The Ghost Posts ~ The Other Spirit

This is one of the stories I debated on telling or not. I decided to go for it because I have very poor impulse control and inner monologue is not my friend.

You'll probably think I'm crazy after this one, but what the hell, this whole Ghost Posts thing is an experiment on my bravery/openness. And, this is a 100% true story, just like the others, so help me God. It's not even the craziest I've been thru, believe it or not....

Maybe I'm freaked out to write about it because it's the only time I had a spirit physically harm me. Seeing a ghost is one thing. Feeling a cold chill is one thing, being grabbed by one, is a whole other thing.

This story takes place in Handsome and my bedroom in the turn of the century shirtwaist. I've already told you about one of the spirits in that room, but the other one is completely different.

He always sat in the armchair that I had in the "library nook" dormer. Next to the lamp and bookshelf. He never did much of anything, but I saw him there quite a lot. He just sat in the chair as a black shadow illuminated from the street light from below, and stared at us laying in bed. (Our bed was situated on the opposite wall in between the dormers.)

One night, he got pissed.

We have no idea why, not even now, 7 yrs later.

He would sometimes roam the room, but he always went back to his chair. He was angry and black and up to no good, but since he never had done anything but brood, we really never gave him much attention.

Until one night when I woke up in the middle of the night and something was holding my arm. I couldn't move it. My arm was ice cold and when I looked up, all I could see was his black form. My arm could. not. move.

I woke Handsome up by grabbing him with my other arm and saying his name. I still couldn't move my other arm.

Handsome woke up, looked up above me and freaked. He's only experienced "a few" truly paranormal things in his life (most of them with me) and he didn't know what to do. He could hear my voice, but he couldn't see me. I was covered in a black "cloud" of something.

He held my hand and I was so freaked out, he was the one that called him off. But he wouldn't let go. We both saw black energy (sorry, not a better word for the moving mass of stuff) coming from the ceiling.

The whole room was filling up with this black, negative...stuff. And I still couldn't get free. It was like I was locked to the bed.

Handsome literally screamed at whatever he was to let me go. He drug me across the bed towards the door and I can't even describe the feeling of being wrapped in my fiance's arms and being pulled by something else. It was not a tug of war that I could have ever imagined.

We broke free of him/it and I was so freaked I ran down the three flights of stairs, past the porch and sat in the street on the hood of our car, staring up at the dormer window.

I didn't sleep up there for a week. It was only the second (and last) time I ran out of that house scared shitless. I had scratches on my arm from whatever it was. Fucking scratches! That's stuff you hear about in the movies, not real life, and yet, there they were.

Three perfect marks about 6" long on my arm. I swear it's true.

Needless to say, we saged the room. If you've ever had to smudge/sage a space, it's f'in' sick work. The smoke is so sweet it makes you gag. But I had to in order to go to sleep at night.

More tomrorrow, darlings...I'm done for tonight.