormal Activity with his brother and sister-in-law. I had heard mixed reviews, ranging from “it sucked” all the way to “scariest movie ever” so I really wasn’t sure what to expect. One of my bosses, who doesn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that, told me that it was really disturbing and that I should see it. Well. The whole thing was pretty boring until about the last 20 minutes or so. Like the part with the girl? In the bed? And the footprints? Oh, and the attic? Yeah, creepy.
I think part of the reason I got so freaked out by it is because I totally believe in ghosts and demons and possessions.
My grandma died when I was 11, in the downstairs apartment of our two-family house. My parents and I lived upstairs. After she died, weird things started happening. The first incident happened one night when my BFF was sleeping over. We were sleeping on my floor, in front of my bedroom door, which was open and looked all the way to the other end of the house — through the kitchen, into the living room, and then finally into the dining room. I woke up in the middle of the night, looked through the door and saw my grandma standing in the living room. She was wearing a white nightgown and was picking something up from our coffee table. I couldn’t see what it was, and she didn’t look in my direction. She just walked across the room out of my view, and I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep so that I could forget what had just happened.
During the winters, my grandpa left and went down to Florida. That first winter, we started hearing weird noises coming from downstairs. The TV in his bedroom (which was directly below mine) would mysteriously turn on. My mom would hear footsteps walking the length of the house when she was in the basement doing laundry (in the middle of the day when she was the only one home). The lights in the basement would turn on my themselves. The stereo in my room would turn on and off by itself.
One day, when I was in high school, I was in the kitchen washing the dishes and my mom was in the living room watching TV. All of a sudden, the kitchen door (which led into the back hallway) flew open and slammed against the wall. The door had been locked. Twice. There were no windows open that would have created a draft, and the deadbolt was locked on the door, so someone would have had to physically turn the lock to open it.
Another night, I was home alone while my parents were out shopping. My grandpa was in Florida. I was in my room, chatting on our super cool cordless phone with some friends when all of a sudden, the phone in the living room began to ring. We only had one phone line and I was currently using it so there was no logical reason for the other phone to be ringing (not to mention the fact that the kitchen phone didn’t make a peep). I had just finished eating dinner, so I brought my plate and napkin into the kitchen. There was a stapler on the kitchen table — in the middle of the table. I watched as it slid off the table and slammed on the floor at my feet. I ran back into my bedroom. The person I was talking to had to go, so I was left by myself. I kept trying to call other people and every single person’s line was busy. I finally got through to another friend and I told them what had happened. They stayed on the phone with me until my parents got home.
My grandpa had a new girlfriend at this point, and he had several photos of her around his apartment. My mom and I had to go down there for something during the winter, and we noticed that all the photos of the girlfriend were turned over in place. It was only those photos — others next to them were still standing.
Whenever anything happened, I would tell my mom and she would go downstairs to “yell” at her mother to knock it off as she was scaring me. I don’t think that was her intention at all. I really believe that she just wanted to make her presence known; to tell us that she was still around.
Aside from those encounters, the only other paranormal experience I have occurred 10 years ago at Mr. H’s old house. It was right after his friend died in a motorcycle accident. We were home alone and Mr. H was shaving in the bathroom. I was sitting on the toilet (closed!) keeping him company. Something made me get up and leave the bathroom and I remember turning and seeing a man standing at the end of the hallway. He smiled at me and then walked down the stairs. At the time, it happened so quickly, and I assumed that it was one of his brothers, even though they weren’t home and I knew it was his friend. Less than a minute later, his oldest brother came in, wearing something completely different, solidifying the fact that it wasn’t him who I saw. I didn’t tell Mr. H about this until a couple of years ago because I thought it would upset him.
I have to admit, I’m kind of nervous about purchasing an older house because of the baggage that might come along with it. That might sound crazy, but it’s true. I actually try to sneak away from our realtor and Mr. H at each house we see to try and test the atmosphere of the house. Mr. H believes in ghosts, so I know he doesn’t think I’m crazy, but I think the realtor might think I’m even more neurotic than he already thinks I am if he knew I was attempting to find the ghosts in every single house we look at.