October 22, 2011
I don't know why I couldn't tell Karen the truth. I still haven't. What I also didn't tell you was how I felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath me. How my stomach knotted up. How I closed my eyes tight and winced almost like a pain shot through my head except I didn't feel any physical pain. A deep sense of dread filled me and I swear I was almost as scared as when I heard the noises in the closet in the middle of the night. It was just as well that Karen insisted I stay with her. She didn't want to be alone in the apartment.
I think if she wasn't eager for work to get away from the place that we might not have gone out of the apartment at all. I was there all week except for work, and good thing too. All of my sick days are gone, including the half-pay ones. All of my holidays are used. I have to show up or else.
It was about the middle of the week when I came back to Karen's place from work and she almost leapt into my arms. She burst into tears and told me about something that happened just before I got there. She thought it was okay to go in before I had shown up. Karen had gone in, taken off her jacket and kicked off her shoes. She was crossing the living room when she was spun around by the arm and flung back onto the couch. Something pressed on her neck in spots making her turn her head one way and then the other.
Karen told me she screamed, but it wouldn't stop. It wasn't hard pressing, but it was slow and insistent. She shouted for it to leave her alone and tried to get up. The pressing stopped and then everything shot out of the entertainment center. I don't know how the TV survived falling on the GC and the accessories. The motion capture device was the only thing broken by the TV falling on it.
When Karen was almost over crying she broke out worse again and told me, "I am so sorry, Josh. I've been blaming you for snooping, and touching things you shouldn't."
She almost squeezed the breath out of me she was hugging me so hard. I donít know why this event made her think of that. Doesn't matter I guess. Now I don't think I can tell her the truth. Can it get any worse?
I was over at Karen's today. We had taken a break from playing a GC game with the new motion capture system I bought her. It's not the add-on you're thinking that it is; it's a knock-off that's come since and I prefer not to name. Just add it to the growing list of things I'm not supposed to have involved myself with. She was in the kitchenette on the other side of the cut-out wall section and I was knelt down changing out the game for a new one.
"Josh!" she yelped. "That's not fun--"
I turned and looked at her. She was standing, framed in the wall opening. Her mouth was open and her eyes were wide. "How did..."
She tried to say a couple more things, but with no better results. I crossed the room over to her. I could see a tear roll down her cheek. It was the only one to get anywhere. She held back the rest. I made to move around and into the kitchen and she jerked back. I stopped where I was. I must have looked a sight because she burst into tears. I don't remember what I was thinking. I don't know if I was frowning or grimacing or what.
When I got the story out of her I knew immediately what to make of it. I didn't know how to tell her though--I guess it was obvious. Here's what happened. I was changing games and someone slapped her on the butt. It obviously wasn't me. I can only imagine what went through her mind when she saw me too far away to have done it--too far to slap and run even.
Then I think the worst part came. She said, "My apartment is haunted!"
She was crying again telling me about the things that have happened. I wanted to tell her that it was okay, that it actually was my fault, but I just stood there like a bump on a log. I couldn't make myself tell her. I actually wanted nothing more than to get out of there and let her make of that what she would. Most people would run out of a haunted place, right?
I guess that's enough for you all to mull over today.
I had an odd incident this week. It wasn't a haunting, but it did have to do with all of that. A man in a dark suit with a black tie, and dark sunglasses approached me. He introduced himself as a member of some government agency that he called the O.S.I.R., the Office of Studied Interdisciplinary Research. I'd never heard of them before and there is very little online about it. He said that the events I have been party to--his words--fit a specific criteria that triggered his visit. There was something very unnerving about his choice of words. I tried to work through what he was implying, perhaps even intimating.
I told him that the haunting was over, and there was not so much as an aftershock. He seemed to know what I was talking about. He offered me his card, but I didn't take it immediately. He told me to hang onto his card even though I wasn't holding it yet. He told me that it was hardly over. I asked him what he meant and he said that I would find out it was likely just the beginning. I told him he didn't know what he was talking about. I added that professionals had assured me that it was over. He shook his head then and there was a look in his eyes. I had the eerie feeling that a look like that must cross the eyes of an executioner just before flipping the switch on the electric chair. He put the card in my hand with both of his and held my hand a moment, which only made it worse. A shiver ran through me.
Then he left. I've been thinking about it ever since. He didn't say what they would do if I were still haunted. I have yet to really figure out what the O.S.I.R. does. The name implies things, but we know how little that means in government. I guess I'll never find out.