March 7, 2008

Sharing My Bed With a Ghost

Rate this encounter:[an error occurred while processing this directive] Tanina, Mexico, December 20, 1997

I took a trip to Mexico with a dear friend of mine to visit his family. We stayed at his sister's place -- a small two-bedroom home made from cement. The home was naturally drafty at night, but it was quaint. I slept on the bottom bunk and my friend slept on the top bunk. I was sleeping when all of the sudden I felt my bed depress as if someone had crawled in the bed with me. I knew it couldn't be my friend because it wasn't something he would do. I just knew that it was a tall, heavy man, and I became so scared I held my breath. I felt him spoon me. I then got the courage to move and realized that I was all alone in the room, and everyone was awake. The bedroom door was shut. I asked my friend if he had come into the room, and he said no.

As the days went on, more weird things started happen. Every time I would shut the door and begin to change my clothes, the door would swing open by itself. This is where I mentioned my experience to the family. My friend's niece said that a man stokes her hair at night. She also gave me a tip, if you don't give him any space in the bed, he won't crawl in with you. This freaked me out. What do you think I did for the next few nights? Slept on the top bunk, and trying to cover every inch of the mattress with my body! My friend's sister said the stories were silliness, not true. The neighborhood kids talked about ghosts like an everyday occurrence -- one of the kids said, "I have a ghost in my house, too! The ghost probably needs help. Ask the ghost what it wants." Well, I was writing in my journal one day in the room sitting on the bottom bunk. The door was closed, when all of a sudden, a figurine from a shelf on the wall flew like three feet as if someone had knocked it off. I looked at the figurine still moving on the floor in disbelief, when in front of me was this ectoplasm of mist. It looked like cigarette smoke in my face. That's when I was creeped out and in my bad Spanish I told the ghost I could not help it, that I was an American on vacation, and that I was tired. Needless to say, I went home a day early from stress and exhaustion. It was quite an experience. I love ghosts, and I'm curious about the afterlife, but I am a bit of a chicken.