The Spirit

I had grown up in a household and with a family that openly believed in the supernatural. They had taught me that ghosts were nothing to fear. I grew up in a haunted house after all and was never scared before. That is until we moved to our first home. This house was freshly built, no one had lived in it before us. Typically one would think since no one had lived there prior that means there will be no hauntings. But that is a gross misunderstanding. You see, the land itself is haunted, there is no house untouched by spirits. Not to mention if you are spiritually gifted ghosts are drawn to you. It is entirely possible for a person themselves to be haunted. I don't know what made this particular ghost different from the ones in my grandmother's home who I grew up with but this ghost was terrifying.

It was my first night in our new home. The walls were freshly painted white, with new carpets, a new life. I am a child of five who had naturally slept with the lights on. Recollecting, I wonder if it would have been more or less scary in total darkness. I lay there in silence waiting to fall asleep. I was having trouble going to sleep probably because it was my first time sleeping in that house, but I lay there none the less. My parents always told me if I was having trouble going to sleep, I should just lay there quietly and before I knew it I would be asleep, without even realizing it. But as I lay there with my eyes open, I realize something. Something up in the corner of my room, there was a large orb-like vortex. My eyes were drawn to it, un-breaking my gaze upon it. It was as I was being drawn in. I looked at it for who knows how long when the orb began to change form.

The twisted shape of light in the darkness began to take shape into a humanoid. It sprouted legs and arms. There was no sound but if there was I imagined the bones would be breaking as they popped, twisted, and contorted into place. The figure, almost shadow-like started to gain features. It grew a long beard, small rags draped over its body. Lastly, a staff like walking stick appeared and the figure grabbed it with its long gnarled hands. Its fingers were inhumanly long and thin with large white knuckles. I stare deeply into its face, eyes unblinking. It opens its eyes hollow and dark. Its eyes were sunken into its dry and withered brittle skin. It smiles. And I scream. His teeth were as twisted as the rest of his body, mixed matched together, missing some, gum exposed. I cried.

I try and cower under my blankets, hiding my face. I want whatever this thing is to go away. The memory of it still haunts my soul to this very day. I can't get the image of it out of my mind. I call this entity the shaman. I had only seen him once. This scary old man, his chest, and feet exposed. He looked so dead, so old, so frightening. I peek at the figure again as he reached his hand shakily towards me. I don't know when I got my courage to bolt from the bed and down the hall in search of my parents but I did. I burst into their room telling them of the thing I had seen, but my words were jumbled as I choked them out in sobs. Sadly they were no comfort to me. They sent me back in that room with that man, with that thing. I remember my father clearly telling me; I was just dreaming, that it was just a dream but I know it wasn't. I hadn't fallen asleep. I know it was real. So I go back hesitantly hoping he was gone he was. I lay down and hope he doesn't come back. From that day on I slept with the blanket covering my face to keep me from seeing any unwelcome visitors staring at me.

Many years later and many houses later my mother finally tells me something about that room. She told me that once she had tried to sleep in there but couldn't. She said that she felt an ominous presence in that room. She was astounded that I was able to sleep in that room for all those years. Even my father admits that the one time he slept in that room he had a horrible nightmare, so horrible that he didn't want to go into details about it. They confirmed it for me, that room was haunted, I don't know which is more frightening having confirmation that that ghost was real or letting it stay a traumatic memory uncertainty in my mind.

I have to admit I let that experience affect me greatly. I had up until that point been open to ghosts and had shown no fear. But from that point on I had held nothing but fear for ghosts and the unknown. I come from a family who is spiritually gifted. We all see and feel ghosts to some extent. I am able to see ghost vividly clear, but for a long portion of my life had shut myself off to seeing such things. I turned off my powers to see ghosts all because of that shaman. I wonder what he wanted, surely not to just frighten me because If he did want to scare me I am sure he would have done it more than once despite my efforts to shut everything out. To this day I often wonder who the shaman was. What was his story?