We all know someone who says they’ve seen a ghost. But how many of us can say we lived in a haunted house?
Depending on who you ask, my childhood home was either haunted, full of negative energy or just… ok. Some might say it was just the leftover vibes from a dark past. Some might say it was the lack of heating and high Victorian ceilings. But some know better.
As a child, I learned early on that there were dark spots that had bad vibes. The cellar was the obvious one; the classic terraced property boasted a huge cellar to match, but only if anyone fancied heading down the rickety wooden stairs in the gloom to brave the dimly lit eaves and colonies of multi-legged minibeasts that scurried into the corners. There were things down there… objects that we could never explain; left behind by the previous occupants. Trays of tiny glass bottles, strange mirrors… we left them well alone.
Then there was the patch by the cellar door, a column of energy that rode up to the landing above, a sense of something close by. No matter which floor you stood on, when you reached that part of the house you always turned quickly, unease crawling across your neck as you waited to see if something would whisper in your ear or creep up behind you.
The energy was at its worst when I was alone in the house, or when more sensitive friends visited, but always when the adults weren’t present. The time my friend came out of the bathroom, white-faced, sweating from a vision he’d had of blood on the floor, on the walls… the time my friend and I watched as a door that would never close over the too-thick carpet suddenly closed itself one October night, as though an invisible hand pushed it into place.
And then there were the other nights. The ones in my late teens and early twenties, when I was alone and the ever-present dense energy would wrap itself around me like a cloak, pressing the cold into my bones. Those nights were ones I hoped would never come again, where fear paralyzed me into hiding under the duvet. The nights when I heard whispers in my ears, then felt a violent energy slipping around the room, feeling its way to me before an invisible hand stroked my hair, reminding me that this house was not ours. This house was home to someone — something — that was there long before we came.
© _RubyTuesday_ 2021-10-30