Roommates with a Ghost
I have always had some sort of belief in the paranormal. Maybe it's because I've always had a good imagination, maybe it's because I have a "medium" sort of sensitivity or maybe I've just always been a little strange. In any case, I've always been a believer, but nothing has made me more sure of the existence of the paranormal than when I lived in a real haunted house.
Before I ever lived there, I remember going there as a younger teenager, with a friend of mine. She knew someone that had lived there. The woman that lived there was quite strange and coming from me, you have got to know that she really was strange! Some of that time is a little fuzzy to me as it has to have been at least 12 years ago that I am remembering back to. None the less, there are things about that time that I do remember like it was yesterday.
We were sitting on the couch in the living room of the house, talking to this woman. I don't remember what we were talking about before this, or how long we were there before it was brought up but she started talking about how her dad or step-dad (not sure of the actual relation) was in jail for murder. I'm not sure where her mother was at this point in time. Either way, we're sitting on the couch and she says that the murder had taken place in the house and that he had buried the body under the floor in the living room. Of course, he had been buried under the floor, under the very couch that we were sitting on. If I recall correctly, my friend and I didn't stay for much longer. At that time, I didn't know anything more about it. Because she was so strange, I didn't know how long ago this had happened, if she was even telling the truth or if the body was still under that floor.
In 1999, when I was a meer 18 years old, my boyfriend at the time and I had decided to move in with two friends of ours. Our one roomates father actually owned the house. Coinsidentally, it was, as you guessed, the same house.
Once we moved in I remember telling them all about what I had experienced years before. Come to find out, they did know something about it, which confirmed that the woman was not lying.
The story is that the woman that lived there (the strange chicks mother) was cheating on her husband. The woman and her lover were upstairs in bed together, sleeping, while the husband was at work. The husband came home, found the two of them in bed together, and murdered his wife's lover. I don't recall how he was murdered, whether it was gun, knife or what. Apparently, after her lover was dead, she helped her husband bury the body under the floor in the living room. Story has it that they attempted to also use cement to seal the body into the ground but something went wrong and the body started to smell. It smelled so bad that neighbors called the police about it. That's how the man was caught for murder.
Now, at this point in time, I had not noticed any type of ghost, or paranormal activity in the house. I do remember telling one of my friends about all of this though. Come to find out (I live in a small town) that she knew the man who was murdered. He used to babysit her as a child. He had also been best friends with her cousin. She had a little more information for me on the subject. Her cousin had said that they were hanging out the day he was murdered. He told her cousin that he was going over to his girlfriends house. That was the last time he was seen. Finally, I was able to get a name... Chris. His name was easy for me to remember. For one, Chris is a very common name. Also, my boyfriends name was Chris.
After living there for a little while, I started having experiences. At first it just started out as having the feeling that I was being watched, or when I was in the house alone, feeling like I wasn't alone. After a little while, things really started to pick up. I'm not sure if he was just watching for a while, trying to get used to the "new people" in the house, observing us as if we were specimes. Trying to get a feeling for us, deciding whether or not he liked us, or whether to deem us worthy of all being able to live in the house harmoniously.
I don't think I was ever really that scared, though at first, the feeling of being watched made me a bit uneasy. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with my boyfriend and his best friend, I don't remember exactly what it was we were playing, but I believe it was some sort of board game. From the kitchen, we had a perfect view of the staircase that lead to the upstairs. I don't know how it happened this way, but we all seemed to have seen what looked like a hand moving up the railing of the stairs. We all kind of looked at eachother for a second. I reconfirmed with my boyfriend that none of our roomates were home and that the only people in the house were the three of us. Me, being the curious person that I am, was the only one who would actually walk up the stairs to look around. Of course, I found nobody. I can only assume that the ghost had gone up to the room that he was murdered. We were lucky enough to not have that room as OUR bedroom!
After a while, and more experiences, I thought of the ghost as if he was just another roommate. When I would come home, even if I knew no one else was there, I would announce real loudly, "Chris, I'm home!" I also have a habit of sometimes talking to myself. Instead of talking to myself, I would talk to him as if he was standing right there next to me. Afterall, this was his house too and I figured that if I was going to feel comfortable and welcome in the house, that he need to get that feeling from me as well. I honestly believe that I befriended a ghost. Maybe he thought I was a little too friendly. I remember one night, I was laying in bed. I was in that stage where I'm not really awake, but not quite asleep either. All of the sudden, I remember feeling something very cold run up the outside of my thigh. It felt like a hand that went from just above my knee, all the way up to my hip. I grabbed my boyfriends arm (who was fast asleep at the time) and I briskly shook him to wake him up. I remember saying to him, "Wake up, he touched me!" Of course I was told to just go back to sleep. I don't think I was really scared, but I was definitely in a bit of shock. Afterall, I had never had him try to make physical contact with me before and I was abrumptly brought out of that akward stage of sleep. After that, I never felt him try to touch me again. I don't know why, maybe he thought I was scared and he didn't want me to fear him.
