True Real Estate Stories

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Giving up the Ghost by sdarb at Sat 17 Feb 22:39

Here is the set up - I was working in Georgia during the week and going home to Alabama every weekend. I had rented an apartment for the work week and the following is about a haunting in the apartment comples. Noted, this may not meet your requirements for "real estate" stories, since I didn't own the complex. But, thought I'd share...Please feel free to remove, should that be appropriate.
Susan

A few short months before I moved back home, I had relocated my meager Georgia belongings to another apartment that was, not coincidentally, in the same house as the hospital chaplain and his wife, who had been my yoga instructor until I cracked my clavicle while doing a shoulder stand.

The coincidence of living in the same house as a godly couple was purposeful because I'd gotten really tired of sharing space with a freeloading ghost.

I had tried to live in harmony with the uninvited poltergeist for about 12 months but grew weary of her nightly visits, when I would be roused from sleep by the feeling of someone/thing sitting on the side of my bed. She also enjoyed moving my roommate's rug from one end of her bedroom to the other. Every night we went through the ritual of placing the rug in one spot and checking each morning to confirm that, yes indeed, the rug had been moved. (I began to refer to the ghost as a she, not because I ever saw her, it just felt like a woman and because I figured no man-ghost would be the least bit interested in redecorating my roommate's bedroom.)

Six months into the nightly visits, the bed-sitting sensations began to get more aggressive, I suspect, because she had become increasingly unhappy with my housekeeping or lack thereof. By then I had moved into the living room and on to the futon, hoping she just wanted me out of the bedroom.

In no time flat she found me on the futon and after she tried to strangle me and lift my roommate from her bed, I turned to the hospital chaplain for advice. He suggested an exorcism involving a cast iron skillet filled with a flaming recipe of Epsom salt and rubbing alcohol.

Fortunately, he had another option, which was to move into an apartment on the first floor of his house, assuring me that it had been cleansed of all otherworldly and unwelcome spirits. I gave up the ghost, so to speak, and moved out.

While hauling boxes to my car during the move, I ran into one of my neighbors, a retired Avon saleswoman who spent most of her time planting plastic flowers outside her front door. I explained to her, as sanely as possible, why I was leaving the lovely complex. Not only, I discovered, was she a resident beauty expert, but she was also the resident ghost buster and told me she had had to rid another apartment of a spirit several years ago. I suggested that maybe the ghost she busted from one building just packed up and moved into my apartment, to which she replied, "No, I dont think so. The one I got rid of was a pornographic demon."

Wow. I might have stuck around had mine been so entertaining.

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