Ghosts or what? Fughetabouddit!

Forgive me for the stream of conscious-like entry, but I just feel like sharing some interesting tidbits about a particular house that I partially grew up in. My father’s house.

I. It’s a very basic, not too spectacular half of a double home that you could pick and put in almost any working class neighborhood and it would look like it had been there forever.

II. The homes in this neighborhood were apparently built on an old garbage dump. I need to verify this, but I will say the odds and ends I found there as a child, and the loose, rich nature of the soil would lead me to believe this is true,

III. My great-grandfather committed suicide in the house after being accused of theft at his workplace. Being a poor immigrant, you can imagine the shame this would have caused him. As far as I know, he was wrongly accused, but again, I cannot confirm that.

IV. My great-grandmother died in the bedroom that I would later occupy as a young child. While I was in this bedroom, I would have two recurring nightmares that only stopped once I moved into a different room

V. Nightmare A: I could hear what sounded like a grinding of some sort in the distance, and I would flee into the bathroom, where I would pile up all my toys to try to bar entrance. The sound would get closer; the terror was immeasurable. Just as the unseen presence was sure to make its entry I would wake up, shaking and probably crying for my father. It wasn’t until I figured out that the sound I was hearing was my own teeth gnashing that the nightmare stopped.

VI. Nightmare B: I was digging a hole in our coal room. In this dream, I was convinced there was something buried beneath the floor. I would get about 6 feet down or so when my mother and step-father would appear, shoveling the dirt back into the hole in an attempt to bury me alive. I had dug the hole too large and therefore was unable to escape. This nightmare continued for years until stopping one day in my early twenties. Disclaimer: This dream happened a good 20 years before I had my falling out with my step-father.

VII. Regarding Nightmare B: If I am alive when my father passes away, and I have access to the house, you can rest assured I will be digging that floor up.

VIII. I still cannot enter that coal room without a feeling of cold dread. I understand that knowing the history of the house as well as my nightmares have an impact on that, but still, no thanks!

IX. When I would have friends over, the bathroom door would inexplicably close rapidly behind any woman that would enter. Just women. Again, my female friends would race down the hall to my room because every one of them was unnerved by my old bedroom, where my great-grandmother had died.

X. A friend of mine was staying the night. He was sleeping on the floor, and I was sleeping in my bed because I am a shitty host. We both woke up in the middle of the night, at the same time, and found ourselves staring at each other. “Did you hear that?” he asked me. I honestly did not hear a sound, and don’t know why I woke up, but he told me that he was awoken by the sound of a woman with a British accent whispering “Hello?” over and over. I have no explanation for this, and it is very strange that we were both awoken at the same time.

XI. While my first (practice) wife and I were dating, we were hanging out in my room. I had 2 Pez dispensers atop my TV, one on each side. We were getting ready to leave, so I got up to turn the television off. Before I could, both of my Pez dispensers went flying off the top of the TV in the same direction as if they were swiped by an invisible hand. We ran out of that room!

XII. Also, footsteps. All the time. It was like someone was pacing the house on the second floor. My father denied that there was anything out of the ordinary going on in that house for a good 30 years. It was only until a few years ago that he finally admitted that he, too, had heard things and felt things. He chalked it up to his deceased brother, who had died on my father’s birthday when they were still teenagers. But then again, it could be my great-grandfather playing practical jokes. Thanks for the clarification, dad.

In closing, I don’t know if any of the happenings were examples of the supernatural, but fuck that house. Fuck it hard.

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Just a guy writing about how depression sucks.

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