This story takes us back in time, to a quiet summer day in a peaceful suburban neighborhood. It’s a tale passed down through generations, one that still raises questions and leaves room for debate.
Two years ago, on a sunny afternoon, I found myself by the pool with my cousins, basking in the warm embrace of the season. It was then that my Great Aunt, a woman of many stories, shared a peculiar tale about her house, a tale that had unfolded many years ago when her son, my Uncle, still called that house his home.
In the story, my Uncle had a nightly routine – a specific sequence of actions before bedtime. After his bath, he’d wrap himself in a green towel, retreat to his room, and close the door for some privacy. One seemingly ordinary evening, my Great Aunt observed him in his green towel as he left the bathroom and headed for his room. Nothing unusual so far, right?
However, she noticed that he had left the bathroom light on. Thinking it was a simple oversight, she ventured into the bathroom and turned off the light. But in that very moment, a voice echoed from around the corner, where the bathtub was located, crying out, “Mom!” Startled, she rushed to switch the light back on, her heart pounding. When she looked around the corner, there was my Uncle, still in the bathtub, as if he hadn’t moved an inch.
To her amazement, he didn’t seem to acknowledge anything strange had occurred. He appeared entirely unfazed, and it was as if he hadn’t witnessed anything out of the ordinary. The only thing he seemed upset about was the fact that she had turned off the light. Perplexed, she left the bathroom and checked his bedroom, only to find it empty.
Naturally, I couldn’t contain my excitement and immediately shared this eerie tale with my Grandmother, who, despite her somewhat skeptical nature, had a fascination with such accounts of unexplained events. Her response, however, left me puzzled. She calmly stated, “That house isn’t haunted…”
Confused, I probed further, asking her why she didn’t believe her own sister’s account. Her response was unexpected: “I believe she saw what she saw, but that it was just deja vu…”
According to my Grandmother, she believed that my Aunt had grown so accustomed to my Uncle’s nightly ritual that her mind simply played a trick on her. It was like deja vu, a feeling that you’ve experienced something before, but in this case, it was as if she was seeing a replay of his usual routine. Deja vu, in her view, could take on the form of a vision of something that had already happened.
However, I couldn’t help but ponder the mysterious occurrence. Could it really be just a case of deja vu, a trick of the mind? Or was it something more profound, perhaps a glimpse into the unexplained? The question lingered, leaving the truth to the imagination, forever shrouded in mystery.