The Man In My Room

submitted by: Cindy

My family lived in Detroit when I was a child. Our street had a Catholic church on the corner and a funeral home right in the middle of the block. We lived in a two-bedroom house, and I shared a room with my baby brother. I can still remember my brother’s crib, my little blue twin bed with the plastic boats on it, and the curtains mom hung over the closet because there wasn’t a door. It was cozy and full of love.

I remember before my brother was born, being able to see animals that no one else could. I especially remember seeing a dog that was with me quite often. I would tell my mom about the dog and tell her to pet him. She would play along and pretend to pet a dog. I would correct her and tell her she wasn’t petting him because his head was over here. At first, she wasn’t concerned and just assumed it was my imagination. I was so adamant about the dog that she eventually became worried. She took me to the Doctor to address it. The doctor assured her that I just had a healthy childhood imagination. My mom never really believed that the dog was imaginary.

A few years later I began to see a man standing in my bedroom. I could never clearly see his face but, he dressed like someone from the 1940’s or 50’s. He never spoke. He would just stand there and watch me. One night he lifted his arm and pointed to the door. I was so frightened. I thought he was telling me to leave. I screamed at the top of my lungs and took off running. I was running from my room, and my mom was running towards it. She assumed that I had a nightmare. She walked me back to bed while she comforted me. When we got to my room he was gone. I was relieved that he was gone but, I was afraid to fall asleep. His nighttime visits went on for years. He would just stand there motionless, silently watching. One night when I looked over and saw him standing there, my bed began to rock. I remember gripping on to the sides of my bed because I was so afraid I was going to fall out. Of course I was screaming. I can very clearly remember the sound of my mom running towards me.

My mother was tired, she knew this wasn’t normal behavior. It was happening too frequently, and far too detailed for a four-year-old to describe. She moved me and my brother into her bedroom with her and closed our room off. She went to the Church and spoke to the Priest. The Priest and a few other people came and blessed our house. The Priest told my mom that it was more than likely a soul that needed to move on. My father didn’t believe in any of it but, he went along with it for the sake of his family. The man didn’t leave our house after the blessing. I still saw him. I didn’t tell my mom about it anymore. I felt really bad about upsetting my mom. I felt like I had caused a lot of trouble. I would just lay there in bed every night and just sweat it out until I fell asleep.

Shortly after the house blessing, I began having episodes that I really don’t know how to explain. I would almost become unconscious while I was fully awake. My mom would be trying to get my attention and, I was completely unaware. She would eventually get me to snap out of it. It was the strangest feeling. I’m not even sure how to describe it. It really felt like I just wasn’t there until my mom touched me and got me talking. I remember looking around and at myself like, what just happened. I would close my eyes and see designs and patterns. Sometimes they were black and white but mostly in color. I never told anyone because I just felt like such a problem child. It seemed like I was always upsetting my mom and stressing her out when I told her things.

Eventually my father bought a new house. He really hoped the new house would make everyone happy. I thought so to. I thought the man would stay in the old house and I could be happy in my new room. I was wrong, he moved with us. My brother was a little older now, so we got bunk beds for our new room. The man wouldn’t stand in the room anymore. He now stood in the doorway of our room. I can remember laying in my top bunk, hiding under the covers, peeking out to see if he was still there. After about four years I finally got brave. I was so tired of being afraid and was frustrated. One night I climbed out of my bunk and marched my little self right up to him and screamed, ” Leave me alone! Go away! I’m done being scared!” He left that night, and I have never seen him again.