From 99-01, I lived in Seattle. A BIG change for a kid who spent almost his entire life in the middle of a desert, both in terms of environment AND in terms of culture. It’s where I really learned to drive in city freeway traffic, take off from stops on hills that felt like they were 90 degrees and how to battle crippling depression. But I digress.
In 2000, I had the opportunity to move into a house in a REALLY nice part of Seattle with some friends of mine from back home. It was the scummiest house on the block, but that still meant it was MIGHTY nice. 2 stories, a basement, a front and back yard and right on a bus line. Rent was cheap, it was reasonably accessible to everywhere I wanted to go, and I was living with my buddies. We lived there for 7 months and everything seemed AWESOME!
And then, in the summer of 2001, things…got weird.
I had broken up with a gal that I was pretty hung up on (I know, hard to believe) in about April/May, and I had decided that I was going to start prepping for the move down to Los Angeles eventually. I had a bunch of money saved up (don’t ask me how), so I quit the job I had had for the entire time I lived in the city up to that point.
So one Sunday night, me and 2 of my 3 roommates go to Linda’s, leaving the other at home to goof off. We shut the place down, come back at home around 2:30 and the left-behind roomie is on the porch, shaking and smoking a cigarette. Strange to be sure. We ask him what’s wrong, and he says: “I heard footsteps upstairs!” We laugh it off…
And then the following FRIDAY, we ALL go out to the bar and come home and go to bed. Now, one of the lads has set up shop in the basement, and his bed is right underneath where the tv would be on the main floor. So he’s getting ready to doze off and he starts hearing voices one floor up. He goes upstairs to check, and sure enough: the tv is off. But he can still hear a man and a woman having a very hushed argument in the room..
I’ve always kind of been a chickenshit scaredy cat and VERY susceptible to suggestion. Couple that with the fact that I’m now spending a lot of the day at the house by myself, and suffice to say at this point, I’m FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.
So when, one day, I’m sitting in the living room and hear a funny glass clanking sound from the kitchen, I should almost expect it. I go into the kitchen, and sure enough, one of the glasses has fallen off the dish drainer. I put it back, go to the living room, and as I’m walking away, it does it again. I turn around, and it’s in EXACTLY. THE. SAME. PLACE. It’s physically impossible, I tell you, but I try to rationalize it as moisture or something. And just to hedge my bets, I say aloud: “I’m going to leave the glass right there. If you want to move it, be my guest.” And go back to my movie. Which I think might have been “Poltergeist.” Handsome, but not bright.
Things cool down for a week or two. And then one day I’m in the basement making buttons for my friend’s side business and I hear a BIG ASS BANGING coming from the floor above me. I’m alone in the house. I sprint up the stairs and out the door as fast as I fucking can. And my neighbor comes home to find me on the porch smoking a cigarette and shaking. I try to tell her what’s wrong, but it just doesn’t make sense.
Fortunately, at this point I’ve decided to move to LA, and only have to put up with the creepies for another few weeks. And nothing happens.
However, I go back a year later and ask about it, and everyone is VERY tight lipped. I go to the bathroom and notice the window is broken. I mention THAT, and you could have heard a pin drop…
Not the most dynamic haunted house story, but it did the job for me. I’d like to go back and see it with different eyes now.