I knocked on the door three times and waited patiently, bag clutched in front of me in both hands. Henry, the man that contacted me over email to investigate this haunted place, had told me some of the terror that he and his family had been experiencing. For the past few months, the family of three had been terrorized by an unseen force. At first, simple happenings would occur, like disembodied voices or thuds around the home. But pretty soon, the activity became violent, to the point that they were now calling it a poltergeist.
“Hello?” A man said after opening the front door. His skin was pale and he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Hello, I am-“
“The medium, right?” he interrupted, before I could finish my introduction.
“Right. May I come in?”
This man, whom I had been exchanging emails with in the past couple of weeks, finally shook my hand and greeted me into his home. I proceeded in behind him, entering a foyer that led to three other rooms and had a staircase to the left that led to the second floor. I saw an elderly woman shuffling up the top stairs as Henry closed the door behind me.
“My wife and son aren’t here right now. They’ve gone out for some food while I waited here for you.”
“And who is upstairs? Your mother?”
Henry gave me a puzzled look and tilted his head slightly. “Upstairs? Nobody, it’s just me.”
I looked toward the top of the stairs once again. This spirit had shown herself very early to me and that wasn’t common when entering a residence. To avoid terrifying Henry, I told him to disregard my statement and that it must have been a mistake. Based on his appearance, I didn’t think he would be able to handle the news that I had already seen a ghost in my first minute in the home. After staring at me in confusion for a moment more, he invited me into the kitchen for some coffee.
“So,” I began once Henry had poured us both a cup of coffee and sat down across the table from me. “I want you to start at the beginning. What’s been going on?”
“… pretty soon the activity became violent.”
“Well,” Henry began. “It all started a couple of months ago when my wife, son and I moved in. We got a great deal on the place, so we jumped at the opportunity to live so close to the French Quarter. Within a week after closing the sale, we had all of our stuff moved in and set up. But the first night we were here, strange things began to happen. At first, it was simple odd issues, like things being misplaced, or footsteps upstairs, or whispering voices coming from rooms as we passed by them. I ignored this, partly disregarding it because it was seemingly harmless. But that all changed a few weeks later when my four-year-old son started talking to someone upstairs. My wife and I laughed it off, figuring it was just an imaginary friend, but pretty soon the activity around here became violent. Lamps being thrown off tables, cabinets slamming open and closed, huge booms all around the house on the second floor. One time,” he said, his eyes wide open in terror. “My wife had a knife fly out of the knife block on the counter and come three inches from stabbing her.”
I took a sip of my coffee and mulled over what Henry was telling me. If these claims were true, then this ghost was much stronger than the usual haunting. Throwing knives and breaking lamps was just one sign of that. But through all of his story, there was one consistency: the second floor.
“Henry,” I said, placing my mug down on the table. “I think the second floor is the best place to start. Take me to the room where your son talks to this imaginary friend of his.”