I decided to spend a few days with my grandmother. Anticipating cookie tins, Young & the Restless marathons, and homemade spaghetti, I made myself comfortable in the downstairs bedroom and spent the first day enjoying all of the above. The ‘downstairs bedroom’, as I like to call it, is one of two bedrooms on the landing at the bottom of the staircase (which I talked about in part one). I chose this bedroom because of it’s cozy queen size bed. My brother and I also used to sleep in this bedroom a lot when we were young. My other choice would have been the smaller bedroom on the top floor of the house (with the double bed)- next to my grandparent’s room. The other downstairs bedroom was not an option as it was occupied by a relative at the time. This person was not always in the house though because they often worked long hours and usually worked nights.
During the first night I settled into bed easily. The room was the same as it had always been, so I felt easily at home. I didn’t take notice of anything in the room (the reason why I’m telling you this will make sense later) and I drifted off to sleep.
I am fully aware of the fact that people are capable of moving around when they sleep. Some people sleep walk, others sleep text, some people simply talk in their sleep. I am a heavy dreamer and occasionally I talk in my sleep but I never go on sleep ‘journeys’ or grab things while sleeping. And while I was awake, I didn’t take conscious notice of anything in the room (since it’s like home to me). Taking all of this into account, the following experience really freaked me out.
I had asked my grandmother to keep my door open ajar. She kept the hallway light on so there was a dim light shining through the cracked door. In the middle of the night, I opened my eyes to see the outline of something large on the bed next to me. The fact that there was something there was enough to scare me. Then I realized that the object beside me was the large ceramic vase of potted fake flowers that had been sitting beside the bed for years. But they were on the bed. Right beside me.
I zoomed off the bed, steering clear of the plastic plant and bolted upstairs to wake my grandmother. After I told her what had happened, she walked downstairs with me and turned the light on. Indeed, the plant was there on the bed. The large pot (of the vase) was cracked and part of the table cloth the flowers had been sitting on was on the bed as well, held in place by the weight of the flower vase.
The next night I decided to sleep in the upstairs bedroom. This bedroom, despite its location (next to my grandparent’s room), had always freaked me out. The light always flickers and it has a weird atmosphere. Sort of a sad, dark atmosphere (and I’m not just saying that). I went to sleep that night already freaked out. The house has always had a weird vibe just as soon as it’s dark outside and the lights go off. When I sleep in the upstairs bedroom, I become extra freaked out (I still do to this day). This particular night was like any other night, I slept the entirety of it with the comforter over my head. I was boiling from the heat of the blanket but I didn’t budge. Half way through the night, I tried to flip onto my other side. While doing this, I felt something beside me on the bed, through the blanket. I didn’t want to look so I kept the blanket over my head until morning.
That morning I discovered that the object I had felt beside me was actually a little glass pot of dried lavender (which had originally been on the table beside me). You’re probably thinking, “you fool, you must have moved it in your sleep”. I thought that too, but looking at the other fragile objects on the table (the lamp, the small “Virgin Mary” figurine) I came to the conclusion that if I had grabbed the pot in my sleep, then I would have knocked something over.
I definitely was not going to sleep in that bedroom again. On the third night, I settled for the living room couch. The living room couch was NOT comfortable- but I really had no other choice. I started out the night sleeping on my right side, facing out into the living room. There were no flowers around me (and no extra room for them on the couch). I figured I was safe.
I was safe. Nothing actually harmed me. But something weird still happened that night that can’t really be explained. In the middle of sleeping- the blanket wrapped tightly around me- I woke up and opened my eyes (sort of suddenly). Across from the couch was a ‘la z boy rocker’ (basically a really comfy chair that rocks). It was indeed rocking. It was the middle of the night, no one else was there, and it was rocking. I likened the event to the movement of a draft and I flipped around to my other side. As soon as I did this I felt something on my back. It sort of felt like a handprint. I curled myself up tightly in the blanket, covered my head with it and waited till morning.
That morning, I asked my grandmother if she had turned the air conditioning on. She said that no, they don’t use air conditioning. They have an air machine in the window but it had been off. My grandmother also asked my uncle, who had the room downstairs if he had been home at the time- he hadn’t.
I still don’t know what to completely make of these events. Yes, I could have been sleep walking, sleep grabbing, or sleep ‘rocking’ during those nights, but I really was never much of a sleep walker (I only ever really sleep talked, and that was still only a rarity). I told my grandmother what had happened on the last night and she simply replied that there was nothing there to harm me. I am convinced to this day that she must believe that something is in the house. I mean, my mom, myself, and my Aunt Marilyn have all admitted to experiencing something. But being the devout Catholic my grandmother is, she never really gives me a straight answer when I ask her. This whole nightly experience happened a months (maybe even a year) after I saw the figure of the man. I haven’t seen anything since but I still feel weirded out when I spend nights at my grandmother’s. In the end though, I find it all extremely intriguing.