It would appear, my friends, that we have a ghost.
And, yes, I can only assume Haunted Apartment is venturing deep into shark jumping territory, blog-wise, but hear me out.
Do you perchance recall, a few months back, when I recounted the chilling tale of how Lo’s musical toy ball—which had been clearly placed in a very specific spot in the living room-—mysteriously not only turned itself on, but FOUND ITS WAY INTO THE BABY’S CRIB IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?
As I indicated at the time, I believed the explanation to be that this could have been the work of a malevolent baby demon, or some sort of murderous clown, but PROBABLY a sleepwalking toddler. You know, Occam’s Razor, and all that. Well, sucks to your Razor, Occam. WE ARE ALL HAUNTED AND SHIT UP IN THIS PIECE.
Ever since that fateful winter night, we’ve noticed an increased incidence of, shall we say, strange occurrences involving the children’s toys. Mechanical wind-up train slowly rolling itself out of the room containing my two SLEEPING kids? Check. Activity table commencing enthusiastic rendition of the Alphabet Song in the living room while we are ALL in the kitchen? Check. Children's books randomly appearing in strange places other than their shelves? CHECK.
Do you think I’m kidding? Exaggerating, perhaps? I assure you I am not. Why, allow me to share with you the discussion J and I just had moments ago:
J: What are you writing about?
Me: I’m telling everyone about the ghost.
J: Whatever, just don’t anger it.
Please note that he’s normally the level-headed one in this relationship.
We really can't think of a logical explanation here OTHER than ghost, and yet, no one is more surprised than I that we’re kind of taking the haunting in stride. After all, some of my supernatural fears over the years have included, but are not limited to, portraits –of seventeenth century despots OR OTHERS--coming alive, demonic possession of dolls and/or action figures, and zombification via freak zoo monkey bite accident. J claims he is generally unfazed by the ghost, since he is, in his words, “familiar with that world, with magic and the occult, on account of [his] reading the Harry Potter series in its entirety.”
(My husband, ladies and gentlemen!)
Our general approach has been less Ghostbusty (And…now I’ve found my perfect name for an adult film geared towards the undead), and more like that of solicitous inkeepers. “Hi therrrrre,” we’ll trill nervously when the toys, you know, come alive. “We aren’t afraid of youuuuu! We know you mean us no harrrrrrm!” We’ve mulled over the idea of telling the Unseen Presence to leave, but clearly that might just serve to piss it right the hell off, and then you just know I’ll be dealing with an orgy of homicidal Elmo dolls and really, who needs that?
I would love to hear similar tales (we CAN'T be the only people who've experienced eerie shit like this, can we? CAN WE?), as well as your ideas for ways in which I can conduct subtle exorcisms, but if, in the interim, I hear a growly woman’s voice inquiring as to whether or not I’m a god, I WILL SAY YES.