The Protector
My first experience with a live in ghost happened shortly after I became a grown up. Now I stipulate live in because I had a few minor experiences as a child while visiting friends in their houses. However, they were fairly insignificant and could probably be chalked up to the after effects of too much hot cocoa and several scary movies.
I’d just turned 18 and graduated from high school. It was glorious! My coworker had a crazy ex and was in dire need of a roommate. I jumped at the opportunity. For the sake of this story, we’ll call my roommate Sandy and her boyfriend Mike.
Sandy was as petrified of the place as I was enthralled. The antiquated building had been a 3 story home. Over time the owners had renovated the structure into several apartments. Ours was an efficiency on the top floor. One bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchen/living area. It was cute, cozy, and frequently held the sweet scent of pipe tobacco. I loved it!
The first week there I’d made up my mind she was crazy. Every so often she’d get goose bumps and say, “Do you feel that?” Her eyes would grow wide as a terrified expression came over her face.
I wasn’t sure what ‘that’ was. I felt warm, peaceful, and protected. The scent of pipe tobacco grew stronger during those times. Something about the presence, and there was definitely a presence, made me feel safe and warm. He (we were sure it was a he) reminded me of my Grandpa. You see, I didn’t think she was crazy for believing the place to be haunted. I thought she was nuts because he seemed like such a nice old man. Not that we had conversations or anything, just the ‘feeling’ I got.
Strange things did happen there. Mostly little things like the doors opening and closing for no apparent reason. Half of which we could debunk by believing it was a change in air pressure when people entered or left the building.
My second week there I realized Sandy wasn’t as nuts as I’d thought. Although I still felt the warm fuzzies, it had become obvious our visitor either didn’t like her or had an enormous amount of fun scaring her. It seemed like all the bumps and bangs would happen just behind her or over her head. She’d jump, squeal, and move as close to me as she could get.
I could stay home for hours alone and thoroughly enjoy it. Poor Sandy couldn’t stand to be there five minutes unless someone was with her.
Now I realize this is all relatively uneventful, even boring. But what happened the night before she moved out is the entire point of telling this story. So I will fast forward to that night about a month after I moved in.
Sandy’s ex harassed her terribly. Any fear I had of living there came solely from him. He’d show up in the middle of the night, beating on the door, screaming at her to open. I don’t even know how many times we called the police. A lot, for sure. It was awfully hard to get a restraining order back then. I’d taken to keeping a baseball bat by the front door. He was a big guy and I wanted to protect my friend.
That night I’d been soaking in the tub and decided to try to communicate with our visitor. At the time, I had a name for him. It wasn’t his real name of course, but it seemed to suit my mental picture of him. So many years have passed I’ve forgotten it now.
I’d been in the tub at least a half hour when I had the strangest feeling I needed to get out and get dressed. I didn’t to start with, but the feeling grew stronger and the water got cold, so I did exactly that. No sooner than I’d put clothes on, Sandy burst through the door, slammed it, and locked both locks.
“Call the police! Quick!” she said.
“What’s going on?”
Her pale skin was whiter than I’d ever seen it. She was absolutely petrified.
“It’s Mike. He’s drunk. I’m really scared this time. He
My first experience with a live in ghost happened shortly after I became a grown up. Now I stipulate live in because I had a few minor experiences as a child while visiting friends in their houses. However, they were fairly insignificant and could probably be chalked up to the after effects of too much hot cocoa and several scary movies.
I’d just turned 18 and graduated from high school. It was glorious! My coworker had a crazy ex and was in dire need of a roommate. I jumped at the opportunity. For the sake of this story, we’ll call my roommate Sandy and her boyfriend Mike.
Sandy was as petrified of the place as I was enthralled. The antiquated building had been a 3 story home. Over time the owners had renovated the structure into several apartments. Ours was an efficiency on the top floor. One bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchen/living area. It was cute, cozy, and frequently held the sweet scent of pipe tobacco. I loved it!
The first week there I’d made up my mind she was crazy. Every so often she’d get goose bumps and say, “Do you feel that?” Her eyes would grow wide as a terrified expression came over her face.
I wasn’t sure what ‘that’ was. I felt warm, peaceful, and protected. The scent of pipe tobacco grew stronger during those times. Something about the presence, and there was definitely a presence, made me feel safe and warm. He (we were sure it was a he) reminded me of my Grandpa. You see, I didn’t think she was crazy for believing the place to be haunted. I thought she was nuts because he seemed like such a nice old man. Not that we had conversations or anything, just the ‘feeling’ I got.
Strange things did happen there. Mostly little things like the doors opening and closing for no apparent reason. Half of which we could debunk by believing it was a change in air pressure when people entered or left the building.
My second week there I realized Sandy wasn’t as nuts as I’d thought. Although I still felt the warm fuzzies, it had become obvious our visitor either didn’t like her or had an enormous amount of fun scaring her. It seemed like all the bumps and bangs would happen just behind her or over her head. She’d jump, squeal, and move as close to me as she could get.
I could stay home for hours alone and thoroughly enjoy it. Poor Sandy couldn’t stand to be there five minutes unless someone was with her.
Now I realize this is all relatively uneventful, even boring. But what happened the night before she moved out is the entire point of telling this story. So I will fast forward to that night about a month after I moved in.
Sandy’s ex harassed her terribly. Any fear I had of living there came solely from him. He’d show up in the middle of the night, beating on the door, screaming at her to open. I don’t even know how many times we called the police. A lot, for sure. It was awfully hard to get a restraining order back then. I’d taken to keeping a baseball bat by the front door. He was a big guy and I wanted to protect my friend.
That night I’d been soaking in the tub and decided to try to communicate with our visitor. At the time, I had a name for him. It wasn’t his real name of course, but it seemed to suit my mental picture of him. So many years have passed I’ve forgotten it now.
I’d been in the tub at least a half hour when I had the strangest feeling I needed to get out and get dressed. I didn’t to start with, but the feeling grew stronger and the water got cold, so I did exactly that. No sooner than I’d put clothes on, Sandy burst through the door, slammed it, and locked both locks.
“Call the police! Quick!” she said.
“What’s going on?”
Her pale skin was whiter than I’d ever seen it. She was absolutely petrified.
“It’s Mike. He’s drunk. I’m really scared this time. He
Similar Books
