Ghost and the paranormal have never been something unusual in my life. My earliest memories are of my maternal grandfather putting me in his lap and singing to me. And if me or my older brother had had a nightmare, he would comfort us and tuck us in again. The thing is though, we were born in 79 and 82 and my maternal grandfather passed away in 1969. Because of this, I was never really worried about the benevolent spirit living in our basement bedroom.
When I was 16 I met a woman who would later become my wife. She too had been surrounded by paranormal happenings her entire life and she instantly recognized the spirit in the basement as a child ghost. We fondly named it Charlie, since we didn’t know the gender of said ghost. Charlie was a very mischievous spirit who liked to pull off blankets, open up cabinets, spread candy all over the floor and pull out comic books from my drawer.
When I was 20 I got my first real job and I moved to my own apartment. It was a one room with a hob. So it was very tiny, especially for one person and two cats. But it was still homey, mostly because I quickly noticed that Charlie had moved with me.
At first I didn’t notice anything strange about it. I’d heard that no one had lived there for more than a year, but I attributed that to the size. It’s not the kind of apartment you would want to live in for many years. But after a while I started noticing small things like stuff disappearing, which I first just thought was Charlie, the cats fear of the closet and not the least; my deteriorating mental health. I went from being a friendly, happy and positive person to fearing and hating everything around me. I developed fear for water, telephones, open spaces, small places, using the hob and talking to my neighbours, to mention a few things.
The first time my future wife came over she noticed it immediately. She said the apartment felt really cold even though it was summer and the indoor temperature in all the other apartments in the complex led the other tenants to always have their windows opened. But my apartment was freezing.
One night we were exchanging ideas for a horror series we were working on when all of the sudden all four of my windows slammed opened. I had looked them tight, I know this, and there was no wind outside. It got so cold we could see our own breaths and it felt like someone or something was trying to crush our chests. The cats freaked out and his in the bathroom. I sat there, paralysed, but my wife just looked around the room and said: “Who ever you are, I am sorry. We cannot help you. Go somewhere else.”
A few moments past and the room slowly warmed up, the cats came back into the room and we could breathe freely again. It was one of the most horrible feelings I’ve ever had.
Every now and then I was sure I could see a black orb creep along the walls, day or night and every time I saw it I got the feeling of absolute despair and unwillingness to live on.
I lasted nine months in that apartment before I had to move back in with my parents and spent several stints in a psychiatric ward.
The last time I spent there was 2 weeks before I was supposed to move out; I had attended a concert with an old friend and was in a really good mood. I called her to say I was in the apartment and hung up. When I looked up at the clock, almost 2 hours had passed since I walked through the door, my right wrist was slit, there was a bloody knife in my left hand and three empty beer cans on the floor. I freaked out and called an ambulance.
I later found out that several of the previous tenants to that apartment had committed suicide while living there. I count myself lucky to have gotten out of there with my life intact.
I never felt Charlie’s presence since I moved out.
This was over 15 years ago now but every time I have a nightmare about ghosts, I’m back at that apartment.