I’ve always had an overactive imagination. That’s what my parents and brothers would tell you, anyway. It’s true, though. Movies carousel in my mind as vivid as anything on TV. Long car rides? No problem. Another world to discover and conquer. I never minded my family saying that about me. It’s what sheltered my rational reasoning of the world for so many years. They would say it’s just your imagination, and I allowed myself to be convinced. For almost twenty years I believed it. Why not? The alternative would mean… everything was real.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5h4CwqywzY
As a child, I lived in a small home in Upstate New York. The house was too cramped for three kids and two parents, so my grandpa - who we all called Poppy - built us an extension to expand our space. My bedroom was one of those additions. New floors, walls, ceiling, and fresh paint, but step past the border, and… well… that was different. I always called it the “old side”. Walls decrepit with crusty wallpaper; Stained carpets with pungent, musky aromas unable to be scrubbed out, and appliances coarse in baked dirt and rust. Functional, yes, but regal… not so much. It wasn’t that my parents weren’t diligent in keeping it clean. It’s just that when a house had hung around as long as that one - tortured by the wiles of two young boys and myself - one could only do so much. For the most part, I never really took notice of the state of the old side. Things like that don’t play much into the minds of children. Only when the blackness stole the cerulean of the sky did it even register. Cast in moonlight, those old halls and rooms groaned with nightmares.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3rWhvZPj7R
Blaming my imagination was easy. I have troves of oddities that I thought I saw, but could effortlessly explain away. I remember visiting Poppy’s house once. He lived fifty miles away, and at my age, his house felt eerie to my childish perception. He had one of those creepy paintings - you know the ones where it seems like the eyes follow you wherever you go - and upstairs a door, unpainted with dilapidated patterns of wooden fibers. Poppy always kept it closed, telling my two brothers and me to never go inside. I found the hardness of his words strange. For the most part, we obeyed, but eventually, I broke the rule. Late one night, I awoke to see what appeared to be a woman in a rolling white dress, roaming through the house with a muted flow. Instead of burrowing under my blankets, as one would think, I snuck out and followed until she neared that old, ratty door. My eyes bulged as she passed through much like water straining through mesh. Curiosity claimed fear’s place, and I pried the door with a stiff pop. Inside, a menagerie of boxes, tools, and other peculiars were stacked in disheveled piles, but no mysterious woman. Must be a dream, I justified.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyXLv713O43
Not long after that incident, I had a similar experience in my New York home. Again, a late night, stirred from sleep by a pair of click-clacking heels. I arose to check, thinking maybe my mother had awakened early. I peeked out my door, and my eyes beheld two women in the hall. Their appearance, I cannot recall. I remembered they laughed and chatted amongst themselves with silent motions of their mouths. I can't say if it was my memories misguiding me, or that they really were speaking without utterance. I just remember that all I could hear was the staccato of their heels. Confused, I asked who they were and why they were in my house. With knowing looks, they turned to me and replied, finally with audible voices.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHGOJ6NueVt
“We live here.”267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ51GmsdW28b
They continued on until I watched them fade into nonexistence. Overactive imagination, right? Simple to mask with the security of childhood fantasy. It didn’t end with that. My years are still bothered by the series of events that transpired after.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlXFTIAGfCy
The late sixties rolled in, my age being around six to eight. I know this because of Richard Speck’s arrest on account of him murdering eight female student nurses in a Chicago townhouse. I heard the news from the radio - unbeknownst to my parents - and its horrific nature stuck with me. Serial killers were a foreign concept in the realm of my innocence, so knowing real monsters existed altered my feelings of safety. During this time, it wasn’t uncommon for me to need to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. It rested across the hall from my room on the old side. The dull, orange-yellow luminescence of a single night-light guided me in but painted the worn walls in frightening shadows.One particular shadow kept my gaze in attention with shivers trickling across my skin. Against one of the walls gaped a solitary window, a curtain secured at the top on each end, dipping low in the middle. The shadow it gave off reminded me of a fat, curved sword - similar to a scimitar. I always feared that if I lingered too long, it would cut me down. Amid one of these bathroom trips, I had my first encounter.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxPwJhwmHi8
