I don’t believe in psychics.
I used to, I really did. I called those TV hacks and let them tell me everything I wanted to hear for three bucks a minute. The last one told me this house would be wonderful for me. It turns out she was wrong. Dead wrong.
It was to be my dream house. A “cabin in the woods” where I could write without interruption. I had looked for ages to find the perfect place at a price a struggling artist could afford. I found it through a tiny newspaper ad, bought it immediately and moved in. Completely exhausted from unpacking, I fell into bed and slept instantly. It was hours later when I awoke from what I thought was a nightmare. Looking back, it was just the start of one.
I was dreaming about my new house, but in the dream it was run down, disheveled. I saw rushing images of different parts of the house, and a woman I did not recognize. She was in the kitchen, sobbing and frantically searching through drawers. A glint of light on metal and the woman was lying on the front porch. Dark liquid flowed from her to the drain hole in the porch…is it blood? I woke on the verge of a scream and scanned the room. Everything looked different than the dream, yet I knew the horrors I had just seen happened in this house.
I had the dream once. After a few weeks I had settled in and put it off to new house nerves. I set my office up in the spare bedroom and started working late into the night, actually falling asleep at the keyboard one night. That’s when I heard it.
I thought at first that it was the dream again. But the dream had been silent. This sounded like a woman screaming. Opening my eyes, I realized I was awake and could still hear it. It was muffled, but it was definitely a woman’s scream. I ran to the living room and flung open the front door, but I could no longer hear it. I walked carefully back to my office and stepped inside. The muted shrieking began again and it became obvious the sound was in the room with me. My breath caught in my chest, as I stood frozen with fear. Nothing was moving, yet I felt as though I was spinning like a top. My body suddenly felt weak, and I grabbed for the table near the door. I succeeded in grasping a stack of research as I fell, causing a slow motion paper blizzard. Then everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, it was morning. I looked around the room and strained to hear, to hear anything at all. I finally heard the wind rustling the trees. I slowly got up and moved to the window. I had a headache from a bump on my forehead and in the distance storm clouds were forming, but otherwise everything seemed normal. I thought about what had happened before I fainted. Maybe I hadn’t heard anything at all. Maybe it was one of those weird “auras” that people have before they have a seizure or a migraine. I told myself that had to be it. I bent to pick up the fallen papers from the floor, wishing I had just hit the floor without making such a mess.
As I tried to restore the paper chaos to order, I saw the corner of a yellowed newspaper clipping. It was not familiar to me, so I pulled it out for closer examination. It had no date, but the print and condition led me to believe it was not recent. As I began to read, a chill ran up my spine. The story detailed a horrible murder. There were no pictures, but I knew I had already seen the victim.
Lightning flashed, and I could hear rain hammering at the windows. I went to the living room and looked out the peephole, then cautiously opened the door. Flipping on the porch light, I quickly scanned the yard. I am still not sure what I expected to see, but there was nothing. I relaxed and let my gaze fall to the wooden porch. That’s when I saw the blood.
My heart pounding and my throat dry, I still had to look. It seemed to be fresh, and was mixing with rainwater as it poured out the drain hole in the side of the porch. But where was it coming from? There had been no cars on the road, no sign of intrusion in the house or yard. I pondered an animal attack. Taking a deep breath, I went back into the house to get a bucket of water to wash the blood from the porch.
I emptied the pail and watched as the water drained. I turned to go back into the house, glancing at the floor I had just rinsed. I saw more blood, so I went to get another bucket. I rinsed the floor once more, this time watching the area as I splashed the water on it. Bile rose in my throat as I saw that the blood was bubbling from up from under the paint. Then I heard the woman again, screaming and crying, sounding like she was right in front of me. I covered my ears as it became louder.
I honestly don’t know what happened next. A nurse here at the hospital said that when they found me I was screaming and lying in a large pool of blood on the porch in the rain. There were no physical wounds observed on my body, and no one can account for the blood. Doctors say I had a “breakdown”, and I need to rest. I don’t hear her anymore, but I still have the dream. And I know she still wants something from me.
No, I don’t believe in psychics. But I do believe in ghosts.