The Rehearsal Space
It was the late 80s, just before I left my hometown behind. Our rehearsal space was set up in the decaying shell of what had once been a children’s mental hospital, only a short walk from my mother’s house. The building was huge - echoing halls, crumbling walls, and doors that never sat right in their frames. Everyone in town knew the stories. Ghost stories. But I never paid them much attention. Not until that night.
Night Sessions
I used to rehearse late - alone, wrapped in darkness, save for a few dim spotlights: one red, one blue, casting long, unnatural shadows across the room and my synth setup. The silence outside those walls was deep, absolute. Inside, I lost myself in sound.
The Shaking Door
But something was different that night.
The door began to rattle - violently - as if someone was trying to break in. I stopped playing. My pulse slowed, sharpened. I walked to the door, which had been locked. When I opened it, nothing was there. Just the long hallway, still as death.
Then it happened again. The same shaking. Same emptiness behind the door. I returned to my synths. That’s when they came through the wall.
The Apparition
Two figures.
They didn’t drift. They walked - as if stepping in from another world, moving with purpose. They appeared about seven or eight feet to my right. I stood frozen. I wasn’t terrified, not exactly - but this was unlike anything I had ever felt. Real, heavy, wrong in the air around me.
The Smell
Their heads were oval, smooth, and pale. I couldn’t make out their faces, only something like a nose - sunken, shadowed. They were draped in what looked like moldy, wet sheets, filthy and torn. The smell hit me hard - rotten seaweed - thick, sharp, invasive. And it lingered long after they left. But no one else ever noticed. No one else could smell it.
The Exchange
They stood there, aware of me. Watching. Then they began to walk in a circle in front of me, silent.
I broke the silence.
"Are you messengers?" I asked. Nothing.
"Do you have a problem?"
Still nothing.
Then - "Do you live here?"
They turned to each other. Then back to me.
I asked, almost without thinking, "Are you my relatives?"
One nodded.
The Message
That chilled me.
"What do you want?" I asked. "What are you looking for?"
Both pointed - directly at me.
Something inside me recoiled. I gathered myself and spoke again, politely but firmly: "Then please leave me alone unless you have something important to tell me."
And just like that - they vanished.
Still Wondering
But the smell remained, seeping into the room like a final whisper. And I’ve never told anyone about this - not until now.
I still think about that night, decades later. About them. About why they came. I had family who drowned, others who vanished without a trace. Could it have been them? Could they have come to warn me, or simply to be seen? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know.
But I’ll keep wondering - until the day I cross over to the other side.
I really started 'meeting' beings from a very young age - they’ve also been the ones warning me of any danger in advance. They even warned me before I had my stroke.