In recent weeks, I’ve been experiencing something I can’t explain. Let me recount it for you. It’s still ongoing, even as of yesterday. The persistent coughing ghost, Jerry, has been a part of my life since I was a child. Let me take you through the story.
Exhausted from hours of homework, I yearned for a break. Thoughts of my girlfriend Krystal surfaced, prompting me to call her. I left my room and climbed the stairs, weighed down by monotony. The gloomy weather outside mirrored my mood. Dialing Krystal’s number, I was interrupted by raspy coughing downstairs. Not again, I thought, exasperated.
Krystal answered, and our conversation began, punctuated by intermittent coughing sounds. Frustration built within me as I muttered, “What do you want now, Jerry?” I had experienced Jerry’s presence since fourth grade, a seemingly tangible yet unseen spirit. The origin of his identity remained a mystery, and I pondered if he was my late grandpa due to his affinity for smoking.
After concluding my call with Krystal, I slammed the phone down as Jerry’s persistent coughing echoed. “Do you need cough syrup or something?” I retorted, though met with silence. Over the years, I’d encountered Jerry through sleep paralysis and strange dreams, catching glimpses of his form—his grayish-white skin, disheveled attire, and unsettling gaze. But I’d never seen his face.
Feeling agitated, I ventured downstairs to confront Jerry, only to encounter shifting footsteps leading to the dark basement. Jerry’s presence often lingered in this obscure space, an unsettling blank stare directed at me. Frustration and curiosity intermingled as I questioned his intentions and identity.
One night, awakened by a closing door, I saw a pale arm gripping the handle. The time was eerie—3:41 AM. Determined to challenge Jerry, I rushed towards him, demanding his presence. However, the unsettling footsteps grew faint as he ascended the stairs, accompanied by a shadowy figure. The kitchen floor bore the trace of his elusive footsteps.
The phone rang, momentarily dispelling Jerry’s presence. An unknown caller displayed only the digit “9.” Bewildered, I didn’t answer, realizing the lack of evidence for these occurrences. My encounters with Jerry intensified when I was alone. Hallucinations distorted my reflection, reflecting bloodshot eyes and delayed movements. I yearned for clarity—what did Jerry want? He irritated me more than frightened me now, and I wished for his departure.
Note: While this account may seem surreal, it’s based on recent experiences. Jerry, the enigmatic entity, continues to confound me.