Do you ever hear stories of someone telling you that their house was or is haunted? Did you believe it? I don’t think I even believe my own story anymore.
I can’t even tell you a chronological story because I don’t even remember the first thing to make me be like, “oh yea, a ghost lives here.”
I’ll just list off what I do remember or was told, and then I’ll finish by telling you the incident that makes me think more seriously about it.
One night Eric was over at my house and we were hanging out on the back patio. We had a pool table out back with a bar light over it. We were hanging out drinking beer, smoking pot, smoking cigarettes. It was raining in Puyallup and it was quite peaceful to be in a backyard that was facing a hill with rain splattering on every leaf of those plants on the hill.
There was even a shallow spot in our backyard and whenever it rained, which was often, you could sit outside and feel like there was a water fountain nearby. However it was just a puddle of water that kept getting kissed by raindrop after raindrop.
It was dark enough that the light over the pool table was one. The lights inside the apartment were on, the TV was even making noise in the background.
Eric just got off of the phone with Domino’s Pizza. We were so stoned that it seemed like an extremely great idea to order a pizza with everything on it. Before Eric hung up the phone I heard him say, “yes, I want everything on it,” and continued by saying, “if you got a garden gnome in the kitchen, put that on there to.”
After he got off of the phone we continued talking about quantum physics or whatever stoned people talk about.
The light that was above the pool table just shut off, so you would think the light bulb went out. It didn’t, about 5 seconds later the light just turned back on.
Could the electricity went out for a few seconds? Maybe, but all the other lights and even the TV stayed on the entire time.
Before this point in time Eric and I were both convinced that there was a ghost living in my apartment. Right before we went inside Eric said, “man, I wish we could like train this ghost to get more beer.”
We were both under the impression that whatever ghost lived my apartment was the nicest dead person on the planet and they just liked to fuck with us by doing little shit.
Nothing that caused us to believe physical harm would come to any of us.
Then fast forward – or rewind – to another night when Eric was staying at my apartment, once again we were drinking beer. We were both in my room watching TV, about to go to bed.
Eric has back problems, so he found it more comfortable to sleep on the floor.
Whatever man, as long as he was happy. I had a bunk bed at the time, but he wanted to sleep on the floor.
I passed the fuck out and woke up 10 hours later to turn on my TV and pop open another can of beer. Eric wakes up and starts signing a Doors song while opening another can of beer and saying, “I woke up this mornin’ and got myself a beer.”
He then starts talking to me and tells me the ghost that lives here was pissing him off last night. After asking why he went onto say, “it fucking kept turning the channels on me, and every time I got it back to Adult Swim it was fine till I sat the remote back down.”
He is continuing with, “it kept changing the volume to.”
I go onto say, “man I hope it’s a women.” While I’m taking a drink of beer Eric wanted to know why I hoped it was a women.
After setting my can of beer back into my shoe – I used my shoe as a cup holder more often then not – I go onto say “man, I don’t want some dude standing here while I masturbate in private, I much rather have some chick watch that.”
I didn’t really believe him too much because he was drunk the night before and even said that he yelled at the ghost, “stop fucking with the TV man, just let me watch my damn show in peace.” I never even heard him, I’m a pretty light sleeper when it comes to that.
Having a kid, you learn to wake up when there is a crying baby on the monitor.
Fast forward to another night, a night when I was by myself watching TV in bed. The channels and even the volume kept changing on me.
I told Eric about this a few weeks later and he said, “see man, I told ya.”
Could it be that the person who lived above me had the same type of code to his universal remote? I didn’t have that problem when Trish and Big T lived above me.
Or even after the new dude moved out after 60 days or so.
Then we got the typical ghost slamming the door thing.
I was pretty sure that was just due to air pressure.
Marcus’s bedroom was on the other end of a 10 foot hallway that also went to the bathroom and had a washer and dryer before turning to the right and leading into the family room.
Marcus kept his window open all the time, he didn’t seem to care how cold it got. It was Washington, so it’s not like it got below 20, but he usually kept his window open until it was 30 or below.
My door, would slam shut often.
