February, 2013 . . . Here's a new story from one of my readers -- if it doesn't give you the chills, I'm not sure what would! Enjoy . . .
In the summer of 1978 my husband received a promotion and a new job location: Syracuse, New York.
I can still remember walking into our new apartment and looking around. And the reason I remember it so well is that instead of the blah off-white painted walls that are standard issue in every apartment I’ve ever been in, this was painted in bright yellow and green. One room was even wallpapered. Who wallpapers an apartment? Although this was nothing I would have picked, I found it refreshing and cheerful.
I looked at the wallpaper seeing the white daisies on a green background with matching paint on the adjacent wall thinking, “Wow, somebody enjoyed living here,’ followed immediately by, ‘And they didn’t leave here willingly.’
I wanted to ask questions about the former occupant, however, none of the five other apartments in the building had anyone who would even acknowledge us let alone speak to us.
Our bedroom was a good size with three closets taking up one wall and a small closet off to the side on another wall.
It was the small closet that bothered me. On occasion, when entering the bedroom, I would find this door open and I was always startled by this. I was constantly telling my husband, “You can’t leave this closet door open.”
“I didn’t leave it open. I never touched it. It was open when I walked in here. What’s the big deal anyway?”
“I don’t know. But having that closet door open gives me the creeps.” Any other closet door could be open, just not that small side one.
I could never figure out what opened it. It would stay closed for days and then there would be days that it was open every time I walked in the room. I would shut it and wait to see if it opened again. It appeared to be securely shut and I’d leave the room only to find it open again. And then, once again, days would go by and it stayed shut.
My husband’s job required him to be gone from a few days to a week at a time. One night I was alone and cleaning up the kitchen when I had the distinct impression of someone standing beside me, even though no one was there; and then a hesitant shove.
I was cleaning the counter off and moved down. The next shove was a little more confident.
Once again I moved, still cleaning the counter top but not looking up. The third shove was forceful and I glanced down the counter. I was nearly to the end of it and all that was there to greet me was a wall. I had the feeling that if I got to the wall something nasty was going to happen to me.
I stood my ground but concentrated on scrubbing the counter. “I really like what you’ve done to the place,” I said out loud. I felt her (I’m sure it was a woman) back off slightly.
“You obviously liked living here. I do too. I want to keep the apartment looking nice. That’s why I’m cleaning the kitchen.” Whatever it was left.
Over the next few months I would at times feel the presence of someone beside me or if I was sitting down, looking over my shoulder. She seemed to be curious as to what I was doing, not threatening this time. I always made a point of talking to her. “I’m writing a book.” “I’m sewing a blouse.” I would talk until I no longer felt her presence.
One day I left the apartment at the same time my neighbor from upstairs was coming down. We ended up walking side by side down the stairs.
This man never looked my way, had never even indicated he saw me when I had opened the door and stepped out on the landing nearly colliding with him but he suddenly said, very haltingly, “How do you . . . like . . . living in that . . . apartment?”
“Fine,” I said. We walked outside and thinking that possibly I could find out something – “Could you tell me who –“
Still never looking at me he picked up his pace, hopped in his car and left. In the six months that we lived there he was the only resident who ever spoke to me.
Once again I was sleeping by myself when about three in the morning I was awakened by the violent shaking of my bed.
I was in a hypnopompic state when I propped myself up on my elbows. I saw a dark, billowing figure at the end of my bed. Like a dark bed sheet with the wind ripping through it. Why this did not scare the livin’ daylights out of me, I’ll never know. It was almost like I was drugged.
The closet door was once again open (even though I had made sure it was shut before I went to bed) and I received a clear message: I’m not going to let happen to you, what happened to me.
“Okay, thanks.” I dropped back down on the bed and was out.
In the morning I woke to find the closet door shut.
I never felt her presence again and we moved soon after but I have often wondered about that person.
Personally I think someone jumped out of that closet and killed her. Was it someone she knew? Was this murder solved? Not solved and it was someone still living in the building or apartment complex?
And why would the neighbors have absolutely nothing to do with us? Did they hear her screams and do nothing?
May, 2012 . . . Check out this link and read about my experience doing a little ghost hunting at the fairgrounds at the Livingston County Historic Village.
February 14, 2012 . . . Following is a recounting of experiences that left one of my readers wondering. Enjoy.
It was winter time and I was driving down our dirt road, nobody around. I came to the stop sign, stopped and looked both ways. Still nobody around. I proceeded to make my left turn when I heard an awful, very loud "whomp!" My immediate thought was, 'I've been hit on the passenger side!' Shaking I pulled over to the side of the road wondering what could have happened as I had really looked around. Well, it was nothing. I looked at the passenger side of my van, looked around the road, walked a ways down the road, in the ditch, not another car, animal, nothing in sight. I finally got back in my van and left.
A few days later I was driving and once again when I made a left hand turn the exact same thing happened. "Whomp!" 'I've been hit on the passenger side!' But I knew that I had looked around and not seen anything before proceeding so this time I wasn't quite as shaken but it had been very loud and sounded awful, like a really bad car accident. I got out, looked all over, and checked out the van. Nothing. Very strange.
A week later I was planning on going to a meeting in the evening when it started snowing heavily. There were road warnings out and since it was not a meeting that I had to attend I called my cousin to tell her that I had decided not to come and that I'd see her another night. Her reply was, "Why do you let the weather dictate to you? You're not even the one driving." This was true, however, I told her I was not coming.
I hung up the phone and thought about what she had said. Maybe I shouldn't let the weather dictate to me, maybe I should go. I had been looking forward to getting out and seeing people. A friend was going to pick me up and really, it would be a fun evening that I was denying myself. Okay, it was settled: I would go.
And right there, standing in my own living room I heard for the third time this very loud "Whomp!" just like the other two times. Without hesitation I called my friend and told her that due to the road conditions I didn't feel like going out and for her not to stop by and get me. She agreed saying her husband had just returned home from being out and he was trying to convince her not to go. As I hung up the phone the thought came to me: I was the person in the passenger seat.