Ooooookay. So, I lived in Waterloo for four years, though I don’t talk about it much. It was a horrible experience and a truly shitty city. Ugh. I’ve blocked most of it out of memory, seriously, it was like it never happened.
While in Waterloo, I lived in a townhouse. It was not a very good townhouse, but it was better than living on the street. It was in a rough neighbourhood. The third year I was there, someone got murdered in the house across the street. No, I’m not shitting you. They later pulled out all the carpet and redid the place. Gah, I’m getting sidetracked. So this townhouse…..it was home for four years.
When I moved in, the previous tenants left me a fake, dusty, pink tree in an old wicker pot. I displayed it prominently on the landing of the stairs that you saw when you first walked in. I also painted my kitchen lime green, my living room blue, my bedroom red and my bathroom a weird colour somewhere between green and blue. I left the second bedroom the colour it was……..terribly dark forest green. My basement was unfinished, and a truly scary place to be. All in all, the place was tacky to the nth degree, baby. Hawt.
Anywho. I was a habitual late night worker in uni, and was often up until 2, 3 or 4 in the morning. Inevitably, I was working at my computer which was on my desk, which was overtop of the heat register, which led of course to the furnace, which was in the basement (the knee bone’s connected to the…….yeah).
So, one night, I was sitting there, enjoying the warmth coming up from the heat register when all of a sudden, I hear this blood curdling scream coming from it. Like, banshee scream. It was 2:30 AM and my roommate was fast asleep. The only explanation I could come up with was my cat. She was one crazy fucker and I didn’t put it past her to make terrifying noises. I’d already seen her jumping up the walls at nothing in particular and declaring jihad on her reflection in the patio door, so screaming wasn’t entirely out the realm of possibility. That and her name was Athena, Goddess of War. Mostly she went by Athena though.
So, I was scared shitless, but told myself to calm down and went about doing my thing. Then, the next night, at exactly 2:30 AM again, I heard the exact same scream coming from the basement. This scared me greatly. The freakiest part was that it was the exact same time. Had Athena stolen a clock of mine? Was she that smart and twisted? Maybe. Probably, but….it was a really loud human-ish scream.
I slept with the lights on that night.
Third night in a row, I’m again awake at 2:30 in the morning. And again, on cue, came the blood curdling, seriously goosebump-inducing scream from the basement. Fucking cat, what the hell was wrong with……….OH MY GOD. I looked down.
Athena was ON MY LAP. She was not in the basement. Nobody was in the basement. Yet somebody was screaming in the basement. At this point, I believe I came very close to crying, but I didn’t want to alert the yeti or whatever was down there to my location. So far, it seemed okay with staying in the basement and I was okay with it staying in the basement too.
That night, I didn’t really sleep. And I wouldn’t let the cat out of my room. I figured if the undead came up to claim me, I’d throw my angry cat at them. Ha. Suckers. She’d claw their damned eyes out and I’d escape, being ever grateful to my sacrificial pet.
The fourth night, I was sure to be in bed well before 2:30, in the hopes of being unconscious when that time rolled around. I was, and I didn’t hear anything. But later that week, I began hearing piano music in the middle of the night. Now, I didn’t own a piano, neither did either neighbour beside me. Trust me, I would have known, being that the walls were paper thin and I could hear every move they made.
So now the ghost was wooing me. At least it wasn’t yelling at me anymore.
I took to sleeping with the lights on. I wasn’t into this whole ghost thing. Ohhhhh no. But even then it didn’t stop. It got worse. One night, I heard distinct breathing in the far corner of my room. Another, the breathing was right beside my pretty little head. I’m not entirely certain how I didn’t die of a heart attack.
After it breathed at me for a few nights, it went away. Just like that. The screaming, the piano music, the breathing, all stopped. And my hydro bills went down significantly.
That’s the end of my story. I don’t know why I told it. And I don’t really have any good wrap up line. I dont know what the deal was, and frankly, I’m okay with not knowing. If there’s one thing I’m terrified of, it’s ghosts and shit.
Stupid ghosts. With their screaming and such. Why can’t they keep respectable hours like the rest of us? What’s with this middle of the night garbage? I mean, honestly, they might be undead, but some of us had class in the morning. Geez.