by Simon Murik
When I went back I stood where I could see into the other room and watch to see if one of the kids were playing a joke on us. After about five minutes the volume went up again even louder this time. Again, I saw nobody there and that made me start to wonder. I hurried over and turned it back down and stood there watching it for a minute. I didn’t know why it was doing that but wondered if maybe there was something wrong with the stereo. Satisfied it was going to stay turned down, I went back to the kitchen and got ready to play cards.
About fifteen minutes later it did it again. Angry now, thinking one of the kids was being very sneaky, I got up and went over and just turned it off. The kids were playing in the back of the house and I went there to find out who’d been doing it. They all denied knowing anything about it and thought we were just having fun ourselves by turning it up loud to show it off . I was now perplexed. When I walked back to the dining room and stepped up onto the entryway, I tripped and fell, to my astonishment and everyone else’s. I don’t usually fall and I didn’t know what had happened; it was as if something physical had grabbed my ankle, but nothing was there. I got up and sat down at the table wondering what had just happened. Everyone was making fun of me for falling and having a great time at my expense.
After things settled down and we started playing cards, the stereo turned back on. I jumped. Now all of us were looking at each other wondering what was going on. A couple of us walked into the living room and looked at it. It wasn’t loud this time so there was no need to turn it down, but as we stood there and looked at it, the volume knob turned and the volume went up again as we watched in disbelief. None of us knew what to make of this and why or how it was happening, but I was getting a little nervous. What did all this mean? I didn’t really want to find out, so I unplugged the stereo and we went back to playing cards. None of us said a thing about the stereo but like me, everyone was wondering if it would happen again. If it plugged itself back in and starting playing again, I think I would have run out of the house. It didn’t.
The rest of the evening was enjoyable and when everybody left, I went to take a closer look at the stereo. It looked normal enough and I plugged it back in, wondering if it would happen again. My wife thought I was nuts but I sat down on the couch and waited. After more than an hour and nothing happened, I went to bed.
Some months later, having almost forgotten the weird things with the stereo, I had another strange encounter. I like to read late at night and a lot of the time I do it on the couch so that my wife doesn’t have to listen to me or try to sleep with the light on. On the end table we have a three-way touch lamp that I’d always liked and I turned it on as I sat down. I set it on the middle setting so it wouldn’t be at full light which tended to be a bit harsh late at night.
I was fully immersed in my book when the light turned to the brightest setting. Without really thinking about it, I just touched it a couple of times to get it back to the setting I had had it on. Within seconds it turned back on to full. Now it had my attention and the stereo incident came back to mind. As I sat there wondering what to do and what all this meant, the light turned off. I quickly turned it back on again; I got spooked in the dark and had a weird feeling about this. I stopped reading and just sat there staring at the light trying to think of any natural reason this might have happened. I knew that if something metal touched the lamp and I touched the metal it would still work, but nothing was by the lamp. I waited for about fifteen minutes but nothing happened. I thought maybe I was just imagining all this—not really, but I tried to convince myself and went back to reading my book.
As soon as I started reading again, the light turned off. Something was going on and it was driving me nuts. Did we really have ghosts or poltergeists here? Are they really real? I’d never thought so before but as soon as I turned the light back on, it went off again almost immediately. I turned it back on and it went back off. At first I was afraid and kept looking around but I couldn’t see anything. This off and on with the lamp went on for about ten minutes and then stopped.
I got up to get a drink and to get away from the lamp for a few minutes to think about what was going on and whether or not I was going bonkers. It just didn’t seem real, but it was definitely happening. On the way to the kitchen, I felt something kind of touch my ankle again, but this time it was much different than when I tripped. It almost felt like a light caress as whatever it was seemed to rub a hand up and down my ankle. I kind of lost it there for a moment and rushed into the kitchen where I splashed some cold water on my face and stood there not moving for about five minutes. Nothing else happened that night and as I said earlier, this went on for two more nights with the lamp and then stopped altogether.
For three days these strange things happened. I started to think it was pretty funny and actually started talking to whatever it was that was doing it. It was really weird because I would dare it to do it again and almost right away it would happen again. I enjoyed this little interplay but after the third night it stopped happening.
I don’t know what all this meant but it certainly changed my mind about ghosts, or spirits, or whatever they’re referred to as. I know what happened to me and I wasn’t the only one who saw some of these strange events. I’ve talked to some of the same people who were there that night playing cards: some didn’t want to talk about it, some thought it was funny and I was somehow doing it, and some talked to me about ghosts. We all agreed that whatever it was, it was nothing to take lightly; a few took it further saying that it proved there was life after death. I’m not too sure about that, but I am sure that there is something to ghost stories or experiences that defy explanation. Maybe this does show that we go to another place when we die. There are hundreds of theories about that and mine was just another incident in what seems to be a fairly commonplace experience. I’ll never forget it. If it was a ghost, it was a prankster, and I sometimes miss the fun we had.
