I haven't shared this story before, out of fear that I would be seen as a freak. But then I had an epiphany, I'm one of the one million and one internet freaks with a loyal legion, so I'm not alone in the freak section of the party. So here goes:
Once upon a time there was this writer who lived in Los Angeles County, California. She lived alone in a one bedroom loft apartment that sometimes made strange noises that frightened her in the night. On several occasions the writer was awakened in the night by loud thuds, footsteps, wailing, and the television turning on at loud volumes.
One night after a long day at work, the writer fell asleep in the living room while watching American Psycho. About three hours into her slumber, the continuing music on the DVD menu woke her up. While searching for the remote, the writer saw a child standing in her apartment and looking out of a window that faced a street. The writer stared at this child and wondered how the child got into her apartment. There was never anyone else in her apartment, so no one besides the writer could open the door.
The writer continued to stare, and noticed that the child was a black child no more than five years old. He was wearing a blue coat and a red and blue back pack, and appeared to be waiting on someone. The child looked sad, as if he had been crying. The child also stood on his toes to get a better look out of the window since the sill was higher than his forehead.
The writer broke her gaze and tried to approach the child, but startled him. He looked at her and she looked at him. The child looked at the writer as if she were a stranger. Of course she was a stranger, the child didn’t know her and she didn’t know the child, but in that moment stranger or not the writer was a concerned adult. So she called out to the child. "What are you doing here?" The writer asked, but there was no response.
The child continued to look at the writer with sad eyes. Then before the writer spoke another word the child vanished. Although the situation was strange, and she had never seen something like that before, the writer went back to sleep as if nothing had happened.
Exactly one year later, the writer back in her hometown of Chicago, IL, the child began to appear in her dreams. It is in her dreams that the child speaks to her and calls her by her "Christian" name. The child is friendly and doesn't appear to be sad. However, the situation is strange. The writer does not know the child, and has never seen the actual child in the flesh, but loved to see the child in her dreams.
One night things changed. The writer went to sleep and woke up in the middle of the night with nothing more than the light from her cell phone charger to light up the room. What woke the writer was violent shaking, and someone with a child like voice screaming her name. The writer bolted from her bed and searched around her room for the shaker, but found nothing. Who shook her continues to remain a mystery, but the writer is almost positive it is the same who that stood next to her window in Los Angeles County, since he has not appeared in her dreams since the incident. Or could the violent shaking be replacement for the child since the violent shaking has continued since that night.
What is the shaking? Is it the mind’s way to alert the writer of something she’s not doing but should be doing? Or is it honestly a ghost that wants the writer awake at 4 am for its own amusement?
I don’t know why the writer keeps waking up, but I do know that she’s tired of it. The next time the writer is violently shaken awake she is going to stab the hell out of whoever is depriving her of her rest. The writer needs to sleep so she can stop falling asleep in class, thus pissing off her professor and causing her to get a fifteen minute lecture about her behavior in class. End of story!
I wish I knew how to stop this shaking, but I don't. I don't want to take part in some kind of ancient voodoo and open up a can of worms like the Poltergeist. I'm scared of that stuff, and I'm too lazy to read about it.
When I was in California, a co-worker of mine gave me some sage to burn to get rid of my ghost, but I didn't do it. I had a mental image of getting rid of one and opening the door for another. The noises and moving of random objects continued until I moved into my next apartment. Weird things happened there too, but only by humans. There was a neighbor who lived above me that would shout out random profanities and beat his dog. I'm sure he was possessed by The Devil, and I'm sure it happened at birth. So it wasn't the apartment.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t want this to continue into my old age. I refuse to be the weird old lady in the nursing home talking to herself. UGH!
