Settle in for a long one folks. Hard to tell this story without some background.
I have always believed in ghosts and spirits. Ever since I started talking to them when I was a lonely child. Or tripped over an invisible dog laying in the hallway (a dog who had passed away 4 months earlier). Or witnessed odd moving shadows that coalesced into almost a recognizable shape before drifting away.
As a child, I was never afraid. I didn’t know to be. Until the large tree in our yard fell, all activity suddenly stopped, and the house became “uncomfortable.”
We moved to a suburb from the big city. New construction, no history to the home of the land. The neighborhood was plastered squarely between two of the larger cemeteries in the area. I didn’t think about it for the first few years. I was 10; I didn’t think outside of myself much in general.
Then, life happened. And over the last 22 years I have learned the habits of my home:
- The front bedroom has a shadow. It sits in what I believe is a North-East-ish corner of the room. When the room is full of furniture and lived in, it is shoved into a small space at the top corner of the room. If the room is empty of furniture, it stretches. It fills the whole corner. And while it always feels like it’s just watching, this makes some people uncomfortable. Others never feel that. It is almost like it’s picky who it likes.
- Spirits often are just “passing through.” I have only felt this at places near graveyards. I call them “visitors.” They don’t feel like ghosts, or trapped spirits, or even like they’re haunting the home. It feels genuinely like they are going somewhere, saw a house that attracted them, and poked their heads in to see what was up. Asking them to leave is usually all it takes. Sometimes they want attention, or the kids, to play. But they never hesitate to move on within 24 hours or so.
- The tripping over the dog thing is still happening. It went away for a few years, but came back with a vengeance.
Through it all, I always felt safe. Protected. This was my land, my home, and we were it’s people. I made a point to stay connected.
Then, when I was 32, that same house now mine, my father who was living with us died suddenly and unexpectedly in the home. We came home to find him likely less than an hour after.
My world fell apart.
When I started to be able to retain memory again a good 3 months later, I started to notice…things. Things that were not normal. You see, the “head” of the home had died, and he and I were connected over that space still. The main guardian of the home, myself, was despondent and let all guards fall in mourning. It was suddenly a very different home.
- A large newer window cracked and spider webbed for no reason. An insulated dual-pane window in California spring weather.
- A glass shattered onto the floor in the kitchen. With no one there to explain why. And no idea where it had come from.
- BUGS. So many snails, slugs, and creepy crawlies getting into the home from who knows where.
- Odd stains appearing on the carpet – no moisture, no smell, carpet still soft just VERY discolored.
- My dog, who was 14 and my dad’s baby, started barking, growling, and snapping at nothing. Now, we assumed since she was old that this was a mental issue. It would not have been surprising; she was peeing the bed when sleeping with my dad and having other issues while he had been not feeling well the last few weeks.
Then, the icing on the cake.
I walked out of my room at 6:30am towards the kitchen, carrying my sleepy puppy, to hear the front screen door slam open; loudly. Like someone was running out of our door. We have a main door with a security screen outside. I walk past it to the kitchen. The front door was still locked. I think it’s weird, but ignore it. I tell no one and fix it before my husband wakes up.
The next day, same process. This time I SEE something run from the kitchen to the front door and outside. I freak out. The front door is completely unlocked. But the screen door? Locked. I’m weirded out but, when I turn to the kitchen? Every. Cabinet. Open. Que panic attack. This does not feel right. I honestly thought someone might be robbing us and have a thing for kitchen utensils. Again, I tell no one and fix it before my husband wakes up.
Next 3 days. I wake up at 3-4 am because my dog has to go potty (she can’t jump from the bed but learned to wake me up). I hear odd but not overly loud noises. I know my home noises well after 22 years; this is not normal. I let her out back, which walks me past the kitchen. Yup; open fucking cabinets. One time, the sink was running. One time, the fridge door was cracked visibly open. All of this feels…malicious. Like when you know someone is watching you and their thoughts are not kind. Like they’re biding their time and amused by your fear. I calmly fix these things before going back to bed. I tell no one.
The last day was the worst. I came out to both front doors COMPLETELY OPEN. We had been meticulous about locking our locks since the first few time. Every cabinet open. Water running. All the lights on in the house. I freak out and spill the beans to the husband about what I’ve been experiencing. Then, I get angry.
I start to cleanse. Chants, music, crystals, sunlight, oils, incense, charms, smudging, walking my property with an herbal mix for protection, burying witchbottles at the corners of my property. ALL OF THE THINGS. (Rusty nails are amazing for protective energy btw) Also cleaning – vacuuming, dusting, wiping, scrubbing, mopping. My home, my land, my rules, MINE.
By noon, the house is mine again. It feels….different. Lighter. Like it has never felt since I lost my dad.
The trouble goes away. My dog becomes AMAZINGLY better and improves like crazy. I actually decide to go back to work after taking off a long time for mourning and trauma.
It never comes back. But the others remain, the visitors, the normal things. And I feel like, connected to my dad now passed, the connection is stronger. More powerful. I feel stronger, and I feel what goes on around me more.
I never took photos, because that would feel like validation. I still never tell anyone what happened; most people won’t believe me. Until today. It seemed like the right time. And it was real – opinion won’t change that. But damn if I ever want to experience it again.