Sometime later, I was talking to my friend who used to be babysat by him and I told her about him touching me. When I described what he had done, she was like, "Oh yeah, that was definitely Chris!" She said that he always had a thing for younger, attractive girls. Honestly though, what man doesn't? I had also mentioned to her that I had seen him. Now, it wasn't like I saw him as though he was clear as day, like he was just another person standing in the room, but I saw his figure, his shape. I told her how many times, I had seen him. He would frequently stand in the doorway of the room, leaning with his one shoulder against the frame of the door, arms folded. She confirmed that Chris had always done that. He was known for hoovering in doorways, arms folded, leaning against the frame. That's when I knew that this was definitely the same person who was murdered in the house.
We were young, and of course, not living at "home" anymore, we would have lots of friends coming in and out of the house all the time, hanging out for hours. Anytime we could, there would be a party. Nothing real crazy, but always a good time. I think Chris really enjoyed having us there. He would even play little games with us. He seemed to have been quite the jokester. I went into the kitchen one evening to get a drink. I walked across the kitchen, went into the cabinet and got a glass. I started walking back across the kitchen to the refrigerator, put the glass down on the table, got the soda out of the fridge, turned around to pour it into my glass and my glass wasn't there. I looked around, back across the kitchen and my glass was sitting on the counter under the cabinet that I had retreived it from. I set the soda on the table, walked over to the glass, brought it back to the table, poured the soda, put it back in the fridge, then turned around to grab my drink. Again, it was on the counter. At least I had the soda in it and was able to finally have my drink!
I had friends over one night. One of my friends was a huge skeptic and had not yet had any personal experiences in the house. She wanted to try to have a seance. I thought it was a little silly because he was always around, we didn't need to lite candles and call upon him in order for him to show up. I agreed anyway. We lit some candles, turned off the lights and sat around the coffee table in the living room. I said out loud, "Chris, if you are here, please give us a sign." Not two seconds after I said that, the glass candleholder sitting next to me, that held one of the lit candles, cracked and made a load sound to go with it. Some could argue that maybe the glass got too hot and broke, but the fact is, I had just lit the candle and it didn't have time to get hot. She was a little freaked out after that. She didn't visit me at home too much after that!
Unfortunately, I didn't live there too long. In June of 1999, I got pregnant with Sasha. I moved in February when I was 8 months pregnant. I would have loved to stay, but being so young and having a baby on the way, money was a factor and we moved in with my mom in order to save money. Besides that, the roommates were also moving out. The last experience that I had was my last day in the house. I was packing up the rest of my stuff, in the house alone. My boyfriend and a friend of ours were at my moms house taking things over. As I was upstairs packing boxes, I hear a loud bang. It sounded like it had come from the basement. I don't know why I felt scared, because this was the first time I really got that feeling in the house. I started walking towards the basement door, but because I felt scared and I had seen enough scary movies in my time, I didn't go down there. (I'm the first one to yell at the T.V. during a scary movie, screaming, "Don't go in there! What are you doing?!" I ran out of the door and down the street to my moms house (she was only about a block and a half away. I had told them what happened and we all went back to the house together. I had told them where the sound came from and we all went down together. Come to find that one of the windows in the basement had slammed shut and the glass had broken out of it.
Could it be that he was upset that we were leaving? Was this his way of showing me that his was upset and didn't want us gone? Was the slamming shut of the window his way of symbolizing that this chapter of "life" had been shut?
Looking back now, and the fact that I have done some research on ghosts and paranormal activity, I wish I had done more. Maybe tried using a Ouija board to attempt communication. Or, perhaps, had I tried using an EVP recorder and tried EVP work, I might have been able to get a better understanding. At that time, I'd never even thought about trying to take pictures.
I haven't been back in the house since, it's been 9 years. I do pass it sometimes and take a nice hard look, wondering if he's still there. Does he like the people who live there now? Do those people know that he's there? Do they experience the same things that I did? Does he miss the time when I lived there or does he even remember? Do ghosts remember?
I guess we'll never really completely understand the workings of ghosts. All I do know, is that I had a friend, in a ghost.
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