Halloween is finally over. Not to say I didn't have fun on Halloween, because I had a blasty-blast. But it's the Halloween planning that I cannot handle. What am I going to be? Where am I going to go? Halloween is like New Years', in that both holidays have a shitty planning to fun ratio. This year, my much-heralded costume idea (MIA from the Grammy's) fell through, so I scrambled for a costume last minute, thereby giving myself a lifetime's supply of ulcers. In the end, I settled on "the walk of shame", which involved me not wearing pants, which Meg can attest to my extreme discomfort as I never leave the house without head to toe coverage. I will say, however, if you ever want to get attention on the streets of New York City, don't wear pants. You'd think with people like the Naked Cowboy gallivanting around, Manhattanites would be desensitized, especially on Halloween. But you'd be wrong.
Getting back to my point, Halloween is finally over. So can someone please explain to me why my apartment is still haunted?
When Meg and I lived together in Brooklyn many moons ago, we had a haunted apartment. Pots would fall off otherwise sturdy shelves. Things would move of their own accord. Before Halloween, I carved a pumpkin and put it on my windowsill, only to have it smashed inside my room the next day. We went to great lengths to exterminate the presence in our apartment, including burning sage on a regular basis. I don't think it worked, in fact, we probably just made whatever it was in there hate the smell of sage. But I figured once we moved out of that place, I would be done with it.
If you follow me on Twitter, or if you read any of my posts back in June, you'd know I moved into my own place a few months ago. And things had been going swimmingly until this past September. One random, lame Friday night, I decided to hit the hay around 9:30. I had not imbibed any alcohol, had refrained from my usual nightly peyote. I just wanted to get some sleep. So I turn out the light, and get ready to go to bed. All of a sudden, I get real cold, so I turn over to grab my comforter, and standing right next to my bed is a ghost. So I'm freaking my shit out because holy crap, I'm staring at a ghost. Whereas the ghost is mouthing "It's ok," like she's not dead and I'm having a heart attack for no reason. 30 seconds later, she disappears. Naturally, my first instinct (after turning on the light and changing my sheets) is to call everyone I've ever known and to tell them what just happened. The only way I can describe the ghost is: a girl in her late twenties with long brown hair in white nightshirt (a la Emily Binx in Hocus Pocus). I'm not one to say I believe in ghosts, but it's hard to maintain that belief when one is staring you in the face. However, in retrospect, the ghost looked kind of like Sophia Bush, and this was right around the time Sorority Row was coming out. So I chalked this up to a really intense trailer, turned on the TV (of course, I slept with the TV on that night), and went back to bed.
A few weeks go by, and nothing further happens. After reassuring myself that I'm not crazy and that I probably just drank some expired milk, I logic away the possibility of there being a ghost in my apartment. Then, right before I leave for Mexico, she strikes back. I'm in my bed, and about to fall asleep, and then I feel something tugging at my comforter. Turn over, and there's Sophia Bush's ghost waving at me. Waving. Like we're old friends. And then she's gone. And now I've soiled my bed again.
I'm sure you're skeptical. Hell, I'm still skeptical. Because both times this has happened, I've been by myself and about to go to bed. Maybe I just nodded off both times and had a vivid dream (and my subconscious loves Sophia Bush).
But last night, my bf was staying at my place. We went to bed around midnight or so. Let me preface this by saying that I keep a sound machine (so I can lull myself to sleep with the soothing sounds of ocean or rain or loons. It even has a "heartbeat" function, in case you want to simulate being inside the womb) on the windowsill next to my bed. Anyway, I woke up around 4 in the morning, because I hear a bird in my apartment. "That's not normal," I think to myself and slowly come to realize there's not actually a parrot in my apartment, but that my sound machine is on. I definitely did not turn it on myself, and it's too high for me to have rolled and turned it on inadvertently. I wake up the bf, genuinely spooked, and ask if he turned it on, which he didn't. Oh shit, it's Sophia again.
I've also come to the conclusion that Sophia Bush means no harm. She's just lonely being all dead and shit. Because the two times I've seen her, she's a) tried to calm me down and b) waved at me. And last night, she just wanted me to have a good night's sleep. Still, having a supernatural experience is not calming, and I'm on edge when it's time to go to bed anticipating seeing her again. I don't watch One Tree Hill specifically so that I don't have to see Sophia Bush and be reminded of my ghost. I don't want to run away from my apartment screaming, but I also don't want to not do that. I'm still not saying I believe in any of this ghost crap, because I could just have an overactive imagination and random, flailing limbs. But I'm legitimately freaked out. So for any of you that like to play the stock market, I would look into buying stocks in sage and holy water, because I'm about to stockpile that shit.
Now if I can just find an old priest and young priest....