Many people have told stories about their children talking to ‘imaginary’ friends, being afraid of the ghost in the closet, and following something with their eyes although, there is nothing to be seen. All these things could support the theory that children are more susceptible to seeing and feeling spirits – but how does the child make sense of what is happening and do they understand what they are seeing or communicating with?
The following is my own story. The story of what happened when my family and I (at the age of four) moved in to house which was already occupied by something unseen.
November 1st. 1997.
We moved in the day after Halloween after having spent a year living in a small apartment with a close family member. I only have few memories of what life was like before we moved in but I distinctly remember the first time, I saw the house. The house was big, painted white with large trees surrounding it and stables which I hated because of the enormous spider webs and lack of light. However, there was something else. Something inside the house which at first did not catch my attention. By the backdoor there was a staircase leading to the first floor. Old houses usually creak and allow for outside noises to be heard but this was different. The first floor was so quiet that you could hear your own blood flow and always seemed dark no matter how much light you tried to let in.
My room was on the first floor right next to the top of the staircase. My room was the pink room (the color of my choice) filled with white furniture, toys, and drawings. I do not remember being afraid of the dark until we moved into that house. In the dark corners of my room it felt like something was hiding there, watching me, and listening in to conversations when my parents would come and check on me. Constant nightmares began shortly after. Constant in the sense that it was all night, every night, every week of every month. Unaware of what to do, my mom showed me how to make a dream catcher in hopes that it would somehow calm me down and maybe in some way help me. Sadly, it did not.
I remember how it used to hang right above my bed, the four fathers dangling down and how they each would move in small circles even though the door and windows were closed. I even held my breath as I would watch it from across the room, still moving. I have numerous stories about what happened in that house. Cleaning my room and leaving for a minute only to come back and find everything scattered and broken on the floor. Feeling something laying down next to me, hearing people walking even though no one was there, seeing lights and shadows, and how everything seemed to turn bad as soon as we moved in. How my parents would fight, how my sister would act out, how I constantly would repeat that there was something bad upstairs. I did not know what it was and honestly, I still do not know, how I knew. Years later my parents told me, they felt it as well – my mom in particular. She heard it, felt it, and it even tried to hurt her whatever it was.
The house was eventually blessed by a priest and although there were aftershocks it seemed to go away. However, I still remember every second of what lead up to the moment when my parents called the priest. At the time I did not know what was going on and sometimes I wonder if being around a poltergeist, ghost, spirit or whatever you want to call it, have blurred my view of what is fiction and what is reality. Inanimate objects cannot move by themselves, you cannot feel a person who is not there, you cannot hear a sound that no one is making – or can you? I guess it is complicated. Likewise, I wonder if it may have affected who I became as a person. The thought occurred to me this previous summer when my sister found some of my old drawings and started questioning me about them. Most of the drawings was from the late 90s and most of them had to do with death, graves, people lying dead on the ground. Not exactly what the typical little girl would draw. I did not remember making the drawings but as I looked through them it reminded me of the child I once was. The kid who was shy and anxious and who, for some odd reason, on more than one occurrence hanged her dolls by the neck from the top of the staircase by the backdoor.
Have you ever encountered a spirit?
Original photo: Forsaken Fotos.