Remember that time when you were a kid and you first realized you were afraid of the dark? How could you not? It's probably one of the most terrifying things kids have to experience the hard way (next to the first day of school). It's the mysterious black emptiness that lurks behind every corner, inside every closet, and beneath every bed. Lets not forget the myriad of frightening monsters (and, yes, I'm in including Sarah Palin in this category) just waiting for the chance to creep up on you when least expect it. And every night before bed, you would demand to leave the hallway light on, or some kind of night light because you thought that was your sanctuary from the encroaching darkness. I don't know about you, but I always found that hiding under the covers was a sure way for safety. I'd call it my safety blanket; if I didn't want to see what was lurking in the shadows then I would quickly bury my face under the sheets. What better way to tell those monsters to fuck off then to hide like a little sissy under the covers? I'm proud to admit that I was one of those sissies, and the old hiding under the sheets trick worked like a charm.
For as long as I could remember, I've always been afraid of the dark, and I suppose in part because of my fascination with horror movies. From an early age, I was glued to the television (or the movie screen) watching scary movies that most kids avoided like the plague. Some might call it unhealthy but I say it toughens you up and prepares you for the real horrors of the world (like the antiquated electoral college system). Even to this day, I still sleep with my closet door closed. Yes, I know there's nothing there, but at times I feel like that perpetual seven year old kid hiding from the things lurking in the shadows. But nothing could prepare me for what was to come in the weeks ahead at my cozy home with three lesbians, two cats, a dog, and a partridge in a pear tree.
It was a quiet winter evening at the Quintera and 47th home in the Outter Sunset. The house was quiet, and everyone was sleeping peacefully, including myself. And in case you're wondering this isn't a story about sugar plumbs dancing in our heads. At around four in the morning, I woke up to my entire bed shaking, and as a looked over at my closet door, it was opening. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat, and with my mind foggy from just waking up, I wasn't sure what exactly what was going on. The first thing that popped in my head: earthquake. I quickly jumped out of bed just in time to see my roommate leaving for work.
"Did you feel that earthquake?"
I distinctly remember the look she gave me. The look that told me she thought I just lost my marbles. "What earthquake?"
"The one just now. You didn't feel it?"
Again, that look! Damn those eyes! "No. I didn't feel anything."
"Really? My bed was just shaking..."
After she left, I lingered in the hallway with my only my thoughts to comfort me. I knew what I felt, and I know I didn't imagine it... or did I? At this point I gathered my fiercest bravado and walked back into my room and turned the light on. I walked over to the closet door that was open all the way. I remembered before I went to bed I did leave it slightly ajar, but I didn't shut it completely. I pushed the door back and forth trying to figure out if I was going cuckoo for nutty puffs. With my mind still racing, I turned out the light and went back to bed (or at least tried to), but I didn't go back to sleep until the sun came up.
The next day I checked online to see if there were any mini earthquake reports within the area. I thought for sure I would find something because San Francisco is prone to small earthquakes, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything. Is the plot starting to sound a little like a scary movie? I wasn't ruling out the idea, but I didn't like it either. Worst case scenario: I would wake up to my head turning counterclockwise and spewing pea soup. Best case scenario: it was all in my head. In case you hadn't noticed, I was counting on the second option.
The next couple of nights continued to brave my bedroom in hopes that I could avoid another earthquake simulated evening. Without fail, my bed performed it's usual shaking bit ritual of lets scare Will to death. I was suddenly beginning to feel like Carolann in Poltergeist (minus the cute girlish looks and long blond hair), and at any moment my closet door would open on it's own accord again swallow me whole. Don't go into the light, Carolann! But like any brave soldier, I didn't leave my room, and I was determined to show this ghost-apparition-poltergeist bastard that I was here to stay and this was my room. But like any good old fashioned haunting, it always gets worse.
Towards the end of the week, I had my fair share of close encounters of the ghostly kind, and I was hoping that my tormentor would soon give up. And just when I thought I was going to enjoy a quiet, peaceful evening, I jolted out of bed and gasped because I thought I saw a silhouette of a face staring right at me! I was panting, trying to catch my breathe, and I felt as if I was being watched. Call me crazy (and you just might at this point), but I felt like there was someone else in my room, and it paralized me with fear beyond anything I had felt before. I could feel a presence in my room because the air suddenly got heavy. It was as if someone was there lurking in the dark, but I could not see them. It was then that I decided I would no longer sleep in my own bedroom, so I chose to sleep on the couch in the living room.
After about a few days of me sleeping on the couch my roommate finally noticed and asked me why. As embarrassed as I was about telling the story, I just let it all out and told her everything. And after telling my story she looked at me and said, "Oh, you mean that ghost in your room?" Now she tells me after I've moved in and paid my deposit! She knew this whole time and was keeping it from me? Was she ever planning on telling me that I shared a room with a ghost? She explained that other people that rented the room out experienced similar things, but she assured me that the ghost meant no harm, and there was no way he could hurt me. I guess she's never seen Amityville Horror, has she? (The original, not the remake with a half naked yummy Ryan Reynolds) Even after she tried to assuage my fears, I still couldn't bring myself to sleep in my room.
Luckily for me, I was dating a handsome older gentlemen at the time who had experience with these so called ghostly hunting's. On night after dinner, and a few glasses of wine later, I explained my story in hopes that he wouldn't think I was crazy. As a matter of fact, explained that his current home had a few ghosts of it's own. Great, now I was living with a ghost and sleeping with a guy that had his fair share of ghostly problems, except he believed that his spirits were non threatening. He explained to me that the only way to get rid of these disturbances is by reassuring the ghost that I meant no harm and that he can leave in peace. On top of that, he gave me some sage and told me to burn in every night when I communicated with the spirit. Well, if I wasn't going crazy before, I was more then certain I was going crazy by talking to imaginary ghosts. But I decided to give it a try because, at this point, I was willing to try anything.
Within the next few days, like clockwork, I talked to the spirit (what would my therapist think?) and lit the sage before I went to bed. To my surprise, I didn't experience any paranormal activity within the first few nights, and by the end of the week it seemed to have stopped. Was it that easy? Did my ghostly ritual work, or was it all just in my head? Whatever the reason, I was finally sleeping peacefully in my bed, and I didn't have any hauntings whatsoever. I might have been rid of my ghost, but I wasn't cured of my fear of the dark. It's going to take more then sage and conversing with myself to appease my fear of the things that go bump in the night. Until then, I'm content with getting a good night's sleep. The other stuff can wait, for now.
