The Apartment from Hell
My husband and I rented an apartment in the historical section of town. Our six-month-old son made three of us in the little place, which was amazing. We got steam heat from the original boilers; the floors were all hardwood; well, you get the idea.
Our apartment, I found out, would have been the sitting room and the study, and our kitchen used to be the pantry. Our bathroom used to be the wood shed where fuel was stored to keep the boiler going. The apartments upstairs were the nursery, the maid chamber, and a guest room. I learned this from a combination of historical study and perusing records.
There were four deaths in the house that were reported -- the rest I can only imagine. I found out from a previous tenant that one dweller had asked the Catholic Church to come to the house. Surprisingly, a priest came.
During the day in this house, you feel like you're being watched. The closer it draws to night, the more you actually dread being there. This feeling seems to get worse the longer you are there, to the point where you want to keep turning around because you think someone is there, and if you don't you fear you are going to be touched.
Things then begin to disappear when you know for a fact you just set it down in a particular spot. My husband and I began to fight with each other all the time over nothing. We would leave the apartment and my husband would say that he felt a weight had lifted, and he didn't know what was the matter, and then he would cry.
Our son would look at things we could not see; he would raise his hands and clap and laugh, as if prompted by something invisible. After two weeks, we realized we couldn't stand to shower in the place. When we got into the shower, we could hear someone screaming at the top of their lungs; it sounded like a woman was being killed. I would mess with the water, and I would keep getting out of the shower, soaking wet, to see if all the doors and windows were locked.
I told my sister to shower there, to see what she would say. She kept calling me into the bathroom. She said, "A woman is screaming!"
My husband and I could not bath without the other in the room. The one in the shower would keep talking, so that we knew we weren't alone.
One night, in the middle of the night, a baby began to cry. I went to check my baby, but he was sound asleep. Between two and three a.m., we heard a real shouting match with men fist-fighting on the walk way. We joined the tenant in the other apartment in wakefulness and went running out to the walk way. There was nothing there, just dust.
But the strange thing was, the glass was busted out, not in.
Not longer after that, I had a horrible nightmare. There were two coffins, beautifully made up, placed on planks in the sitting room. The people in them were a man and a woman, I just knew they were married. They were very pretty, and all made up to look like they were sleeping.
My mother moved into the apartment upstairs, into what would have been the nursery. It feels safe and comfortable, not at all like downstairs. Though my family and I moved, my mother swears there is still a man and a woman fighting downstairs, and at times two men. The girl that moved in to our apartment hears a baby crying.
It is the apartment from hell.