We had a playroom that sat in the hall to the right of my room. It didn’t have a door, only an open doorframe. Due to the lack of space, the playroom served the dual purpose of being my oldest brother’s bedroom, with my youngest brother having his own room opposite it. I don’t know why, but in the darkness of night, the playroom seemed to breathe an ominous tone. Outlines of shapes loomed in the glow from the window, but details were hard to pick out. It permeated me with dread every time I caught a glimpse of it in my peripheral. I would inspect it just long enough to ensure it remained the same as before. The idea of something being there that didn’t belong twinged my thoughts with anxiety.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP7yhxMuS61
In my traditional manner, I dashed from my room with nimble steps, hoping to reach the bathroom before the invisible monsters got me. Something halted me halfway there, and I felt a cold sweat begin to form. Something wasn’t right this time. I hadn’t seen it yet, but every brain cell was firing off warnings. I don’t know why I turned. Whether it was out of some kind of morbid curiosity or not, I’m not sure. At first, I tried to persuade myself that it was just my eldest brother standing in the doorframe. Perhaps he had heard something and was just peering out to investigate. 267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡivCF60m40m
That was not my brother.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUdzs1C4C5e
I couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t looking at me. Instead, his attention seemed directed toward my youngest brother’s room. He didn’t move, only stood in that doorframe with a hand on each side jamb. At first, the thought of a statue crossed my mind. That thought fled as the wood of the frame creaked ever-so-slightly. I stood there, legs stiff. His apparel didn’t make sense to me. Clothes the color of a forest, and his head topped by a funky hat with a feather. It would be years later before I recognized the outfit in a picture of Robinhood. At the time, I didn’t have a clue who that was. It sounds… weird, I know. Many people have used this to dismiss my experience, some even making fun of me, but the question remains. How could I have invented something I had no knowledge of?267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5SYeQQUVXr
It was the long, thin sword sheathed on his left side that made me flee inside the bathroom. Unlike my run-ins with the ethereal women before, I had no desire to confront him. I don’t know how to explain it properly. Maybe it had to do with hearing the story of Richard Speck. All I know is that an inner voice cautioned me against approaching.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKQupLs7PKY
Not wanting to risk going back, I remained in the bathroom for what felt like an hour. What if he saw me? Eventually, fatigue won out. I wasn’t about to sleep where that unsheathed shadow was. With clammy hands, I cracked the door open. The handle’s rough texture scraped against my firm grasp, ready to shut the door at a moment’s notice. The man was gone. I stuck my head out, feeling braver, and monitored both sides of the hall. Nothing to see, only silence.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgzhozop5wJ
I didn’t tell my parents about that encounter. I should have. Perhaps my father would have searched the house for the intruder. Interestingly enough, I was more concerned with what they would say if they found nothing. They disliked being woken up. I didn't even know if what I had seen actually happened. As the days passed, I became more and more unsure of it. I must have imagined it, I told myself. Eventually, the memories faded. That didn’t last long.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgvvrSS5eyN
Night had fallen once again. I was lying in my bed, resisting sleep. My eyelids drooped, but for whatever reason, I kept fighting it. I felt an uneasiness in my stomach, although I couldn’t place why. Across from my bed sat a round mirror atop a dresser pressed against the wall, and I just kept gazing at it, half expecting to see something in it. At some point, my eyes closed.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxJWbroKyK8
Thump, thump, thump!267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRfJwUV8jLO
I snapped awake screaming. A hunched-over figure darted across from the right, a funky hat with a feather adorning its head. It was him. There was no door on the right for him to come through. 267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD5JW3hmFsU
He had been in my room the whole time.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLecXtcboyj
Maybe it had been a hallucination from being half asleep, but then why did the mirror confirm what I saw? Hearing me scream, my mother bolted into my room and switched on the light. There was no man.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNLL9vWTwGK
Upon seeing me trembling in tears, my mother asked what had happened. I told her. I told her everything. Yeah… you guessed it. Her eyes shifted from fright to pity with a hint of irritation.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMovWeXXHEA
“It’s just your imagination,” she said. “Probably a bad dream.”267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWzCwzcsk8Y
