My apartment is the second story of an old Victorian home, built in the mid to late 1800s. Those of you who have read my other submissions know that I experience bouts of activity. Nothing that I deem scary or harmful, just, well not 'normal'. Things like objects moving or 'transporting' to another room almost before your eyes, or furniture being stacked in impossible ways, my bed being stripped while I was still in it, or someone unseen playing with Kirby, my cat. Over the decade plus that I've lived here I've come to terms with the fact I get 'visitors'. I think it has to deal with the age of the house, coupled with my own sensitivities, but as long as whomever it is plays nice I'm ok with it.
This go round began in mid April. I came home to find my closet door open, unusual, but I supposed I may have forgotten to close it. This went on for two good weeks or so. I've never had problems with the door before, so it struck me odd. Then it started happening even when I was home. I'd close the door, just to find it sitting wide open later. The only reason it bothered me, is I worried I'd accidentally close my cat up in it. Finally, I placed my bedroom chair in front of it, thinking if it was popping open due to natural reasons (like settling, warping or something) that should take care of it. That night, sitting at my computer working, I heard an odd scrapping sound from the closet's direction. Turning my head, I SAW the chair being moved a few inches away as the door swung open. A tad unnerving, but not too scary. I held my breath and watched with a mix of fascination and fear, wondering what would happen next. Nothing, zip, zilch. I forced myself to turn away and continue with my work, while I pondered what I'd just witnessed. I looked over at Kirby, who was docilely laying on his side by the bedroom door. I thought to myself that he certainly seemed ok with whatever caused it.
After a bit, I went over and closed the door, which made Kirby sit up and look at me. "You'd think they'd have the manners to at least close the door again. Huh, Kirb?" I said out loud, as I went back to the computer. A loud crash spun me back around. There on the floor laid an old plaster vase (the kind they sell artificial flower arrangements in) smashed to bits. It had been on the floor of my closet in a corner. Emotion took over - that vase, with it's long gone silk flowers had been a gift from my dead son. Yes, it was cheap and tawdry looking, but it was special to ME. I sank to the floor gathering up the pieces and started tearing up as I did so. I know it sounds illogical, but it felt as if I had just lost another piece of my son. Does that make sense? I started talking through my tears. "Now that - that was just MEAN and uncalled for! If that's how you're going to be, then you aren't welcomed here. You gotta go. You hear me? If you can't be nice, then you can't be here." I stood up, clutching the pieces in my hands and shoved the door shut with my foot.
Another event that happened within the same time frame (Mother's Day about 2:20 AM) was that I was waken by a music box playing the Unicorn song. If your familiar with windup music boxes, you know that every so often for no apparent reason one will play a few notes due to vibrations or something. The difference here was I know for a fact that it was completely wound down and, in this instance it played the entire song. In order for it to do that, it would have had the key turned several times.
Three days later, I was in the living room watching a movie, I got up to get a drink and when I sat back down I had a stabbing sensation in the buttocks. I rapidly stood up to find a fairly large sewing needle in the seat. How it got there is unknown. To the air I said, "Not funny."
Other incidents: clothes going missing only to be found neatly folded in odd places, like under my mattress, or in a desk drawer. My reading glasses went missing only to show up inside the living room lamp shade, balanced on those thin bars that run across the bulb. Weird things like that.
Which brings us back to the night I saw the chair move, and the vase was shattered. That really ticked me off, but the door has remained shut, and things have quieted back down.
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You could be on to something, some of those pranks could have been my son. Only some things just didn't 'feel' like him. His pranks were never destructive or meant to give physical pain while living, so I don't see why they'd be that way now (like breaking the vase or that needle), but stuff that just drives you nuts? Yeah, that could be him. But... I don't 'feel' like it was?
Sometimes, we just get 'visitors'. I don't know why this is, but it seems to be so. Since, this is a 2 unit building, it might have something to do with the downstairs people 'bringing in' different identities with them. (Rook explained to me once how because units 'share' so much, it could be possible.) Side note: No one seems to stay in the downstairs unit for more than a year or two. We did have a single lady make it to 3 once. But, I guess with rentals that's fairly common.