“And this present is for you, Ava.” My daughter’s eyes grew big when my friend Sarah handed her a package. Sarah and Martin were friends of mine from college. Whilst I had been a single mum to Ava, they had spent the last few years saving up for the year of traveling, which they had just returned from. The two of them visited us with endless tales, which were more interesting to them than anyone else, and a selection of odd presents, which I graciously accepted.
Ava tried to rip open her present, but being three, it proved difficult. As she finally pulled the present out, a large amount of black matted string appeared first, and then a horrid round head. Ava’s excitement turned wary. I took the package and pulled out the present. It was a doll stuffed with sharp straw that poked through its fabric body. Its face was carved wood and painted white like a skeleton, with black holes for eyes and a mouth sewn up with black string. It was dressed in a black lace shawl—not only highly unsuitable for a three-year-old child, but utterly repulsive and macabre.
“Thank you so much. What an unusual present; Ava will love it,” I said, my British compulsion to lie outweighing my disgust.
“See,” Sarah gushed at Martin. “I told you she would love it.”
Ava was now sitting on the floor behind a chair with her back to us. She was stroking our new kitten, Pebbles, and I could tell Ava wasn’t happy.
“Ava, sweetheart,” I said. “Could you come here and thank Sarah and Martin.” Ava didn’t respond, so I went over and picked her up. She buried her face in my neck. “She must be tired,” I apologized.
“I don’t like that doll,” she said and I winced. Sarah and Martin made their excuses and left.
“I don’t like the doll either, Ava, don’t worry,” I said after they had gone. I put Ava down, picked up the doll, and took it to the kitchen. I opened the trash bin, and then hesitated. The doll was a present, after all, so I placed it on the kitchen table and took Ava upstairs to get her ready for bed.
The next morning I woke up and could hear Ava downstairs talking to herself. It was rare for her not to wake me up for
a hug, or breakfast, or to ask a really important question. I was intrigued as to how she was keeping herself entertained. As I sneaked downstairs and peaked in through the living room door I could see Ava sitting on the floor with her plastic kitchen set out. Next to her was the skeleton doll; she was feeding her a piece of plastic cake.
“Ava! What are you doing?” I couldn’t help but sound surprised that Ava was playing with the horrible toy.
“Playing with my dolly,” Ava said in a matter-of-fact way.
Over the next few days Ava and the doll became inseparable. Insisting on taking it to play school with her I felt embarrassed as to what the other parents would say. Being scary enough to give Freddy Krueger nightmares, I drew the line at her sleeping with it.
A few days later I had had enough of her carrying the doll everywhere. Much to Ava’s disgust, I pried the doll from her and put Ava in her playpen in the garden to get some fresh air. I gave her a selection of other toys, along with Pebbles, and stood in the kitchen, watching her play as I half-washed the dishes.
After a while I went outside to check on her. She was sitting on the ground, holding something tight in her hand.
“Why are you so quiet, Ava?” I asked, taking her little closed fist and kissing it. She opened her hand and passed me something small and soft.
“What have you got?” I looked down. In my hand was a tiny dead bird. It was so pale it was almost translucent, with pearl-like eyes. I screamed and dropped it on the ground.
“Why did you pick up a dead bird?” I shouted.
“It was Dolly, she did it.” Ava pointed her hand towards the house. Through the patio glass I could see the doll lying on its side on the kitchen table, it’s black eyes looking straight at us.
That night I called up Sarah to find out more about where she got the doll.
“We bought it from a woman in Mexico who makes them for orphaned children to be their guardians. She wasn’t going to sell one to us at first, but I got managed to get one. The lady said that the dolls have the power to protect their owners.
I got off the phone scared witless. Who on earth would buy one of those dolls, let alone think it was a suitable present for a three-year-old? I went upstairs to Ava’s room, where the skeleton doll was sitting on the bedside table. I picked it up and took it downstairs, where I threw it in the kitchen bin.
That night I slept well—the relief at getting rid of the skeleton doll had taken a weight off my mind. That was until I was woken by the sound of crying. I immediately went into Ava’s room to find her fast asleep, but I could still hear crying. My stomach turned. Surely it couldn’t be the doll? I crept downstairs and opened the bin. The doll was still there, and appeared to be quiet.
I then had a scary thought and ran into the living room and looked in Pebbles’ basket. She was gone.
“Pebbles?” I called out. It wasn’t like her not to be in her basket. I could still hear crying. I looked in the kitchen. Pebbles wasn’t there. I ran upstairs and looked in the bathroom. Nothing. I went into Ava’s room and switched the light on.
“What is it, Mummy?” Ava said.
“Nothing, Ava; go back to sleep.” I turned off her light and shut the door. I went into my bedroom and looked under the bed. When I went back into the hallway I could hear talking coming from the kitchen. Ava’s door was wide open. I ran downstairs and looked in. Ava was sitting on the floor surrounded by rubbish. The bin was lying on its side. Ava was cradling the doll as if it were a baby and talking to her. The crying had stopped.
“Why was dolly in the bin, Mummy?” Ava said. I ignored her question.
