The Haunted Closet
by "Chris"
Published: 10/20/98
I was ten when my family moved to an older home in a small Canadian town. It was a huge old place, yellow-brick and cheery looking. It was big enough that my dad split it into a duplex and gave one side to a brother who'd just married. My room was to have been the smallest one, upstairs at the end of it's own short hallway. We'd only been there a few weeks when company visited. I remember it being winter and the room was cold. My mom said to leave the door open so heat would circulate from the rest of the house. That, despite my complaint that I wouldn't be able to sleep because a hall light was being left on for our guests to find their ways to their own rooms later on.
I lay awhile fuming and I seemed to be getting colder so I opened the closet door too. (-The heat register was beside it and I hoped the door would deflect some of the heat towards my bed.) Instead, something awful happened. I could hear laughing and talking from down stairs when a lull came in the conversation. And I was able to hear the slow, quiet shuffling of footsteps coming towards my bed. Like when someone drags their feet walking across a carpeted floor. The light from outside my room was bright: there was no one there. Yet I could still hear the footsteps. So I did what any freaked-out kid does: I started hollering and took off running. The adults laughed it all off: they thought I'd had too much excitement, too much candy or a combination of the two. But I knew better. And I kept my mouth shut after that.
I grew used to the feeling of eyes behind me all the time, peering down at me from the upper corners of the room. The sensation of never feeling alone, or safe. I grew up seeing odd things happening around me and denied the reality of it as nerves, or an overactive imagination. Then one summer night when I was a teen, I had confirmation that it wasn't just me.
My girlfriend and I were alone in the house, watching videos. We were on a loveseat and she said she felt a draft. It was an excuse for us to snuggle closer but she still felt it, only colder now. She looked towards where it was coming from and screamed: there was a couch there, and a cushion was sagged right down like someone was sitting on it. Only there was no one there. That spot was directly under where the closet in that little upstairs room was. She took off running and I sighed and went after her. After all, it was nothing new to me. Then it started to sink in: She'd experienced something, too. So it WAS real. And I ran faster because I was suddenly just as scared as she was. We both sat outside till my parents got home while the tape we'd been watching played out. (I guess the ghost watched it but I wonder what it thought of 'Eddie Murphy-Delirious'?)
Soon after, that girlfriend became my fiancée. My brother found work in another town and moved away. My parents decided to sell the house, and bought a smaller one in another part of town. My fiancée and I helped them move and after unpacking the last load my dad asked us to go check that nothing had been forgotten and to make sure the place was locked up securely. It was a sweltering August day, without the slightest breath of wind for relief. We did as we'd been asked and then went to a corner store for a cold drink. We were walking back past the old house and joking what my dad had said about making sure nothing was left behind. (We were laughing about forgetting to pack the ghost.) Then it happened: The screen door started to swing open until it was as open as it could get. Then it closed just as slowly, suddenly banging shut at the last moment. Well that was it for us: we both let out a holler and took off running like scared rabbits. There's no way anyone can ever explain away how a door opens and closes by itself like that. Not to us.
We moved away soon after and would seldom visit, preferring relatives and friends to come see us. Years later one of my sisters confessed to having strange experiences too, as had a sister-in-law. And my parents admitted that when checking into the background of that house before buying it, they'd found out that it'd once been owned by an undertaker. He'd hung himself in the closet of that small, upstairs room. My belief is that it's his spirit haunting that house.
It's now been almost twelve years since my wife and I had that fright on hot summers' day. And we're talking about moving back to that town. Only one thing is holding me back, obviously. My wife too, I see it in her eyes. Maybe one day, and if so, I'll be sure to report anything new if it happens...
|
|