Old architecture has always captivated me with its beauty and history, so it seemed like a fantastic idea to move into the historic West Central district of Fort Wayne. In 2007, I found the perfect newly renovated, one-bedroom apartment in a building that was just over 100 years old. The refinished hardwood floors and glass doorknobs were a dream come true, and I was looking forward to having a year without roommates.
I came to know many of the people who lived on the street, and enjoyed the fact that there weren't any children living nearby to cause a ruckus. When winter came, the first snow fall was very heavy. I was perfectly happy to curl up in my warm bed and enjoy a peaceful night of sleep after a long day.
In the middle of the night, sometime between 2 and 3 AM, I was awoken by the joyful sounds of children laughing. It was extremely loud and sounded as though it was coming from right outside my first floor window. I was irritated at the disruption and stumbled to the window to yell at the kids and tell them it could wait until morning. When I pulled back the curtain, the sound stopped immediately, and all I saw was several inches of freshly fallen, undisturbed snow. There were no footprints, tire tracks or animal prints as far as I could see. There was also nothing but eerie silence as I looked out.
Weeks later, I decided to clean every inch of the apartment. I washed every window and mirror and surface until there was not a single visible dust mote. After the thorough cleaning, I turned on the shower to let it warm up the room. The tiny bathroom got nice and steamy, and I paused to look at the fogged over mirror and admire just how well and streak-free the Windex left my mirror. After the shower, I walked over to the sink and immediately noticed a very fresh and very tiny child's hand print in the middle of my perfectly clean mirror. I was not a believer at the time and definitely had a little freak out moment. I tried to replicate the hand print, I touched the mirror to observe the condensation patterns, and I tried to rationalize it in every possible way. It was definitely a fresh mark on my freshly cleaned mirror in the shape of a child's hand.
At this point I figured it had to be a child and it had to be some kind of trickster. The rest of my time in that apartment was filled with more strange events. I watched a plate fly off the table and crash several feet away. I also watched a picture adjust itself on the wall in a manner that was just not physically possible. The picture had that straight line of serrated metal on the back for hooks and I was too lazy to get a chair to stand on the when I put it on the nail it was extremely crooked and unbalanced. As I reached back up to try to knock it down, it shifted itself up, against gravity, and corrected itself.
When my lease was up, I ended up moving into an old house that had its own inhabitants. At least the ghosts in the apartment were sometimes helpful.