What can I say about Mommy Pie that you haven’t already heard me go on and on about? Let’s see. I love her? No. I’ve said that before. Hmmm…She’s my psychic twin? Also, probably heard me say that. Gosh, I’m running out of glowing new commentary. Let me leave it at this: Mommy Pie was one of my VERY FIRST bloggy friends after I started San Diego Momma. She emailed me because she read I liked the spooky, and we became fast ether friends. She’s the best. And another thing? For my upcoming trip, she sent me a guardian angel medallion. I love her. Ooops! Said it again.
When my Paranormal Internet Soulmate Deb asked me to guest post while she’s gone on her big trip, I KNEW I had to do something ghosty. Or SMOOKY as my 4-year-old would say. And how perfect that as I write this at the 11th hour, I sit in my darkened livingroom watching my new favorite HBO series, True Blood. Not that my story’s about vampires or anything. Just … smooky.
I’ve lived in a few haunted places. Truly. Back in 1991 I was living on the second story of an old brick building with cathedral ceilings. Two sets of 20-foot thick wooden doors led out to an iron balcony overlooking old main street. The space was amazing. Once upon a time, a hundred years in the past, it served as a brewery. Later, it was a dance hall. Legend has it ladies of the night were frequent patrons.
I shared the apartment with my boyfriend at the time. Each of us had experienced things that couldn’t be explained. Sometimes these things happened when we were together. Like seeing a young workman kneeling in the corner of our bedroom one night, watching us sleep.
Sometimes they happened when we were alone. Like nickels materializing from thin air and falling from above. And being thrown at the bathroom door.
This was one of those alone times.
Right next to those 20-foot high double doors were equally impressive 20-foot high windows. In front of one of those windows sat an overstuffed chair. One cold and silent snowy night, I sat alone in the apartment, sinking into that cozy chair, thoroughly engrossed in a novel, the name of which escapes me.
I remember no feelings of uneasiness. Actually, I believe I was enjoying the time alone. Which is why the sudden overwhelming feeling of being watched took me by surprise. I stopped reading, closed my book, stood up and looked behind me. There was, of course, nothing there. I settled back into the chair and tried to resume reading, but couldn’t shake the growing sensation on the back of my neck.
Once again, I stood up. Devoid of a double pane, the window behind me was covered in a thick layer of untouched ice — inside the house. I distinctly remember looking at it as I walked to the bedroom for a blanket. Returning to the chair less than 30 seconds later, the sight that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks.
A perfectly shaped heart had formed in the center of the iced pane. The ice that just a few seconds ago solidly coated the INSIDE of the window, had melted, as though warmed by someone’s breath.
Keep in mind, there was absolutely NO heat source anywhere near the window.
And I WAS alone.
At least I thought so.
That was enough to send me out the door. I drove to the bar where my boyfriend and I both worked, had a seat with the regulars and tried to collect myself. I waited until 2 a.m., helped my boyfriend close up, and drove home with him, refusing to go back to the apartment alone. By the time we walked in the door, just the faintest remnant of my admirer’s artwork remained.
Faint, but most definitely still there.