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"who is the guy upstairs?" An English Story in Short

"who is the guy upstairs?" 


When I was 23 I lived in a house that was over 100 years old in an "up and coming neighborhood" - a.k.a. a kind of scary place to be. My neighbors were nice Mexican drug dealers, and my house was extraordinarily cheap. Three bedrooms, hardwood floors, upper with refurbished attic, $600 per month. For a poor art student, this was amazing. I wanted to stay forever. I put my studio in the attic, we had ridiculous costume parties and made Polish and Mexican food every night.

But my studio was scary. I painted super fast because I could feel someone watching me, and there were always shadows of people in the door. Two months in I stopped going up there, and not very smartly, insulting the presences that were there for interrupting my work. "Stupid ghost...how boring it must be to hang out up there. Leave the house to the living!" (I do not recommend doing that, I did it because I was scared. Never ever ever do that) Things moved around all the time, papers stacked at night would be scattered all over the next morning and all night I could hear someone walking around upstairs even though nobody was there. My boyfriend, my room mates, my friends could hear it. Once, after seeing the giant black shadow standing behind my room mate, I pointed and told it to go away. As my friend and I left the house that afternoon, I tripped and nearly fell down the stairs. I turned around, "Whoa!", laughing, but she was white. "A black hand came out of the stairs."

After that, things got weird around my room. My door constantly opened at night when I closed it. There was knocking on my door. I burned so much sage my wool rug had a permanent stink to it. I had dreams about being murdered all the time, my throat cut. I learned blocking, and began to visualize huge nets of white light around my house. I saw orbs glowing off the back balcony. One night though, I took off all my clothes and lay under my blanket. I was very much in love, and began to think about him when something moved out of the corner of my eye. My bed faced the door, and I lifted my head up and watched it swing all the way open, beyond what any draft would do. I got angry. And then all the blankets were pulled towards the door and completely off the bed by unseen hands.

I didn't even scream I was so scared, I put on a dress, and left the house with a toothbrush and didn't return for two days. I never slept with the lights off again there.

My friend moved in a few years later to that gloriously cheap house, and the second night she texted me "So who is the guy upstairs?"

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