A picture of the area where the author saw an apparition of a man
Where do I begin . . . probably at the point where I was totally oblivious to the little things going on around me. It was 1989 and I was getting married. I just bought a condo and decided to move in before the wedding. Having never really lived alone before, I thought the feelings of discomfort were just part of acclimating to my new surroundings. Although I was alone, I still slept with the bedroom door locked. That should have been my first hint that something was just not right. If I had my old Snoopy Night Light, I probably would have used it to provide me some comfort from the dark and disturbing quiet. Well, sort of quiet. Every little bump in the night seemed to wake me up. Again, I just put it down to being in a new place. Soon I would get use to my surroundings, I thought.
It wasn’t long before I started to get used to the little idiosyncrasies of my new place. Things like the squeaky doors, the occasionally leaky faucet and the TV turning on and off on its own, for no apparent reason. At first, I thought one of my neighbors had a similar remote code and that was setting things off, so it had to be an electrical problem. After numerous electricians could find nothing wrong with the outlets, I attributed it to a faulty off-brand television set. Again, ignoring the obvious.
After a short time, I was married and my new wife moved into our condo. The familiar comfort of living with someone again soon put these little annoyances out of my mind and all seemed well . . . or so I thought.
It was a morning like any other. I woke up, careful not to wake my sleeping bride, and stumbled my way to the bathroom for my morning ritual. After a well-needed shower to wash away the night, I stood in front of the mirror prepared to shave away several days’ worth of 5 o’clock shadow. After smoothing on the shaving cream, I looked up, put the razor to my face and suddenly saw something that sent chills down my spine. Directly behind me was the bathroom door, and looking through the mirror, I saw a man standing behind the door. He was wearing brown corduroy pants and a long-sleeved white shirt. He had dark brownish hair, but his face was shadowed. At first I stood there in shock; then as quickly as I saw him, I turned, ready to swing my double edge razor at him. As I turned to face the door, I realized that there was no one there, nothing hanging on the door, no shadows, nothing. I looked back in the mirror, and again there was nothing reflected but the door.
I didn’t speak of the incident for several days, hoping it was just my imagination and maybe I wasn’t fully awake yet. It had to be my mind just playing tricks on me.
One evening about a week later, I decided to bring it up to my wife. I said, “something happened the other morning when I was shaving. I was looking in the mirror . . . ” before I could finish my sentence my wife said, “so you saw him.” The blood drained from my body at that moment. I asked, “saw who?” She said, “the guy with the brown pants. I’ve seen him too; he walks back and forth from the bedroom to the bathroom.”
Needless to say, I never stayed in the house alone again and always made sure I turned on all the lights before I entered any room. I was more than on board when my wife eventually suggested we move. I am just thankful that I didn’t see him again.