“Have you seen Pebbles, Ava?” I asked. Ava didn’t look up, she just pointed outside. It was too dark and windy outside to see anything. I turned on the patio light. Pebbles was lying lifeless on the ground. I collapsed to the floor.
“What’s wrong, Mummy?” Ava said.
“How did you know Pebbles was outside?” I asked Ava between sobs.
“Dolly says she was angry because you tried to take her from me.” Ava said in a matter-of-fact way. She started singing a lullaby to her doll as she smiled and stroked her head.
When I was younger, I hoped that my parents would go somewhere—to a lake house on weekends, to our cousins’ for a couple of days, anywhere—without me. I hoped that I would have the entire house just for myself, and for the friends who would come over to visit. I was never interested in throwing parties, knowing that something like that would always leave a mess, but I wanted to have complete privacy, not caring if we use some “bad” words, or drink alcohol, or listen to loud music…
And so, my wish turned into reality. Mom and Dad told me that they were going to visit my aunt and that they would like me to join them. I managed to avoid the journey by telling them about the article I needed to complete for the school newspaper. There was no such article, but they couldn’t check it, so my lie was perfect enough. As my parents left the house, I picked up the phone and called three of my best friends, telling them to grab their pajamas and bring something to drink. My refrigerator was overflowing with food, so I was focused on making something for dinner and snacks.
It was about 9:00 p.m. when we all gathered. We had a lot of fun, talked, read some funny comments on the Internet, and watched a movie. Somewhere around 1:00 a.m., we still didn’t want to go to sleep. However, we had no idea what to do. I suggested checking for something else to watch, but one of my friends wanted to tell ghost stories and urban legends. Everybody loved the idea, except for me. I never believed in any of those stories, thinking how most of the “real testimonies” about paranormal activities are provided by some random people who just crave attention. However, I wanted to be a good host, and since everyone liked the idea, I had no options but to follow up.
And, as I suspected, all the stories were all around “there was some guy,” or “there was some girl,” with no details, and if they wanted to make their stories sound more believable, they would add that it had to be true, because they “know the guy who knows the guy.” It took about a half hour until I said how we can either start doing something else, or I will go to sleep, leaving them with their scary stories. I really didn’t want to stay awake just to listen to those stupid stories. That’s when the debate started. How can you not believe in ghosts? Do you believe in God? Do you believe in anything? Why you believe a commercial when they try to sell a product…?
It’s incredible how once you show you disagree with others, those others attack you with the bunch of questions and “facts” at the same time. As if my own opinion suddenly made them feel angry. I love my friends, but sometimes it’s hard to talk with them. But, let me stick to the main topic. One of them suggested that we should summon a ghost so that I could see the truth. The other two were terrified by this idea. One even said how it might bring a tragedy to the house. She seemed really worried, but I just smiled. I asked what we need for such “experiment.”
We made some sort of ghost summoning table with all the letters, “yes” and “no,” numbers … I’m not sure what those things are supposed to look like, so I let them do it. I brought the candles—the ones my mom uses when she wants to relax in the bath. We took each other’s hands, and my friend started talking. It was something like, “Spirit among us, hear our call and answer our questions.” After a while, each of us had to put one finger on the small glass that had been placed upside-down on the board.
As my friend asked for the thousandth time if the spirit was with us, the glass under our fingers started moving towards “yes.” They all were surprised, shocked, and even scared a bit. I told them to calm down; I was sure that one of them moved the glass with their finger. They started looking at each other, wondering how I could make fun out of such a thing. And, so, I suggested that a good way to see if the spirit is really there is for each of us had to ask it a question that no one else would know the answer to.
We all agreed. The one who spoke to the spirits, our “medium,” had the priority, s
o she asked what name she had given to her first doll. When the glass showed the letters, and revealed the name “Tessie,” she remained calm, but I could see the tension in her face. The answer was correct, but I still refused to believe. She could have been pretending just to make me look ridiculous. With the other two, it was quite similar, except the part in which one of my friends, Julie got so hysterical, that she ran out the house. We called her back, but she just stood in the front yard, crying. She called the cab and went back to her home.
I was quite angry with these two, since I was sure that one of them knew the answer to the question she asked. I suggested that they finish the circle and let me ask a question. They said it was not possible without Julie. The circle was broken. As they started thinking about calling a cab, or a priest, I went to the bathroom. I had just had too much of it all.
I took a shower, trying to relax. I just hoped that our hysterical friend came to her senses, and that she wasn’t too traumatized for no reason. Once I finished showering, I start brushing my teeth. Condensation was all over the mirror in front of me. I don’t even why, but I asked, out loud, “Are we going to remain good friends after this?”
I can’t describe how I felt when I realized that there was a word revealing itself in the mist on the mirror’s surface. It said “YES.”
I ran out, screaming. I was shocked, scared, and I literally wanted to kill my friends, thinking of them as foes who had brought something sinister into my house. As I screamed at them, they grabbed me and forced me to remain still. When I managed to calm down, I told them what happened. Our “medium” smiled and said something about the complete circle, and that she was happy that we all saw the truth, whatever the truth is.