It was the last place we would have expected to have trouble with. Our first apartment was in one of the standard large complexs that you see popping up in suburbia. It was about 20 years old, but here were a lot of old fruit trees on the grounds, so it may have been built on the site of an old farm stead, something that is common for our area. Maybe our difficulties stemmed from this. On the other hand such complexs tend to have a high tenant turnover and some residents can leave quit suddenly.
Any ways it started out with the usual irregularities that often accompany these incidences. Lights would be on or off when you would swear they hadn't been that way when you left the room. The same goes for doors opening and closing. Objects would be moved from where you had put them, pictures would go all askance.
At about the same time when it began to dawn on us that there might be something to these occurrences, the finger prints started. Again, we didn't realize at first what was happening. It just seemed like my husband and I were getting extremely messy. I was constantly wiping dirty fingerprints and hand prints off the walls. At first it was in places that you would expect, around light switches, for example. Then it got stranger. Fingerprints and even whole hand prints began to appear way up near the ceiling, which couldn't be reached unless one was on a ladder. Toward the end, some even appeared ON the ceiling. I pulled desk out to retrieve a fallen piece of paper and found the wall behind it just plastered with hand prints. The prints were too small to be my husband's or mine. we guessed they were the size of a child's, or now, in retrospect, the size of a small woman's hands. one night I wiped the prints off the hall light switch, and then carried some dirty laundry to the hamper in the bedroom. I didn't touch the switch, yet when I came back, the prints were back. I wiped them off, turned, walked away a couple of feet, and turned back. The prints were back. I repeated this 6 times before I gave up, and just left the prints. By this time our walls were just in a constant state of being peppered with prints, to the point that company would stare a little.
Michael and I watched one afternoon as the bedroom door unlatched itself (we heard the click), swung open, and then swung shut again.
One evening I walked into the bedroom to find a living bedspread composed of bees crawling around on our antique redwood bed. All the windows and doors had been shut. When I returned with the manager, They were all gone except for a few stragglers.
The moving objects became more brazen, towards the end. We would hear a loud thump in the other room, or right behind us, and find that something quite heavy had fallen, books would seem to have just flown right off the shelf. Things turned up in increasingly bizarre locations. One evening, I went to retrieve the broom from the hall closet. It wasn't hanging in its usual spot. Now while there is a possibility that I used it and forgot to hang it back up, I know I didn't leave it where I eventually found it: standing in the bathroom, precariously balanced, bristles down, atop the sink faucet. I reached to take it down, and it fell to the floor the moment my fingers grazed it.
Here's the grand finale: When I was quite pregnant with our first son, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom (big surprise). When I returned, I was in the narrow space between the wall and my side of the bed when I happened to glance down at the floor. I was standing in a spectral woman that was lying on the floor. She was very small and thin-boned, elderly, and was writhing around as if in great pain. The expression on her face was ghastly. I let out a shriek that was in itself bloodcurdling, and jumped onto the bed, clear across my side and onto my husbands, crushing him under me and nine months of baby. To this day, many moves later, I can't sleep on THAT side of any bed -and I still leap in and out of bed-because even though it didn't 'get' me that time, there's always next time.....