November 3, 2017 by phicks2012
When I was in High School I lived in a dorm — okay, actually a really old house — that was purported to be haunted. I can’t say it wasn’t, because all too often we’d be awakened at night by the sound of footsteps pacing the floor above us in the locked and stacked-with-furniture-in-the-area-where-the-sound-was-coming-from attic, but we just sort of accepted it that Mr. Skimpski (that was supposedly his name and he was reputed to have been a WWII vet — his helmet, spade, and even parachute were still up there — and former tenant) was active again.
At my last house things used to disappear and reappear. A friend jokingly advised me to stand in the middle of the living room, put my fists on my hips, stomp my foot, and yell “GIVE IT BACK!!”, and (oddly enough) this often worked. Once when the extension hose (some 6′ long and about 1.5″ in diameter) to my upright vacuum cleaner (needed to use the attachments) vanished I did the stomping-and-yelling routine, and the next morning it reappeared smack in the middle of my dining room table, where it certainly had NOT been the day before and could NOT have been missed — but I digress. 😉
Whether or not my present abode hosts ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night, my current housemate encourages local urban myths and a friend once convinced her impressionable son of their existance with the help of an intercom system. NEVER thought I’d stop laughing! Still, I’m fairly sure that when weird things happen HERE there’s very probably a human agency at work. Not “aliens”, and for you conspiracy theorists, not “the CIA” either.
Nope, what I have is a housemate who (while usually a great help and a very nice person) very occasionally succombs — in a manner of speaking — to the possession of a more “mundane” sort of spirits. Yep, put him into a bad mood, give him a 12-pack of beer, and call Ghostbusters.
The other night he kept me up until 2am shouting and slamming doors. He does this just occasionally when he gets mad at himself, or at the universe (or possibly even at aliens or the CIA, who knows?) and at such times it can be really tempting to list him on Craig’s List and try to swap him in for something quieter — like a Boeing 747 Jet Engine. At such times I tend to ignore him — as difficult as that might be –and just keep my distance, because I have no intention at ALL of dealing with crap like that if I don’t absolutely HAVE to. Also, generally, after an hour or so he eventually gets tired of shouting at invisible antagonists and settles down. Then the next morning when he’s calmer I let him know he’s been a butt-head, and he subsequently goes around with a hangdog expression for a week or more, and deservedly so.
In this case though, the next morning when I went down to my office I found my glass jar full of pistachios shattered under my desk, my new bag of chocolate chip cookies (left the night before in my office) on the kitchen counter, but totally smashed as though someone had stepped on them, and my TV remote missing. Ghosts? I think not, though maybe I ought to contact one of those bad ghost-hunter shows where they slink around in the dark and never find anything. Visions of $$$. I mean, if I have to deal with bizarre crap I might as well cash in, right?
In any case, when I confronted my housemate he totally didn’t remember anything about it (he SAID), but while one of the cats just “might” have knocked off and broken the jar of pistachios there was no way either one of them smashed my cookies and moved the bag onto the kitchen counter — oh, or pilfered my remote which was eventually located along with two others (his and the one from the basement) in his room with the plastic back plates holding the batteries in place missing from all three.
I did locate one backplate that fit, and reclaimed my remote, but he never did admit to remembering taking it, or (while it was likely a matter of dead batteries) seem clear about why he’d done so. Of course, he was by then once again (or still) in the embrace of is friend, Bud Lite, so lucid thought was probably not entirely in the cards.
So, unless I have a poltergeist….but NAH! Just a Betrunkenergeist — Who you gonna call? 😉