Time passed and my third son was born. Other things began to happen. We adopted a dog and when he would lay on our bed at night, he often woke us up making these incredibly eerie growling and whining noises while staring intently at the long hallway. Eventually, the dog took to sleeping always under the blankets (which he still does today). No one used the upstairs at all.
The boys grew and eventually we decided that it was silly not to use the beautiful rooms upstairs. My husband and I decided we would move into the biggest room. My husband seemed to be okay with the arrangement, but I simply could not sleep up there. I would begin to drift toward sleep, but always jerked awake… over and over. I became exhausted. My dreams were unpleasant.
I began to have a recurring dream that involved a young girl of about 5 or 6. She was a dark haired child with a bob haircut and dark eyes. I was made aware that the upstairs belonged to her. Her demeanor was threatening, and when I did manage to fall asleep, she would randomly appear in dreams that had nothing to do with the house. One time in a dream, she, with apparent super human strength, tossed my mattress across the room with me on it. I jerked awake with the impact. I slept with the hall light on which illuminated the room. I did not want that room to ever be dark with me in it.
One night, I awoke thinking that someone was calling my name. I sat up and immediately saw that the room was full of what I thought was smoke. My first panicked thought was, “Fire!” and as I shot out of bed I glanced at the bedside clock radio and noticed that all I could see was a red blur where the time should be – the smoke was that thick. I yelled at my husband who didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear me.
As I sprang out of bed, my body displaced the smoke and as it swirled around my legs, I couldn’t see my feet. My terrified mind could only think of my children and I raced into the hallway. I stopped short. The hallway was absolutely clear – no smoke, no fire, nothing. My mind then thought, “Wait a minute, I have a smoke alarm in every room, but nothing is beeping. I turned to look back at the bedroom and it was perfectly clear.
I was confused and stood in disbelief for some time. I saw what I saw. My body had displaced the mist… but it was lower to the ground than smoke would be. As I stood there, I had the distinct feeling that I was not only being watched, but that whatever had done this, was very pleased with itself.
That was the last night I slept up there.
In 2007, my grandmother was involved in a car crash. Her knee was crushed and after her surgery, she moved in with us for her recuperation. I put her in the downstairs bedroom and I slept on the couch in the front room. Only the wall separated us and I could hear her easily. She was totally reliant on my help due to her inability to walk. Prior to this, my grandmother had worked, had her own apartment and was very independent.
My grandma had been with us for a week or two when one early, early morning, just after dawn, I heard her talking with someone. As I said, we were just inches apart through the wall and I could hear her talking, asking questions in a calm, friendly voice. I knew no one was up at this hour and just had time to wonder, “Who the heck is she talking to?” Suddenly, my grandmother began to cry out in an obviously terrified voice, “Chris! Chris! Come here!”
Heart pumping, I raced around the corner, opened her door and rushed to her side. Before I could say anything, my grandma nearly screamed, “Who is that little girl?” Seeing my grandma in so much obvious fear was disturbing. “What girl?” I asked.
“There was a little girl in here, she had dark hair and she was just standing there. I thought maybe she was one of your students or a child of a friend, but wondered why she would be here this early. I talked to her but she didn’t answer. She just looked at me and something was not right and her mouth was full of something. Then she began chomping and her mouth was bleeding. She spit out all these marbles and her teeth were broken. Then she turned and ran through the door.”
My grandma had known nothing of the weird things that happened here, and I had told no one about my dreams. I tried to tell my grandma that she must have been dreaming, but she knew better. She was shaken for days. I still think about it… and still live here.
Christina Sanantonio is a teacher and writer who lives in Central Illinois. She has worked in the field of family violence prevention for the last five years and prior to this, she taught kindergarten for 10 years. She has three teenage sons.
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