of ghosts and stuff

After my landlord stole my denim bra, I was house hunting again. I found a beautiful apartment on the ground floor of a small building that had been converted into a number of small, one bedroom apartments. It was perfect, but people warned me against moving in, because a girl had been murdered in that house. They said it was haunted.

I didn’t really believe them, because:

A. I didn’t want to, and

B. I didn’t want to

(Seriously, ghosts and stuff belong only in the DeadMau5 universe.)

Soon after I moved in, I started feeling like something about the house was wrong. I sought solace in wine and feverish lovemaking with Mister at first, but then the noises became too much and I had to start paying attention to them.

Mister suggested I keep a diary of all paranormal activity – though in my case there were only noises that seemed to come from within the walls. I did. 

Aside: I wish I’d retained the diary – it would’ve made for some good blog fodder. But unfortunately blogging wasn’t even remotely on my mind back then!

After about a month, I had determined that the ghost was usually up and about all day and slept peacefully at night. But I never told Mister this. I kept telling him I heard noises just to get him to come over. 😉

What? A girl’s gotta have some fun!

Anyhow, it was quiet one whole weekend, as though the ghost was on vacation or something. But soon enough, it was back and I was fed up. I called my Yoga teacher who also does yajnas (puja/havan) and has some idea of Vastu Shastra (Indian Feng Shui). He promised to drop by and help.

When he arrived, I expected to see a tantrik-style dhoti kurta (loose traditional garment for men) and gangajal (holy water from the Ganges) and kamandal (a utensil to hold the water) and some other shit like that, but he arrived wearing his usual shirt and jeans. Not so much as a tilak (google it, lazybones) on his forehead.

He walked around the house, and then stopped at my favorite spot (and the ghost’s) – the french window in front of the garden. He moved the couch. And then, he moved the carpet under it.

Guess what he found.

A trapdoor. Yes. An old, wooden, rusty, doesn’t-belong-in-my-house fucking trapdoor.

We opened it, and it squeaked. Real loud. Guess what we found.

A staircase.

And then we found a switch. Joshi sir flipped it and lights came on. And I almost fainted when I saw what I saw.

A fully furnished studio apartment with everything a man could possibly need for survival. Yes. Air cooler, fans, lights, even an iron. Fresh fruits and water.

Someone had been living there all this time. Clearly he/she wasn’t home. I laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of the ghost theory (and because the safety implications of this arrangement hadn’t really occured to me so far).

How does this guy get in?

Here. Another door.

A second set of stairs led to a door outside. Locked.

And then it hit me. I ran up the stairs that had led us here and then out of the house into the street where the door should’ve opened up. No exit. Nothing, just a plain old wall.

I walked around the entire building looking for the exit but couldn’t find it. I moved out two months later, into a house near Mister’s. That is where I was attacked by the naked guy.

So that’s my haunted house story. What’s yours?