Chapter 2 – Chap 2

Several weeks had passed and things seemed to be quite normal. Things still went missing, but now it was my clothes, my cologne, and at one point a full pillow went missing. While I was sat drinking coffee in the kitchen one morning my intellectualism and coolness were completely validated with how I had managed to deduce there was in fact a poltergeist in my apartment with only a simple clue.

While I was sipping my coffee and reading on my phone everything in my kitchen had begun to float as if gravity had decided to just give up where I was. I noticed I was a foot off the floor, surrounded by floating mugs, plates, and cartons of old Chinese food were gently spinning in the air. For a brief moment I felt like I was in a space shuttle until reality slapped me hard and I screamed with such a high pitch that I broke the physics of whatever was happening. I slammed to the floor and crescendo of porcelain followed. I slammed off the chair and onto the floor and felt the coffee from my mug pour all over me. At this point, I wasn’t going to put up with whatever this demonic, evil thing was—if it even was that.

“You fucker,” I said to the air, feeling my skin bubbling from the burns.

I’d contacted my local priest from Saint Andrews church. Father Diblan was a thin man with graying hair and was a very progressive kind of priest. As I explained the situation with the floating mugs, the shadow people, and the constant disappearing items, he seemed quite open-minded. He didn’t even mention how red and swollen my face was from the burns. He ran a hand through his grey hair.

“I believe that you may have some kind of prevalent spirit. I wouldn’t say that it’s a demonic presence, but I’d be happy to bless this place.”

“But I did float, and I know I saw something.”

“Has this entity attempted to harm you?”

“It dropped coffee on me.”

His face seemed frozen. “It dropped coffee on you?”

“Yes, it made it float and it fell all over me.”

“Do you believe you didn’t just drop—“

“I wouldn’t drop it all over my face.”

“Ah,” he said. “That explains it.”

I wanted to itch my sore cheeks so badly.

“In any case,” he added. “I’ll be sure to bless this place but I’m sure there are more logical explanations for this. It may be the house settling or it may be temporal spirits moving beyond this realm.”

Now my face didn’t change. “Temporal spirits?”

“Shifting spirits, moving on. They sometimes have trouble but I doubt it. In any case, let’s begin.”

I watched him go from room to room blessing each one, and dousing everything with holy water. He lit some incense and moved from room to room until the smoke detector went off and he jumped with a screech. I felt a little relief when he was done and slept soundly that night. But the very next night I’d walked back into my kitchen with the cupboards all opened, and my sink, which was once full of dishes, was now a kind of metaphysical sculpture of piled dishes.

“Jesus—“ They all tumbled down, shattering.

“What is your deal with my fuckin’ plates!? I need to go to Ikea again.”

I was going to have to bring in the big guns. I decided to Google a local spiritualist. A West Indian woman called Aunty Em who was a “practitioner of spirits, demons, folklore, and witchcraft.” When she stepped into my apartment I could smell the heavy lavender on her.

She was a portly woman with a wide smile, dark eyes, and a warm atmosphere. She sported a yellow cardigan and a blue skirt.

“I feel dese spirits,” she whispered as she stepped in with a kind of wax stick and began drawing on my walls. I would have argued against it but she kind of took over. I watched her as she moved from room to room, writing all types of symbols on the walls. I realized now I’d hired what seemed to be a spiritual Banksy. “What are you doing, Aunty Em?” I asked.

“Cleansin’ these walls. I tell you. I feel the energy of these spirits,” she began when she sat down and crossed her legs. “Sit with me.”

I obliged and watched as she pulled out candles and lit all of them. They looked like big ones stolen from a church, but she faced them like professional; north, east, south, and west. I watched as she hummed and chanted.

“I feel two spirits in here. One is strong, one is locked away but the energy is bad—it is strong—evil and dark. Don’t you feel it?”

Maybe that’s the one that scolded me, I thought. “I feel nothing.”

“Oh, my boy—you must get in tune with your spiritual side. It will open you up to the realm of the lost. I feel this spirit is so strong—it seems to be angry at itself like it is a failure and it is the one who has been harassing you. It has done so because it is lonely and most likely ended their own lives due to being so al—“ Clunk.

One of my black mugs flew from my table and slammed into Aunty Em’s face. It shattered against her forehead and she slammed back onto the floor with a thud. Her bulbous body knocked over the candles and I jumped up, trying to make sure she didn’t catch fire. Within seconds smoke was billowing and Aunty Em was on her feet, running out of my apartment and screaming all the way down the stairs and out into the street.

Around me the room had exploded into a psychic mess. My TV flickered wildly on and off, my lamp exploded, and the bookcase behind my sofa rattled as books flew off it. My carpet was coated in wet, hot wax, and there was a distant, echoing scream I could hear. The attic door above me rattled loudly as if somebody was thumping it with a sledgehammer. My doors slammed and let out whooshes of air.

“Stop,” I screamed, finally deciding to try my own way. “Just stop throwing everything for the love of God. What’s your problem!?” Everything froze and silence followed.

My lounge looked like an earthquake had hit it. My front door was wide open. I closed it and sighed. Nothing followed. There was no noise, no ghosts, ghouls, goblins, or specters. Besides the evidential hot wax, and scrawling on all my walls, there was nothing of a response. I had at first been concerned, but now only anger seemed to bubble up inside me and yet I was too stubborn to give up. If this demon was going to screw with my home, I would get some leverage.

“Okay, you bastard, you’ll get yours, you wait,” I said. “You fuckin’ wait.” I headed out and wouldn’t get home until later, but I’d have all the supplies I needed.

I’d headed to my local electronics store and picked up some motion-sensor cameras that I could hook up to my PC which thankfully had been unharmed. This demon could hear me, and if it could hear me, it could be bartered with, or worse. I’d set up a camera in every room and linked it to a server on my computer. And now it was a waiting game. I’d get footage off it, and when I did, I’d milk it. I’d threaten to turn this place into one of the best walk-in ghost tours and then it will never have peace again. I know it sounds stupid, and in hindsight, it was completely batshit insane, but I loved this place and I didn’t want to let it go. Not without a fight.

I already had my evidence that night when I slept, but what I’d seen was completely different to what I’d expected. I was no stranger to spectral phenomena; orbs, shadows, EVPs, and physical manifestations. But what I saw was a complete shock the next morning while I carefully drank coffee from a sippy-cup.

The footage was a grainy, black-and-white view of my kitchen doorway from the hallway. At around 4AM there was a brief shadow, and then from the kitchen doorway itself I saw it. A shape with long black hair, and white eyes reflected against the camera, peeking directly into it. The familiar eyes creased and I squinted. It wasn’t a demon. It was a girl—a ghost. I’d woken up five minutes later and noticed my own legs walking past her. Like a scared mouse she ducked back into the kitchen and I had been none-the-wiser.

It was a female. A ghost girl was haunting me and from what I made out, if you could handle the all-white eyes and long, black hair she was—as weird as it sounded—she was kind of cute in a The Grudge sort of way, but I couldn’t really make her out fully.

Yet.