Two days ago I went to a lending company to sign the release papers for our house and lot. This is the house that I grew up in. I had to sign for it because well, I’m the only remaining member of my family in the Philippines. My parents have been thinking about selling the house for a long time now and it makes me a little sad to think about letting the house go. That house represents my childhood. I grew up with my aunt and sister there.
Although, I must confess a part of me is a little relieved if someone does buy it. The house used to give me nightmares as a kid. I would close my eyes at night and feel someone staring at me. Our dog would howl at night and be really really scared to stay outside. Sometimes I’d be washing the dishes in the sink and from the corner of my eye I’d see a black shadow pass by. I felt like it was an old woman looking at me. Sometimes I’d be scared to open the bathroom because in my head there’d be this image of a middle age guy hanging from the ceiling. Yeah I know it’s creepy. There was a time that someone knocked on our front door and when I opened it, nobody was there. It’s impossible for someone to get in and go out that fast because we had a high fence.
I would have passed everything off as overactive imagination if my sister and my aunt didn’t experience the same thing. The knock on the door, the guy who hanged himself, the old woman and the stares when your eyes are closed. They felt the same thing. That’s the weirdest thing. And you know what, the next tenants to stay there asked the same thing as well.