There would be several instances of this over the next few years. After a while, I just remained silent. Despite my best efforts, my mother never believed me. She kept telling me the same thing.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjeEEnFU61F
It’s just your imagination.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGDCDMNFJWI
It only got worse. I started hearing shuffling in our attic. We called it an attic, but it was more like a small crawlspace. I wouldn’t tell my parents about it, believing they would blame it on rats, but it wasn’t rats. It reminded me of rough sandpaper rubbing across a floor much like someone crawling on their hands and knees. It had to be him; I was certain. I would get so choked up by the fear that occasionally my parents would let me sleep in their bed while they stayed awake. Even there, I wasn’t safe. I would hear that same crawling under their bed.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9eMBzQPRJ1
We moved away, but not before my final two experiences. Those are the ones that chill the marrow in my bones. The first happened in the middle of a harsh winter, the snow so deep that it reached our window sills. It played out similar to my previous ones with me waking up in the night. What spurred me to the kitchen is still hazy in my mind. My only rationalization is that I must have needed water.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTRFTE1VySA
He was waiting for me there. Somehow, he knew I would go in the kitchen. He was outside, crouched at the window above the kitchen sink, supported by the high-rising snow. I had never seen his face, but this time he aimed his gaze right at me. Memories of Poppy’s creepy painting entered my thoughts. Wherever I moved, his head would follow. He didn’t speak or make any other motions. A menacing aura exuded from him. I couldn’t help but think that he was becoming increasingly more brazen. I raced back to my room.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfTpxJNLxZy
For years, I would forget the final encounter with him. Save for the sounds of crawling in the attic, he only revealed himself at night. This time, he dared the daylight.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlmT8orbOjs
A friend and I were playing in my room. I can’t recall her name or who she was, but I remember we played with Barbie dolls. High on my wall was a small slitted window, reachable only by a ladder. As the two of us played, I noticed the light shift. I looked up to see him staring at us from my window. I poked my friend’s arm and pointed.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI9G0VxxVH3
“Do you see him?” I asked. She followed where my finger directed, and a long pause hushed the room. Eventually, she replied.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡexN9aLNK64
“Yes.”267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ30i2Lwot61
The oddest thing happened. We went back to playing. I don’t even think it ever came back up. She had told me she saw him, but that was it, lost to memory like a spell being cast on us. Looking back at it now, I wonder if that’s true. I still can’t remember his face. Both times he had been looking directly at me, yet I can’t picture it no matter how hard I try. If you were to play my memories through video, it would appear distorted as if corrupted. I can’t think of another way to explain it.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyhgeeZCzCp
I worry that if we had stayed in that house any longer, I wouldn't be here today. I can’t rid myself of this feeling that he was getting closer, like a lion waiting to pounce. To my relief, that was the last I saw of him. We moved six-hundred and fifty miles away to the state of North Carolina. No longer was I accosted by these weird happenings. As peaceful years passed, I allowed myself to chalk everything up to my overactive imagination. Others reaffirmed it any time I brought it up. Like I said in the beginning, I went close to twenty years holding onto that comfort. It would be a conversation I had with my mother - when I was in my twenties - that everything would come back full force.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwadDtmErJu
I couldn’t tell you why the subject came up. My mother and I were discussing the spirit of fear, and I began telling her about the strange things I had witnessed in that old, decaying home. While regaling the part about the sounds in the attic, I noticed she stiffened. I half-chuckled, preparing to hear those familiar words. 267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡljt293lIGl
It was just your imagination.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSZZOgbEkRQ
She didn’t say that, though. Instead, she looked me dead in the eyes, and I could swear a slight tremble shook her hands.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFxts0pvJcD
“I heard it too,” she said.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv0mnBS49bc
I’ve always had an overactive imagination. You’re probably rolling your eyes at me, thinking that’s all it was. Maybe you’re right. I still don’t know for certain what I saw, but I have two witnesses. The girl who played with me in my room, and now my mother.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzlEbaGadYS
So… you tell me.267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz7xYoM1us1
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