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The Man In My Room

November 2002

It all started when I was about 8 years old. We had just moved to this house, which my family had lived in before. We had already lived there before but since I was only a baby then, I didn't remember the house at all.

Just so you can get a feel of what the house looked like, it has 3 doors leading outside. The front door, which is in the living room; the back door, which is in the kitchen; and a second back door, which is in my bedroom. The living room, dining room and kitchen are on the left hand side of the house, while the master bedroom, bathroom and my bedroom are on the right hand side. In this order by the way.

I wasn't one of those children that needed a night-light to sleep nor a bedtime story, nor anything like that. All I needed was to be tired and sometimes a couple of scoldings from my parents to get to bed. The windows have burglar bars, and so do the back doors. The house has wood flooring except for the bathroom and kitchen. The bathroom has carpet and the kitchen has linoleum. Well on with the story.............

From day one I had trouble sleeping. At first I was just uneasy all of the time, and I always felt like I shouldn't be alone in the house.

After a few weeks I started seeing this dark spot at the entrance of my room. I mainly noticed it at night, but it was a thicker type of dark. There was dark of night and then there was that spot which was darker. It didn't take up the whole door, but a good portion of it. I stared at that spot every night. I felt like it was looking at me just waiting for me to go to sleep. I was barely sleeping, and hardly eating either. I was always tired and constantly getting sick. The doctors said I was anemic and gave me iron shots. I believed it too but once I got older I wondered if that had anything to do with my being sickly.

After a while the dark spot wasn't showing up at my door. I thought it had gone away but boy was I wrong. The S-O-B had made himself at home in my room and for the next 10+ years it made itself known. Notice I said him, later you will see why.

For a while all I felt was a heavy stare, but what came after is what really made me believe in ghosts and the paranormal. I am always reading about these happenings and I think it has a lot to do with what happened to me since I was little.

One night I was as usual keeping watch of my door. After a while sleep took over and I knocked out. I awoke to someone or something holding me down and covering my mouth. I tried to shout and even punch at what I could not see but then I thought I have to be asleep. I stopped trying to fight and to my astonishment I was awake. As awake as I have ever been. I tried to rationalize to myself that I was dreaming and made myself believe it. But when the occurrences continued, I knew I wasn't dreaming, and I definitely wasn't crazy. For the next 10 or so years it became a routine. It would come attack me, I would punch at it and cuss it out and it would disappear.

I tried telling my parents about it once or twice but they just thought I had an overactive imagination, and that I was dreaming everything up. I wished it were so, but I knew better.

Different people lived with us throughout the years, but none of them experienced what I was experiencing. The most they ever saw, were shadows watching them during their daily routine, or even a few times some saw the figure of a man in the living room or walking towards the kitchen. Sometimes many of us would hear our names called or would feel a tap on the shoulder but nobody took claim for any of these things. Petty things like that I could live with, but what was happening to me left me to suffer insomnia for the majority of my life now.

I moved out about 5 years ago to my own home and the occurrences stopped at least now they have. At first I would feel the same eerie stare, and even suffered a few attacks maybe half a dozen times, at the most. But the presence was not able to move with me apparently. I think it would have stayed if it could.

After I moved out my brother inherited my room. He and I had shared the room for a while but he had never heard nor felt anything and like my parents just called me crazy. He changed his mind after a couple of weeks of staying there alone. One morning as I was getting ready for work, about 6 AM, my phone rang. It was my mother, "Guess what happened to your brother?" I didn't even have to guess, I already knew. I answered, "What, is he imagining things too?" My mother knew my reaction would be bitter, and she apologized then for never believing me. I guess it's never too late. I described everything that had happened to me when I was living there, and to my mother's surprise, everything I said was being lived by my brother now. My brother reacted the same way I did, cussing and punching and threatening, until the thing would disappear. He was already in his late teens and after a few days of this; he ended up in my parents' room, on the floor. Why didn't I think of that?

Anyway, my mother went on to investigate with the neighbors the history of the house. She didn't go far to find out that a man had been shot and killed in the house by police, if I'm not mistaken. He had some kind of drug history or something. I described the figure for my mother, and even though I had never actually had a good look at him, I somehow knew what he looked like, at least had the general idea. He was tall, tan, with dark slicked back hair. I got the feeling he smoked and drank, and I even feel he had tattoos. Either way I had the description, and it matched to the one the neighbors gave of the man. I went to the house one day when I found out he was bothering my brother and threatened and cussed at the bastard, and demanded he leave him alone. Not to my surprise he retaliated against me and for about 2 nights he attacked me at my own home. I didn't care, I was used to it. He wasn't as strong, nor were the attacks as strong either.

My mother had her house blessed and the occurrences stopped for a while, but they have not stopped completely. Every once in a while my brother tells me he felt him again. Ironic how you get used to something like that. I just can't imagine anyone living with that, not even after my experiences. I apologize for the long story and I hope you enjoyed it, I know I didn't enjoy living it but as I read the stories on the site, I feel a little more re-assured.

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