Who Is There?

 

I lay in bed reading a horror book, the first I have ever read,  when I see movement from the corner of my eye coming from the other side of the closed curtain. I slowly lower my book, my mind screaming at me not to. There is a shadow floating on the right side of my window. At first, I thought it was the shadow of the leaves on the trees outside, but I quickly realized this was no tree. I stare at the shadow as it moves up, then to the left, then down, then to the right before repeating the cycle.

      “What the heck is it?” I mutter.

      The shadow changes shape repeatedly until it stops and resembles a dragon’s head. At first, my curiosity piques, but then an unexplainable fear overtakes my senses, and I am on the verge of leaping out of bed. Whatever is distracting me does not bring peace my way but a terror that will affect my lifetime. Thankfully, the curtain remains closed, for I do not care to see what is producing that shadow, for I had a feeling it would cause my sanity to leave me. Yet there seems to be an unknown force pulling me to the curtains. The shadow floats by my window for eternity, haunting me. I cannot tear my eyes from this shadow. Thankfully, it eventually dissipates, and I can relax. A weight lifts from my body, and the fear dissipates. I get up from the bed, wondering if I should go over to the window, throw open the curtains, or exit the room.

      “Restroom break,” I say as I open the door and walk down the hallway to the bathroom.

      This is the first eerie episode I have encountered in my life.

      For the next week, I did my best to explain the bizarre episode. At first, a floating balloon is entangled in the trees. But I never saw a balloon changing shapes by itself. My imagination tends to run wild, especially when reading a book. Could this be my imagination at work?

      I adopted a dog to keep me company. Not intimidating to the human world, but hopefully toward the ones from the beyond. Having another living being in my house made me feel much better. My wife could sleep through a tornado, so she was no comfort.

      A month went by when the next episode took place in my house.

      “Get out of there!” I call out to Tupper, the mischievous one, who is trying to get into the trash bin, for I have thrown the covering to the bacon into the place.

      As I returned to the couch, I thought I heard a noise from the back door. I stop and listen for a time but only hear Tupper moving about. I look around, not seeing Tupper. The dog’s food and water dish are in the kitchen, close to the back door. So I thought nothing of the matter as I went over to sit and back to a C. J. Box novel by my favorite author. Not long after I started reading, I heard the noise again. It sounded like something tapping on the door, then tapping the floor, then back to tapping the door. I sat there for about a minute, listening to the episode.

      “Tupper!” I called out.

      The tapping stopped.

      “What is that dog doing?”

      I get ready to walk around the corner and into the kitchen when I hear a distinct sound that stops me in my tracks. I heard the sounds of a heavy boot walking from the dining room toward where I was. I look around, trying to find something to use as a weapon. I see the small baseball bat lying next to the chair. I quickly grabbed the bat as the steps came closer. I raise it, ready for the intruder to come around the corner. If the intruder has a gun, my life will end, but I will get in a good swing or two, I hope. I continued waiting as the footsteps crossed the dining room floor, but it took too long to appear before me.

I stand there, not sure what to do. The steps stop, and the anxiety goes up. Is the intruder going to appear, or do I go to it? I pondered if I should call out, but it would likely come out as a squeak, so I shut my mouth. Perspiration covers my body as fear grips me. I stand for who knows how long, trying to decide what to do. Decision abruptly comes forth as I step forward toward the dining room with the bat raised to swing. I near the doorway wondering if I should jump out or peek around the corner.

      “Just get it over with,” I thought.

      I leaped out, prepared to swing, but no one was there. Instead, Tupper looked up at me. I looked back toward the kitchen, seeing no movement.

      “There is no way you could have made those sounds,” I told Tupper.

      Tupper walked past me into the living room, leaving me to confront the intruder.

      I meandered through the dining room back toward the kitchen, preparing for the intruder to leap out. But when I entered the kitchen, there was no one there. I checked the door. It was locked.

      “What could have created those noises?” I muttered.

      There was only one other place I had not checked out: past the kitchen room and into the bathroom. The room only had a sink and toilet, so the perpetrator had no space to hide.

      I walked to the bathroom, seeing no one in the room.

      “Nothing,” I said.

      I turned around and was about to leave the bathroom when I heard the footsteps again. They started on the other side of the dining room, approaching me, but my eyesight saw nothing. I grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door shut as the steps entered the kitchen. I quickly locked the door as the steps came up to the door and stopped. I had the bat raised, ready for whatever tried to break in. If I still had my sanity, I would realize the bat would do nothing to my invisible terror.

      “What am I experiencing?” I thought. “Too much horror I’m taking in that is bringing madness upon me.”

      I do not believe in ghosts, but is this what I am encountering?

      “Am I living in a haunted house?” I mutter.

      As I mutter, I hear the tapping on the floor, then on the back door, then back to the floor. This went on for a time before it stopped. Then the footsteps started up again, heading to the other end of the kitchen, ending. I slowly opened the door, seeing there was no one around.

      “I need to get out of this area.”

      I first rushed toward the living room, feeling quite cold, but soon I was in the living room by the fireplace.

      Tupper lay on the couch, looking at me.

      “What is your problem?” I can imagine them saying.

      I went over to the coffee table and grabbed the remote control.

      “Put on some sound; hopefully, that will calm me down.”

       I turned on the television and turned up the volume. I did not want to hear the footsteps and the tapping.

        Part of me wanted to leave the house, never to return. The other half thought that whatever was creating the noise was not causing me any harm.

           “Just freaking me out,” I muttered. “But not freaking my dog out?”

           I sat down in my chair with the bat nearby, knowing it was useless against a ghost, but it was reassuring to have it near me, anyway.

           The rest of the night, I sat in the chair watching the tube, then dozed off to wake up an hour later, wondering if the ghost was still around.

           “There is no way I’m going in that kitchen.”

           I eventually dozed off again, waking up intermittently throughout the night.

           My day was miserable due to lack of sleep. I spent the entire time contemplating what I should do. I could move out, but then I would lose money and wind up in a more expensive house, the economy being what it was, which I do not want to do. I could go to a church and have a priest bless the house, but I never go to a church. I could have a psychic or ghost hunter come in or live with it and get over my fears. If harm did not come my way, then I should be okay. But what about my sanity?

           “It could make it an interesting home life,” I muttered. “My wife thinks that I should seek therapy or go to the doctor to see if I was having long-term effects from Covid that I had earlier in the year,”

           My life was routine overall, so that is the reason I read so much. Living this kind of life in my house might be interesting. Of course, part of me screamed that I was insane to have such thoughts.

            It came to me living at the house, encountering footsteps once a month and little odd things happening. At first, I was scared, but eventually I became numb. Soon I was like my dog, and just enjoyed the roof over my head, no matter how bizarre it was to live under it.