I knew that I could see and feel things that other people could not from a very young age. It was hard growing up with this reality without anyone that I could talk to that understood my situation. My parents would constantly tell me "Ghosts aren't real," or "It's just your imagination." I knew I wasn't crazy, and my imagination was what I used when I drew or had wrestling matches between my G. I. Joe figures. My imagination was not causing me to see and feel ghostly presences. It was what I turned to in an attempt to keep myself from being terrified when I was having an experience.
When I was 19, my friend Kathy's mother had bought a house. She invited me and our other close friend Cori to the house to take a look around shortly after they closed on the house. It was exciting for us. I lived in NYC and we all grew up in apartment buildings. So buying a house was a big deal.
We went through the obligatory walk-through of the entire house checking every closet, nook and cranny. After seeing the entire downstairs where she was going to live, we went upstairs to the place she was going to rent out to another family. Everything was fine up until we got to the master bedroom and she showed us a long walk-in closet. Although this was over 10 years ago and I have never gone back upstairs since, I remember the physical details of that closet vividly.
The door to the closet was in the back-left corner of the room when you walked in. Upon opening the closet door, you would turn left and the closet went the length of the room. At the end of the closet was another door that led to the attic. There were no stairs to get to the attic; it was simply separated from the end of the closet by the door.
The girls went into the closet and I started to as well but then I could sense a nasty presence and I stopped dead in my tracks. They opened the attic door and the feeling seemed to get even stronger. When they walked into the attic, they noticed I wasn't following them and they called for me. "I'm good right here." I told them. They joked aloud at the fact that a 6'3, 250-pound athlete was too scared to walk into a closet that two girls barely over 5 feet tall had no problem going into. I didn't care what they said. I wasn't going near that closet and I wanted out of the top floor altogether.
As is customary with Catholic Hispanic families, they were having the house blessed before moving in. The priest and congregation (12 members of the church group) showed up at the house about 15 minutes after we came back downstairs. He would walk into every room and closet saying a prayer and blessing every inch with Holy Water. Again, everything was normal until we got upstairs to the walk-in closet.
The priest opened the closet door and froze in mid-step, as he was about to walk in. He stayed on the outside and splashed Holy Water inside from the open door. My friend Kathy whispered, "That's weird. He walked into every other room and closet. Why is he stopping here?"
When he was finished with the blessing of the closet, he asked everyone present to stand in a circle and join hands for a prayer. He then said "that there is evil trapped in beyond that door. We are going to pray and ask Jesus to expel it." At that time, Cori shouted, "Oh my God Jeff that's what you said!" (Yes, she used the Lord's name in vain in front of a church congregation, but nobody seemed to notice. On the other hand, maybe I was too caught up in the moment to realize that they did.) She looked horrified and Kathy did as well. The next thing I know, all of these strangers in the circle, including the priest, are staring right at me. It was an uncomfortable feeling to put it mildly.
The priest led us in prayer and we walked back downstairs. I was only there for a few minutes after that before I decided that I needed to leave. I kept noticing the congregation glancing over at me. They were spread out in smaller groups now, but every group seemed to be glancing over at me in the midst of their conversations. I was completely uncomfortable and told my friends that I was leaving to go home. On my way out the door, the priest caught up to me and stopped me on the porch. He asked me what I felt and I described it as best I could. He told me that I was given a "gift" from God and that I should appreciate it and learn to accept and utilize it. I wasn't up for becoming a priest and that is where I was afraid that the conversation was going so I nodded politely and left for home.
I have never gone back to that house since. I am not sure if it is clean or not, but I can tell you that I will never go back to see for myself.