Eric was at my house once again, this time Marcus was even home. Marcus’s door was open, so was mine, both of our windows were even open. That gave a gust of air a pretty straight path from one side of the apartment to the other – window to window.
My door slammed shut and Eric said, “man, fuck this ghost.” I was quick to come back with, “it’s air pressure man.”
Eric said, “No it’s not man, come here.” After walking over to where Eric was he went onto say “look man, Marcus’s door is shut and your window ain’t even open.”
Maybe it was the wind gust that came from the back door, I don’t know.
We also got another story of a bag of popcorn flying off the top of the microwave, but I was in the other room when it happened. I was not there to see it, so I can’t even confirm that.
Then we rewind to a party. Eric was one of many people that were over. Ryan was even over, he just turned 21 and he was the grandson of the apartment manager who lived on the other side of the wall.
Eric, Ryan, Dmitry, and I were hanging out playing quarters on the kitchen floor with music going and a bunch of friends walking back and forth.
The topic of the ghost came up. As gullible as Dmitry is, I’m surprised that he didn’t buy this story at face value.
Taking into account that Ryan is the grandson of the lady who was my apartment manager, he would often be one of, if not the only person who put new carpet in and re-painted all of the walls before someone new moved in.
He was known to spend a lot of times in these empty apartments.
I lived in an old complex that was built in the 50’s. The complex was tiny and composed of 4 buildings – A, B, C and D. Each one of these had four apartments, two on the bottom floor and one above each of those – 1, 2, 3, and 4.
He spent a lot of times in each building, and most likely ended up in each apartment.
As we were playing quarters on the kitchen floor and were talking about this friendly ghost that just liked to fuck with me, Ryan said, “Some crazy shit does seem to happen in building A, even before you got here.”
A quarter splashed beer all over the floor as Eric said, “down that bitch, bitch.”
After chugging a full glass of beer with a pause in-between I sat my empty glass back down on the tile floor as Ryan continued by saying, “buildings B, C, and D are okay; it’s just this one for some reason.”
I’m not a religious person, and at that time I was not much of one anyways. It’s hard to believe in one form of spirit if you don’t believe in the other.
There had to be some type of scientific reasoning why all this was happening. Air pressure, same code on an universal remote, something. Right?
A few mouths before I moved out of this apartment I was working a full-time job during the day and going to school at night. Monday though Thursday I would leave the house at 5:30 in the morning and didn’t get home until 10:00 at night.
One night I came home to a party. Marcus was having a party, I was annoyed considering that I had work in the morning, but I didn’t really care, I can go to bed anyways.
There were a lot of people at the apartment, I knew all of them. After walking around saying hello to a bunch of my drunk friends while eating two hot dogs on white bread I went to my room and shut the door.
I was now in my room, laying in my bed, doing my thing with my boxers down around my cafe muscles, which I don’t really want to admit, however it might be an important part of the story.
My door was shut, because of that the music being played in the family room was now muffled. That made it very easy to know if someone opened my door. After doing my thing I rolled over and was laying there with my face against the bed and my back facing the ceiling.
My bottom bunk folded into a couch, so I would often sleep on a couch. When I say my face was facing the bed, it’s not like I was sleeping on my face.
After laying there for a few seconds I felt 4 fingers and a thumb on my back. The hand rubbed their fingers about 5 inches down the middle of my back.
What is the scientific explanation to that?
After that I put PJ pants on and went back out into the party and asked if anyone was in my room, I got a, “no.” I even told Marcus what happened and all he said was, “that’s weird”.
Part of me hopes that one of my friends was in my room playing a joke on me. At least that would give me an explanation.
The majority of me hopes that a friend was not in my room, because they would have ended up watching me do something that I don’t want any of my friends to witness. I only want to do that in front of members of the opposite sex.
If it was a friend I hope it was a girl, she might not want to have seen that; but it would feel better then knowing a guy was there.
I did go into my room with my light on, I’m pretty damn sure no one was in my room. I would have heard that anyways.
What the hell happened that night?
Was my apartment really haunted by the nicest ghost ever who got too close to me one night, or was one of my friends just playing a joke on me?