I see... but it's always difficult to believe.
______
I only use the term "ghost" when I'm writing a story because it appeals to the horror element (in relation to the readers). Any other time (when things actual happen to me) I use the term, "energy," "figure," or the phrase "what seemed to be" because they are less bias than other terms.
Now comes the fun part.
_________
My mother is the one who sees the bulk of the terrifying things that those with fingers still grasping their mortal coil cannot comprehend (how's that for a Lovecraftian opening?), but--when I came "of age"--I began to experience my own chilling episodes.
When I was a kid, we lived in the suburbs of Lebanon, Pennsylvania. The house in which my parents and I resided had a history. It had once been a funeral home for many years. And, throughout the span of the years that we lived there, my mother and I saw many things that my father never believed. My mother's stories, in relation to that house, are better than my own.
She told me, after we moved out of the house (for fear of scaring me even more) that she would be visited by several people that she could clearly see. If she was in her room folding laundry, she would often see "what appeared to be" a few men, who were dressed in suits that dated them back to the 1940's, passing through the room and disappearing through the wall. There were also times when she would see a girl of about six, who would run up and down the hall on the second floor and into one of the rooms. The girl wore a red dress with matching ribbons that were looped around each pigtail.
She saw all of this, and never told me a damn thing until we moved out of the house.
When we moved to the farm where my parents currently reside, I started to see things that, I too, was hesitant to share.When the farm on Lincoln Avenue was built, and the three of us settled in, something stirred. It wanted me to know.
It happened at 3:30 a.m., on a February morning. I awoke from sleep to the sound of boots coming up the spiral staircase, and down the hall towards my bedroom. They were heavy steps. Like a burly frame had sprouted from the tops of those boots and was making its way towards me. At first I thought it was my father. He rents apartments, and one of his buildings stands in a rougher part of the city. So, it wasn't uncommon for him to be woken up in the middle of the night because of some kind of disturbance. A few times he even took me with him for backup. However, this was altogether different. As soon as the boot steps were just outside my door, I began to experience what I call "the big chill." The chill starts at the tailbone and works all the way up the spine until your neck hairs are standing on end. It happens every time I am about to experience something.
I sat there and waited. And the waiting was otherworldly. It was as if I could feel the panic leaping out of my chest with every breath. I could feel the chill moving up and down my spine. I thought I heard breathing coming from someone else as I tried to stifle my own. I was damn sure that whatever was on the other side of that door was not my father.
When I was finally able to turn my head to look at the neon green glow of the alarm clock. It was 4:30 a.m.
After the realization of the time officially sank in, I decided to act. I stood up, fighting the fear and the cold, and crossed the room to the doorknob. It too was cold. I took a deep breath, hit the light switch, and pulled the door open.
The light that shone past me and into the hallway revealed nothing. Just silence and my shadow.
That was the last time I heard the boots in the house, but it wouldn't be the last time that I experienced that chill, or fear. There have been many times since. Most recently, there was an incident that took place in the school where I currently work. Let's just say that I went in there to drop off some donations on a Saturday night, alone, and something didn't want me there at all.
But that story will be for another time.
Boo...
~Torres
She saw all of this, and never told me a damn thing until we moved out of the house.
When we moved to the farm where my parents currently reside, I started to see things that, I too, was hesitant to share.When the farm on Lincoln Avenue was built, and the three of us settled in, something stirred. It wanted me to know.
It happened at 3:30 a.m., on a February morning. I awoke from sleep to the sound of boots coming up the spiral staircase, and down the hall towards my bedroom. They were heavy steps. Like a burly frame had sprouted from the tops of those boots and was making its way towards me. At first I thought it was my father. He rents apartments, and one of his buildings stands in a rougher part of the city. So, it wasn't uncommon for him to be woken up in the middle of the night because of some kind of disturbance. A few times he even took me with him for backup. However, this was altogether different. As soon as the boot steps were just outside my door, I began to experience what I call "the big chill." The chill starts at the tailbone and works all the way up the spine until your neck hairs are standing on end. It happens every time I am about to experience something.
I sat there and waited. And the waiting was otherworldly. It was as if I could feel the panic leaping out of my chest with every breath. I could feel the chill moving up and down my spine. I thought I heard breathing coming from someone else as I tried to stifle my own. I was damn sure that whatever was on the other side of that door was not my father.
When I was finally able to turn my head to look at the neon green glow of the alarm clock. It was 4:30 a.m.
After the realization of the time officially sank in, I decided to act. I stood up, fighting the fear and the cold, and crossed the room to the doorknob. It too was cold. I took a deep breath, hit the light switch, and pulled the door open.
The light that shone past me and into the hallway revealed nothing. Just silence and my shadow.
That was the last time I heard the boots in the house, but it wouldn't be the last time that I experienced that chill, or fear. There have been many times since. Most recently, there was an incident that took place in the school where I currently work. Let's just say that I went in there to drop off some donations on a Saturday night, alone, and something didn't want me there at all.
But that story will be for another time.
Boo...
~Torres
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