In Connecticut… (Part 1)
So I moved to a house in Connecticut. The story as goes, before the strange happenings, as follows. I was dating a girl who lived in Connecticut, and my parents were going to move to Florida, so I ended up moving in with her at her parent’s condo. She then inherited a house, and we moved in. It was a long process, for this house hadn’t been lived in for years, but all of the old belongings were still there. It was her great-grandparents’ house, so it wasn’t awkward having to move it all out.
One of the first incidences that occurred was, as cliche as it is on Halloween one year, when we decided to construct a “Poor Man’s Ouija” which is essentially just the use of a pendulum as a medium to interact with spirits and the like. As far as they go, I’m not much of a believer. I understand things like involuntary muscle movement and subconscious thoughts so I’ve never held much faith in these things. This night absolutely changed my opinion.
We began asking questions which started out vaguely with vague answers. Then we started delving deeper into it and got a lot of specific answers to questions we had no previous knowledge of. One of them was if one of the spirits of the great-grandparents, Frank, smoked cigarettes. We got a resounding yes. Another was if Myrtle, Frank’s wife, liked Ouija boards. You see, we had attempted contact previously with an actual board and got absolutely no response whatsoever. When asked if she liked them, we were answered “No.”
So we asked questions and were answered, but none of us took it really all too seriously. It wasn’t until we asked my girlfriend’s mother, daughter to Frank and Myrtle, the same questions we had asked the spirits. It was at that point when she gave us all of the same answers that we realized that we had actually contacted the spirits of her Great-Grandparents. But they weren’t the only spirits patrolling the grounds.
One night, a while later, I had gone to take a shower while my girlfriend was on her computer, across the house. No more than five minutes had gone by until I heard a loud, distinct sobbing emanating from outside of the bathroom door. Fearing she were violently upset over something and needed me, I jumped from the shower, threw open the door and was standing behind her, dripping wet and naked.
“What’s wrong?!” I asked, placing my hand on her shoulder. It was then that she turned around, confused. She removed her headphones, which I never even noticed she was wearing, and looked at me, raising an eyebrow.
“What’re you talking about?”
“I heard you crying all the way from the shower! Is everything all right?” Her face gets even more perplexed.
“I haven’t made a single noise since you got in the shower…” As much as I was startled, I just shrugged it off as me hearing things and got back in to the shower.
(As I side note I would just like to say here that numerous things had happened in between that last part, and what I’m going to tell you next. They were all just along the lines of cabinet doors not staying shut, kitchen doors opening to the outside and hearing footsteps, floors and stairs creaking with nobody on them. Standard fare for a situation like this.)
It wasn’t until months later that something else of this magnitude occurred again. This time I had some friends over in my living room and had stepped in to the kitchen to go scoop out some ice cream. I was standing at my stove. The counter tops stretched to my right, and then a ninety degree bend across the adjacent wall. To my was the refrigerator, and behind that a small pantry.
So there I am, scooping out three bowls of ice cream when I hear the same crying. This time, I hear it so loudly that it drowned out the sound of the TV in the other room. It was coming from behind my refrigerator. It was coming from the pantry. I stopped dead in my duties, looked toward it, and then went back. At that point in my stay there, so many things had happened that it was almost second nature to me to just ignore it.
For the record, I never felt unsafe, threatened or afraid in that house. Well, at least not from the spirits. But those stories I’m saving for my next entry.
I’ve since moved from there, twice. I’ve also burnt the bridge between my ex and myself, so I’m not even sure if the activity has persisted or not.
In my next entry, I’ll regale you with tales of tall beings and snowy footprints.
As a side note, if anyone reading this at any point that knows me remembers something that has happened to me in my past, there’s a good chance I’ve forgotten over the years. Please contact me and remind me! It’s greatly appreciated!
