In the early 1970s, during my Navy days in Norfolk, Virginia, I found myself living in a curious old two-story house. The main floor held a kitchen, dining room, and living room, while the second floor boasted a vast master bedroom, a smaller bedroom, and a bathroom.
One day, I was upstairs folding laundry in the spacious master bedroom, with its view of the bustling world beyond. In the midst of my routine, the front door swung open and then closed, indicating someone’s arrival. Assuming it was a roommate or a friend, I called out that I was upstairs. What followed was something truly eerie – the sound of heavy, laborious footsteps slowly ascending the stairs. It was as if the visitor was exhausted, each step a monumental effort. The footsteps paused at the midway bend of the staircase before continuing upward. As they reached the top and advanced along the hallway towards me, the audible rhythm remained clear. Yet, to my astonishment, no one emerged. The steps continued until they reached the threshold of the bedroom door, at which point they abruptly ceased.
Chills ran down my spine as I fled the room, bewildered and trembling. Some time later, I returned home to a house illuminated by every available light, my roommate pale and gripping a poker from the fireplace as if for protection. He recounted a harrowing tale of watching the exterior door turning on its own, shaking and rattling, as if someone was attempting to enter but could not. When he swung the door open, there was no one in sight, and the screen door remained secure.
We exchanged stories of our experiences, and it became evident that our house was harboring something inexplicable. Over time, more accounts emerged, further cementing the idea that the building had a presence beyond the living. The house has since vanished, replaced by modern developments, but the echoes of its haunted history remain in my memory.
In a different chapter of my life, in Huntington, West Virginia, I found myself in an apartment building with its own spectral tales. Down the hall from my unit, residents reported seeing an old woman clad in white and a long black dress, entering their apartments only to pass through and exit. These sightings were attributed to a former landlady who had owned the building for several decades. She may have been watching over her property, even in the afterlife.
My own apartment was not exempt from the paranormal. One hot, humid evening, my cat’s attention was fixated on the closed bathroom door. A feeling of unease filled the air. Suddenly, the cat growled and twitched, as if aware of a presence I couldn’t perceive. In response, I approached the door, turned the knob, and declared the room empty. But as I opened the door, an inexplicable, frigid gust of air enveloped me, causing my entire being to shiver. My cat’s agitation faded, and the peculiar sensation persisted for years, only on the same date as the event.
As I reflect on my encounters with the unknown, I realize that the boundary between our world and the ethereal is far more porous than we dare imagin