I was never intending to write creepypasta but now I just might.
No, I won’t, but waiting for my tea, the thought feels alluring. I feel it at the back of my neck, I see it on the edges of my sight. Shapes and sounds, odd things. It’s gentle, high-pitched chirping. Not pleasant, and it doesn’t like the kettle. It’s mixed with the sounds coming from upstairs – curious gargles of the house that isn’t as old as its spirits suggest – or is it? Are younger spirits, the sprites within these white walls from the post-asbestos era, less pleasant to have around? More malevolent maybe?
I turn to get my tea and I’m right, there’s no one behind me, at least no one that I could see. I still feel them, and I don’t necessarily like the sensation. The tea is waiting, the bag sinks slowly under the surface of nearly boiling liquid. I’m waiting for the rocking chair to wake but it doesn’t, at least not now it seems. I can’t keep watching it even though my mind keeps circling around it in wild spirals that almost hurt me to the core, my vision jumps and every sound feels more intense than it should. I hope the cars around are real, that there are real people inside, and that I’m not alone with whatever’s in the flat.
But like I wondered, are the newer spirits worse? Are the houses from the 1980s more dangerous than the old ones? I once lived in a friendly house, built in the 1950s, and yes, friendly would be the perfect word to describe it. The cupboards in the kitchen were of warm yellow, all wooden and self-made by someone. The basement was the epitome of creepy but it didn’t feel as threatening as it possibly should have, just a bit scary-looking but overall safe. Like something where you’d go when there’s a storm or perhaps an apocalypse going on, if you needed a place to hide. It was quite a maze, too. That house was safe and cute, nice and peaceful, and there was no need to feel bad in there. I’ve also lived in another house that was built in the 1950s, my parents old house, and it wasn’t bad either. I felt a bit unsafe there sometimes but it was mostly because I was a bit afraid of the attic and there was something that creeped me out about the huge windows anyone could see inside through. Not that there would’ve been someone looking. My current flat isn’t a new one either, it was built maybe a hundred, maybe two-hundred years ago. I know but can’t remember. It’s quite a friendly house as well. If there’s something in there, it’s not something to lose your good night’s sleep over – vice versa, it’s quite homely in the end.
I still keep glancing at the rocking chair. It actually was rocking on its own a few days ago, when I was in a hurry and trying to pack my stuff so that I wouldn’t be late from a meeting. A lot of odd things have happened in this flat, if not dangerous per se, then scary, yes, sometimes. I’ve been afraid here, more so now that I don’t live here. I hear things here, things moving that aren’t there, sounds that shouldn’t even exist. And it’s like my senses were heightened in a way, they hear and see more than I’m supposed to. Sometimes the sounds come from the neighbours’ flats, sometimes not, and when they don’t, I wonder what they are.
This place was built around thirty years ago, so it’s a young one. It’s in a suburb, somewhere between a fire station and a pub, across the street from the hospital. I don’t know what kind of people have lived here, I only know that something has been trying to scare me ever since I moved. I made kind of a deal once, and it was that as long as they won’t harm me, I won’t get rid of them. It’s worked so far, I’ve never been hurt by them, but they have scared me still, probably on purpose. Things move, sounds are heard. Once I almost got a heart attack in the shower when I was washing my hair and the tap was switched on suddenly. I think I screamed.
But do older flats attract friendlier spirits and the newer, colder, perhaps a little more soulless houses act like magnets for those mischievous ones? I wish I knew. From my experience, I’d say this is the case, but I obviously don’t have enough knowledge on this. The only thing I do know is that houses have different feelings to them and some are more pleasant to experience than others. I don’t wonder why people have believed in the spirits of certain places through the ages: even if they don’t exist, the atmospheres do. I do believe that people leave a part of them and their past within the energy of all the places they live or possibly even visit, and if they stay for long or are very influential, their effect is of course greater. I hope I’ve left my flats with more tolerant vibes – maybe the mischief is still there but perhaps it’s a bit better-mannered. At least I hope so, for the sake of the next tenants.
This entry was written with Earl Grey, partially during the process of making it.