My friend John shared a ghost story, and considering its officially the day before Halloween, the fog is thick, and the mood is right, I figured Id share one of the numerous ghostly encounters Ive had. What makes this one special is that, unique among my encounters with the unexplained, others experienced this too, just not on the same sunny summer afternoon that I did. Before I met my wife, I lived in one of those ubiquitous cheap apartments that litter Lincoln, Nebraskas midtown area. A proud old turn of the century house had been gutted to create 2 separate apartments, and the one I shared with two friends was the two bedroom on the second floor. It was charming in its oddity, with a bathroom as big as either bedroom, a staircase in the hall that led down to a landing and then stopped, french doors that served as the entrance, directly from outside and into our kitchen, plus a squat, skinny door, with a steep staircase, almost a ladder really, leading up into the attic. We went up into that attic quite a bit, but not to use it as living space. It was bare rafters and ceiling joists packed to overflowing with moldering insulation. We only went up there to get out onto a nice flat part of the roof which we used like a porch. Not that I ever really would have wanted to hang out in that attic. Even before the afternoon I ran screaming from the apartment the attic gave me the creeps. For one, the place always seemed dark. Despite three windows, it had this gloom, even in the early morning when the east facing window should have lit the length of it up like a industrial grade searchlight. So it goes that after a long night of youthful debauchery, I was laying on the couch that served as my bed trying to get some sleep.I wasnt having any success, between the midsummer heat and the noise. See, when you live in apartments long enough you sort of learn to ignore the sounds of your neighbors. You get used to the banging, and the footsteps, and the voices, and all the other things you can hear people doing on the other side of the walls, floor, and ceiling that separate their living space from yours. Which is what I had been doing all morning while my upstairs neighbor stomped up and down the length of their apartment. Did I mention the attic? The floorless attic? Ever have a moment of clear revelation? A second of utter epiphany? Because As I lay there in nothing but my underwear, it suddenly hit me that I had no upstairs neighbor; that their wasnt even a floor above the ceiling over my head. Nothing but rafters, and open ceiling beams stuffed high with moldering insulation. That what had been keeping me awake, and growing louder all morning, was impossible. Then the stomping stopped. I lay there frozen. Theres a cliché about being paralyzed by fear, but thats exactly what I was. I stared up at the ceiling unable to move. Then, like my eyes were steel bearings and the attic door was a magnet, I looked down from the ceiling, out my open bedroom door, and into the short hall and watched the attic door open. All paralysis was instantly gone. The open attic door was blocking my bedroom from my way out through the kitchen, and so I rushed it with my heart pumping like jungle drums in my ears. I hit the damn thing at a near run, and it banged closed as I rushed past, through the kitchen, out the french doors, and halfway down the stairs, panting, expecting my heart to give out any minute. I waited on the stairs outside, wearing nothing but my tighty whiteys, for a long time (any time spent outside in nothing but tighty whiteys is a long time). before I finally got the courage up to go back inside. Had the attic door been open, I doubt Id have had the nerve to go in. But I looked in, and it was closed, so I entered and quickly braced the door with one of the kitchen chairs. That gave me just enough reassurance to go back to my room and get dressed so I could leave. From that day on, I avoided being in the apartment alone. We eventually talked about it and both my roommates said they had similar experiences; Hearing footsteps, and having the attic door open on its own. Once we even heard the footsteps together, sitting in the kitchen late one night. But the absolute worst part. the part that bothers me most, and to this day makes my skin crawl and raises goose-flesh is the feeling of hitting that door on my mad dash out of the apartment. Because when I hit it, it didnt give right away. I swear it pushed back.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 09:00:50 +0000
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