My Haunted House by Evelyn Medina

My Haunted House

By Evelyn Medina

Disclaimer: exaggerated for dramatic effect

We live in a supernatural world. I was once told by an old parish priest that he witnessed an exorcism. When the conjuring movies came out, they were claimed to be based on true stories. And have you heard of the Amityville Horror House? The guy killed six members of his own family! Things like this make me think of what makes people evil in the first place. I believe that evil comes from the soul and manifests into actions, but when you pass on and cannot be accepted into heaven, where does your soul go? Haunted souls will haunt the living. The living do not know the true pain and agony a lost soul feels, which is why we should fear the ghosts that haunt us.

I am sure that my house is haunted. My house is 150 years old, and was once owned by a funeral home, so people held wakes in my living room. Time has given my home the opportunity to keep souls trapped within it, and watch the living move in and out as they please. It stands on a street corner, and when people walk by it, it is known as the house with the yappy dogs rather than the house with sad spirits. They are not frightening, at least they haven’t been in the last 18 years I have lived there, but it is the uncertainty of what the souls’ intentions are that makes me walk up the stairs with caution at night. she felt that it was hard to breathe, as though there was the slight pressure of a small child sitting on her chest. After interactions with the townsfolk, it clicked that it was most likely a spirit, and not the anxiety of moving in. Two years later, she brought a baby home: me. I was not a happy baby. It could have been because of the hip dysplasia I was born with, or it could have been that the spirits were materializing to check in on the newborn. Isn’t it possible that children and pets are the ones who see the spirits? What if what I was seeing as a young child was the reason for my miserable first year of life? Was this the reason my dog was so protective of me? they adore my little brother? When we argue, whose side are they on? They are the only ones who I am fully comfortable around, but quietly fear if they are really there. Imagine being watched by something you can’t see, but that possibly has immense power over you. We do not know the true essence of a ghost.

A theory I heard once is that a ghost will stay in a house if the body is taken from the home head first, because the ghost will exit through the feet, and be tied to the house forever. When my grandfather died, he left his house head first, and for the last two years before his house was sold, lights would flicker in places where he used to play with his grandchildren. They would flicker during a heated argument between my mother and grandmother, or in a heated argument between my brother and me. And most importantly, his area in the basement, right by the little fireplace, stayed clean for years. Very little dusting needed to be done. Very few cobwebs formed beside the few summer ones that appear every year. The wood stayed fresh, and his stool stayed in front of the fireplace. Maybe it was just my grandmother keeping her old house clean, or maybe my grandfather decided to stay for a while before he said his final goodbyes.

I have lived with ghosts my entire life, and don’t know what they are. I don’t understand their essence or what they are capable of, and this fact is what’s most frightening to me. An essence I can never understand coexists alongside me. Watching me come home, watching me while I sleep, watching me eat. Watching me. Existing in a realm unfathomable to the mortal mind.

“Her first night, as she tried to fall asleep, she felt that it was hard to breathe, as though there was the slight pressure of a small child sitting on her chest.”

My mother told me that after she moved in, people who lived in the town for years would come to her and tell her that her house was haunted. Her first night, as she tried to fall asleep, “Imagine being watched by something you can’t see, but that possibly has immense power over you. We do not know the true essence of a ghost.”

As time went on, I ignored what I would hear at night. I had convinced myself that it was the cats. Even the shadow of a human head on the attic window. The cats never go into the attic. I convinced myself that my dolls moved with magic, like in Toy Story. I had tried to forget the time when all of my clothes were strewn on the floor in front of my dresser. It only happened once, but now I consider the ghosts in my house.

I wonder what they think of me. I sing at home when I am “alone.” Do they hate it? Do they hate my art? Do