The Poltergeist of Apartment 105

The world is full of strange and mysterious things. Most of them can be explained away with logic or modern science. However, some phenomena are beyond explanation. Being chased by the dead is one of them.

At the age of eleven, I came across my first spirit. Little did I know that was only the beginning of my interactions with ghosts. I don’t know why, but the dead seem to love my family. A heads-up would have been nice, but good Christians don’t discuss things like being haunted. That reasoning dropped me into the deep end of the paranormal pool and left me to drown.

It’s probably best to give you a little background information. I am from North Carolina, a southern state in America. It has always been a conservative state, and people tend to be religious. Where I’m from, most of us are Southern Baptists. One of the unspoken parts of our faith is that ghosts are evil. The church taught us they are not the souls of our dearly departed, but evil demons come to earth to trick us. The devil wants our souls to burn in hell, after all. What’s a few tricks and lies to get them? A lot has changed since those days regarding my personal beliefs and the understanding of what happened behind closed doors. Let’s just say that family secrets are secrets for a reason. But, for this story, I was still an impressionable child with faith strong enough to move mountains.

That night is one of those memories where parts are high-definition clear, and others are fuzzy and faded. It was the day we moved into our new flat. Only me and my mama lived there, so the apartment wasn’t big. It was a small two-bedroom in an estate of flats. The front door opened into the living room, which led to a small kitchen. I remember there was a back door, but I couldn’t tell you what the garden looked like or if there was one. A short, narrow hallway led to two bedrooms with a bathroom in between them. The floors were tiled a dingy cream colour that matched the magnolia-painted walls perfectly. It was the first time I had ever seen an entire house tiled. I guess it was easier to clean. It made sense, as we lived in a low-rent deprived area. Complexes like that were called “the projects.” We were one of the only white families that lived there. That caused its own set of issues but didn’t really have anything to do with our ghost. However, being in a high-crime area did.

My cousin Michelle and her new husband Joe stayed the night to help us. They hadn’t been married long. I can remember being disgusted by their giggles and kisses all day long. They probably made out more than they helped, but Mama told me to hush when I mentioned it. Evidently, their help was worth the gag-worthy goo-goo eyes.

Besides that, things went smoothly until we went to bed for the night. We had only managed to set up Mama’s bed. So, Michelle and Joe got to sleep there. Mama had the couch, and she had made me a bed on the floor with several blankets and pillows to keep the chill from the tiles away. It wasn’t too long before we were all asleep.

It was sometime in the middle of the night when something woke me. A noise that I couldn’t figure out. It was dark but not pitch black, as plenty of light came from the streetlamps outside. I could hear it, whatever it was, but I couldn’t see anything. I remember lying so still and then looking down at my feet where the noise came from. It wasn’t scary, so much as weird.

The light came on down the hallway. Michelle and Joe were awake. Maybe they knew what it was. Mama was dead to the world and would be mad if I woke her up. I valued my life, so I whisper-shouted to my cousin.

‘Hey Michelle, I hear something rolling around in here like a marble, but I can’t see anything.’

Her exasperated, hushed reply was full of adult apathy towards an over-imaginative child in the middle of the night.

‘Go back to bed, Brandy. It’s just Joe peeing.’ It sure didn’t sound like someone peeing, but what did I know? I was only a kid, after all. I knew there wasn’t any point in arguing, so I ignored it and went back to sleep.

The next thing I knew, Michelle and Joe stood in the hallway, calling my name.

‘Brandy! Brandy, wake up!’

‘What?’ I had finally got to sleep, and my brain was full of cotton wool, so it took me a moment to realise they were scared. The look on their faces frightened me more than anything else. Looking back, I guess I’m lucky they even tried to help. Most people would have run.

‘Get up! There’s something rolling around at your feet, and we can’t see it!’ Well, duh! That’s what I had already told them. But then, I listened. The noise was getting louder and faster. What had sounded like a marble rolling on the floor earlier now sounded like a bowling ball.

‘Quick, get over here.’ Michelle whisper-shouted. She held her hand out, but neither of them attempted to get closer. I untangled myself from my bedding, leapt over the coffee table, and grabbed her hand as she pulled me into the hallway. That seemed to agitate whatever it was. The spinning became faster and faster before it came after us. I have no idea if anyone said anything, but we all turned tail and ran.

It chased us down the hallway as we ran to Mama’s bedroom. The door slammed behind us, locking it out, and we jumped into bed. I was in the middle between Joe and Michelle, with Joe closest to the door. The sound didn’t stop; it just began rolling in lazy circles again outside the door. I don’t think I had ever been so scared in my life. I can’t remember anything we said, but I remember what my grandma Maxine told me. You could command evil to leave in the name of God.

This is where that faith I talked about earlier comes in. I was shaking in fear, but I sat up in that bed. Then I girded my loins the best an eleven-year-old girl could and began commanding that thing like I was the priest from The Exorcist. (The Exorcist, 1973)

‘This is my house now, and you aren’t welcome.’ I stuttered before carrying on. ‘I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to leave us alone!’ Well, it didn’t like that. The marble became a bowling ball again, rolling like thunder in faster and smaller circles. ‘In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave this house and never come back. This is my house now, and I don’t want you here. Get out! I command thee in the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Ghost!’ I was a faithful child and had never missed a day of church, so I knew how to belt out a prayer.

I grabbed both of my cousin’s hands and began to pray, squeezing to let them know to join in. We began reciting The Lord’s Prayer. That is always the go-to prayer for any situation. That ball rolled and rolled. Faster and faster until it suddenly stopped. There was no warning, no slowing down; it just stopped. All three of us froze and sat there in silence. None of us spoke or moved for ages. I can remember us laughing and joking nervously until we finally fell asleep. All three of us in Mama’s bed, me still in the middle.

The funny thing about it all was we left Mama to live or die alone. She never even stirred, and she didn’t believe us when we told her about it the next day. It wasn’t until we heard about the murder that Mama put any stock in our story. Someone had stabbed the man who had lived in the flat before us right outside the front door. Evidently, he had got into an argument with someone over drugs or money and ended up bleeding out on the steps.

The neighbours swore you could still see the stain from his blood on the pavement. It did not surprise them at all about the ghost we had experienced. It wasn’t the first one they had come across and wouldn’t be the last. I can remember they all nodded approvingly when I told them that Jesus saved us from the evil spirit. There was a lot of praising Jesus and blessing God going on for a while after that. I don’t know if the power of Christ compelled it, but I never heard it again as long as we lived there.