I grew up in Melbourne. My parents split up when I was 5 years old. For almost two years, I lived with my sister for the time being while my Mom worked out some custody issues with my Dad.
Anyway, that’s another story.
When my mum finally won over my custody, me, my Mom and Grandmother moved into a nice place in an area that wasn’t too far from the city. I was now 7 years old. It was a quiet, convenient place that reminded me of a town more than a suburb, with a school that I attended around the corner and a row of vintage shops near by that I loved. I even had a milk bar across the road from my place that all the kids were jealous of me for.
Our house was different. Different in the sense that it was green, wide and reminded me of a face when you glanced at it from afar. Our front yard had been previously renovated by the landlord, and it was so wide that it almost made our house look small. Honestly, as the time went on, I began to think it looked like a graveyard. The first few months of moving in seemed pleasant, expect for the times my Dad would try to visit and there would be outbursts between my Mom and Dad. I honestly think that this shook something up in the house.
My Grandmother came in one day and told my mother that she was outside sweeping some of the excess leaves from the Autumn weather when an old man approached her with a stern look on his face. He told her that he didn’t even know that anybody was still living in the place, as the previous owners had left abruptly. He told her that the house was built over a graveyard in the late 70’s, by another landlord who sold his land to the previous owner of the house that had now leased it to us. My Grandmother was speechless, and the man left, leaving my Grandmother in shock.
After that night, things started to become strange. One night, my mother told me that she was sleeping face up, and she felt someone leaning over her, then breathing into her face. She opened her eyes, and nothing was there. For the next few nights, she said that she heard movement in the hallway, leading to kitchen. Then, she heard pots and pans moving around in the kitchen almost as if somebody was making something. Thinking it was me or my Grandmother, she went to check, no one was there. And me, my dog by my side and my Grandmother, were sound asleep. My mother reported this almost every night. She said it got to the point where every room had its own personality. The TV room, scared her the most. She said she could hear two distinct voices talking, thinking it was the TV and going to turn it off, she got there, alone, with nothing to turn off and no sign of anyone in the room.
Up until that point, nothing had ever happened to me. But from what I had heard from my mum, I was terrified at the thought of seeing something or experiencing anything that my Mom had. I ended up bunking with my Grandmother in her room for the next few nights, sleeping in her queen size bed as comfort. One night, I heard walking in the hallway outside our room. The sound of the creaking in the hallway was almost deafening. As the footsteps lead closer to our room, the door opened by itself, and the footsteps continued to make its way closer to our bed. I lied there, in my bed wondering if my Grandmother was awake and could hear it too. By this time, I was frozen. I knew it wasn’t mum as you could literally hear her snoring from her room before the noise of the footsteps began. I lay there, with the feeling that somebody was leaning over the bed. I then felt the the side of my ear being tugged. My hoop earrings was being slightly moved back and fourth, and the feeling of a finger touching it was distinct although I could feel no skin touching mine. I screamed and with my eyes still closed asked my Grandmother to turn on the lights. Being already awake from the quick reaction, turned on the light, and like my mother had reported, nothing was visible. There was nobody there.
By this time, it was happening nearly every night. The footsteps, the voices the pots and pans in the kitchen, which I had now heard myself. By the time I became a teenager, I had become accustom to the fact that whatever was in the house, was now a part of our lives. I was no longer threatened, just afraid of the unknown. I remember one really startling experience though, when I was 10 years old. It was one of the real experiences that validated for me that there was someone else in the house, if not more. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, to a bad dream that I now cannot remember. I shot up, looking around the room. I remember being wide awake, about to get up to go to the toilet. My eyes froze on a figure, in the middle of the room. It was a woman’s face, looking into the tiniest cease of light that was seething through the curtains from the lampposts outside. There was no way it could have been a reflection, because the light that was showing was the size of my index finger, and this woman’s face looked so humanly, like she was in the room. I could only see the upper half of her body. It was literally pitch black expect for the little spot light in the room, but her figure lit up the darkness.
I left the house when I was 18, with my mum to move to another suburb 10 minutes away. I said my goodbyes to whoever was in the house, by this time understanding more of my experiences with still many more questions. They tore down the house, building a town house over it. I hope whatever was there wasn’t disturbed by it. I felt as if they saw me grow up, and gave me the gift of belief in their existence that I have now. I’m glad we lived in that house for the duration that we did, I don’t have any regrets.
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