The first time it was the bathroom light.
I had just gotten my morning coffee from the kitchen and was walking past the bathroom on my way to the living room when the bathroom light flipped on.
Click! Like it was saying, "Hello there! I think we both knew this was coming."
I turned off the light and continued to the living room to get to work. "It's probably bad wiring," I insisted to myself.
I settled in on the couch with my laptop and got to pecking away at an article. While I wasn't uncomfortable for the rest of the day, I didn't feel uneasy, I also didn't feel like I was alone. It was like someone was in the next room the whole day, keeping to themselves, quietly doing their own thing.
Which wasn't all that unusual for Annie's apartment. On more than one occasion I'd come over in the morning, after Annie had left for work, and felt like someone was waiting for me. Once or twice I'd even called out, "Annie? You still here?"
Now and then I go to my friend Annie's apartment to work. It's like my own private co-working space – my co-workers being her dog, Austin, and two cats, Olive and Lulu. In exchange for using her printer and getting a change of scenery while I write, I walk Austin and feed all the beasts dinner.
Annie's apartment is around 80 years old and has seen countless families live within its walls, countless renovations. Though Annie lives alone, we've both commented before that it sometimes feels like there's another person just out of sight. Nothing foreboding, or unsettling, just something there. Someone there.
For some reason we're both pretty sure it's a "she".
Annie's TVs regularly turn on by themselves. Floorboards creak as if steps are being taken. I've watched lamps click on and off. All of this can be attributed to "old apartment", but combine it with the other things, it's hard to write it all off.
Once I was on the couch typing away, when I heard the front door open and close and someone walk in carrying what sounded like paper shopping bags. The door and entryway is around the corner from the couch so I couldn't see anything. "Hey! You're home early!" I called out.
Nothing.
"Annie? Helloo?"
Nothing.
Austin had gotten up from his bed and was stopped halfway to the hall. He stood frozen, staring in the direction of the door. Normally if Annie had come home, he'd have bounded over to greet her.
"What's up buddy?" I asked as I got up to investigate.
There was nobody there. Nobody in the bedroom, nobody in the bathroom, nobody in the kitchen. And since home invasion is one of my greatest fears I checked all of the closets and under the bed – nobody but me and three confused critters.
Oddly, it didn't really bother me. It was just WEIRD.
I wasn't scared, I wasn't on edge, it actually felt normal – for Annie's apartment.
Nothing of note happened for a while. I regularly thought I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, walking from the living room into Annie's office, but I can't be SURE I saw anything. Occasionally the movement would be so quick, like a cat darting by (even while Olive and Lulu sandwiched me on the couch), that Austin would hop up from his bed and go investigate, prompting me to go investigate. As always, we found nobody and nothing.
The only time I got truly uncomfortable was one night just before Annie got home.
I was finishing up some work on the couch, looking forward to Annie's return so we could make dinner and watch trash TV. Around 6:30pm my phone rang, it was my boss. I picked up the phone and stood in the corner of Annie's apartment "Blair Witch style" as that is the only corner where I can get cell reception (it's an old NY building that doesn't agree with my cell provider; my husband has the same problem).
After talking with my boss for about 20 minutes I hung up and sat back down with my computer. That's when I heard it.
Footsteps in the kitchen, stuff being moved around, rustling, was that the sink I heard?
I figured Annie had gotten home while I was loud-talking on the phone and I hadn't noticed. Strange, but not unheard of.
So like before, I called out to my friend. "Annie?"
Nothing. But I could still hear the original hard wood floors creak in the kitchen.
The animals all looked in the direction of the sound, but none moved. If Annie had been home, Austin and the cats would have been at her side.
"Well crap," I thought. "Ghost or marauder."
"HELLO?" I called out and the apartment got silent. All movement ceased.
Clutching my phone, ready to call the police, I walked across the apartment to the dark kitchen.
I flipped on the light.
Nothing.
Had the skillet been on that burner? Was that glass next to the sink this morning, or had it been by the Instant Pot? Was the rug jostled?
I can't properly answer these questions. At that point I didn't trust my judgement because I was CREEPED OUT good and proper. Annie came home 30 minutes later and we had a lovely evening of wine and House Hunters International.
I still work at Annie's apartment once or twice a week and most of the time I still feel like her "roommate" is waiting for me when I walk in the door.
I've grown sort of fond of her.
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