True Ghost Tales

Apartment Spirit

I used to live in San Angelo. Went to college there. Those of you who follow my previous posts know that, too. For those who don't most of that discussion (on my part) is archived at Obiwan's FTP Site: FTP.netcom.com.

I had just moved into my new apartment. I was a senior, and finally allowed to live off-campus. I was thrilled to have the freedom at last.

After the usual move-in/invite friends over/consume mass quantities shtick died down, life became fairly quiet at my place. Life settled to a moderate pace.

I guess the second or third week there, I decided I was hungry. Not that I wasn't ever hungry before that point, but oh well, you get the idea. :)

I decided that the All-American peanut butter sandwich would be a fine repast. Taking peanut butter, a knife, bread and jelly in hand, I mar- ched to the edge of my counter and prepared to make lunch.

The peanut butter was spreading nicely, and then I looked up and saw her.

There was a woman in my apartment. This would grow (unfortunately) to be an unusual event in and of itself. But there should have been no one else there with me.

I remember she was Hispanic and seemed to be darkly beautiful. This wasn't enough to stop me from being scared, but it helped. :)

She was wearing a red-colored sun dress. She smiled, a seemingly knowing smile, and then quite literally vanished before my eyes.

Now, this was a few years back. I'd almost dismissed it. Forgotten it. Relegated it to the realm o' myth. A daydream, nothing more.

Here comes the aforementioned kicker.

A few weeks ago, I get a call from my good friend, Chad. He lives in the same complex just a few door away from my old apartment.

Those of you who've read the Angelo State University Posts know Chad, too. He's every bit as interested in Things That Bump About a Great Deal in the Hours of Darkness, so naturally I'd told him the story.

Well, Chad stayed in San Angelo and I've moved to Stephenville (Joy!) to practice my chosen profession, journalism.

He calls me up and tells me he's hooked up with some psychic sens- itive babe (the jerk ;>). They were sitting in his apartment one day when she gets a funny look on her face.

"There's a woman here," she says.

Chad, I'm sure, raised a characteristic eyebrow.

"Where?" he asked.

"She was here," she told him. "I get the impression that she moves through some of the apartments on this side of the building."

Chad said he had on occasion felt that sort of prickly, uncomfort- able why-the-hell-am-I-nervous fear that sometimes precedes the supernatur- al. Not much more, though.

He mentioned this to her, and she said that was understandable.

She said she travels about, maybe lighting somewhere for a bit. Some places perhaps a bit longer.

She said her major sphere of influence included numerous apart- ments, going all the way up to the top corner apartment left of Chad's.

Apartment No. 17.

My old place.

And no, I've never met this girl.

Now, I'll admit that there were a few times I was frightened to be alone in my apartment at night. Heck, I'll even admit there were a few times I was scared to go in the place at some hours of the night. No expla- nation, just an irrational fear.

It sort of makes sense now.

And to think, that was a ghost I DIDN'T believe in.