JEALOUSY, HATRED....AND MAX

JEALOUSY, HATRED....AND MAX


I have always believed in the supernatural. Up until my dog Tony died when I was eighteen (see October 2003’s “A Flower for Tony”), I had always wanted proof for myself, and I finally got it when Tony left me that daisy. It’s such a rush, witnessing something like that. It happened again about a year ago.

I was living by myself at the time in a little one bedroom, one bathroom apartment in southwest Austin. It was a cozy apartment, with a nice little kitchen and a bright balcony you could eat your lunch on. Once every week, while his fiancé was at work, one of my best friends Abe would come crash on my sofa and watch horror movies with me. I remember one week in which we had our movie marathon I had felt kind of funny, so while Abe made dinner I lay down in bed and just relaxed. If you were to stand in my doorway, which was in the far right corner of the room, my bed would be against the opposite corner, with the feet pointing to the right. My closet and bathroom doors you could see perfectly if you were sitting up in bed; they were along the right side wall if you were standing in the doorway. Well as I lay there, I looked up and noticed my closet door was open. Now, it was fairly bright in the room—not blinding, mind you, but it was bright enough as to where every single thing was illuminated. Everything except my closet.

I guess it made sense, but it just seemed too dark in there. It bothered me a bit, but not enough to get up and do anything about it. Abe came in a moment later to tell me he was done in the kitchen, and he sat at my feet. We talked and laughed for a few moments before there was a lull in our conversation. I looked back at the closet door because I had the most distinct feeling we were being watched. I saw nothing, I heard nothing, but all the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the strangest feelings of hatred and jealousy came rushing out of the closet at me (it’s the best way I can describe what happened). Abe’s face went white and he turned to look at the closet. “What the *bleep* was that?” he asked. “All the little hairs on the back of your neck went on end, didn’t they?” I asked Abe, and he nodded. I wanted to see if he felt the same thing I had. “What happened?” “I felt…. Like some one was rushing at me in jealousy. They hate me.” Needless to say, I’ve since become a stickler when it comes to sleeping with a door open.

You’d think it’d stop there, but it doesn’t.

I was at Erica’s house one day—Erica is Abe’s fiancée. She and I have known each other since we were about thirteen or so. She lives in an old little two bed, two bath house on the east side of Austin with my best friend Kathleen. It’s a lovely little house, with a wide open living room that connects to a dining room and then onto the kitchen. If I were to stand in the kitchen and Abe were to stand in the living room, we could still carry on a full conversation without ever having to raise our voices. The only doors in the house are those of the bedrooms and bathrooms, as well as the front and back doors. Other than that, only doorframes, and sometimes not even that.

Kathleen had only recently moved in when this incident took place. She had previously lived with her parents and older sister. One night she wanted to go and retrieve a few things from her family’s house, and since she didn’t have a car, Erica offered up her services, so the two of them went out for about an hour or so. That left Abe and I to hold down the fort.

We were sitting in the living room, just kicking back, not doing much but carrying on light conversation. It was so quiet in the house. The TV, the radio, the CD player, they were all off. Abe had made a comment about something and I started to respond, but halfway through my sentence I realized my voice had a competitor. I looked at Abe and by the look on his face I could tell he heard it, too. I stopped talking, but the other sound went on. Before I fill you in any further on what that sound was, let me first briefly tell you that before Erica lived in this little house with Kathleen, she and Abe lived in a nice little apartment on the North side of town. I had only been once or twice, but many of our old high school friends had been over on quite a few occasions. Brenna, whom we knew from band, was over visiting with her best friend Kate when all of a sudden they felt the presence of someone walking thru the eating area, where the two girls were located. That someone was a benign being, not meaning any harm. But both girls felt him at the same time, and it gave them the chills.

Upon inquiring about said presence, Erica told the girls it was Max, whom she deduced was a Civil War spirit that had attached himself onto an old family heirloom of Erica’s—a book published during the Civil War that had belonged to Erica’s direct ancestor (whom I am assuming must have fought in the war, as well).

Back to the story at hand.

We listened and heard the sound of someone shuffling thru the kitchen— we could hear their feet moving on the tile floor as they opened and closed cabinets (creeeeak) and drawers. Abe and I heard the sound of silverware being moved about, as well as cups and plates and things. We were alone!! We listened in fascination for a while. My jaw dropped and I grinned. “Max?” I mouthed silently at Abe and he nodded with a grin on his face. “Max?” Abe called out. SLAM was Max’s response, using one of the drawers, and that is all I’ve heard of him since.

Ginny Seybold Virginia, TX, USA
irishfirefly2003@yahoo.com