My parents were two people who should have never gotten together, wrong for each other off the hop.
But they made a baby, hi it’s me, I’m the baby.
Which meant they decided to stay together even though every conceivable force in the universe begged them not to.
Both came from small towns but in order to make a life for their new family they moved to the city. My dad could go to school and my mom could be pregnant with their first child. Me.
They lived in this tiny apartment in the bad part of town in a bad city and my mom absolutely hated it. Every day was the same and so was every morning.
Each morning my dad would wake up and get ready to leave for the day, and he made a production out of it. She’d hear his electric razor, him walking around, loud gargling. She knew when he was getting ready and more importantly she knew when he was finally out of the apartment.
One morning after he left my mom was laying in bed, she very pregnant and wasn’t planning on going anywhere. After a few minutes she heard her bedroom door creak. She didn’t think anything of it, the windows were open and doors sometimes creak.
A few moments that, though, she said she felt the air change in the room and she knew she wasn’t alone.
“Bill, is that you?” She said aloud to no answer.
A few moments after that she felt like something was standing by the bed. “Bill, I’m not joking, is that you.”
No answer.
Then she felt the pressure on the bed, like someone sat down, her back was turned so she couldn’t see who it was. At this point she knew it wasn’t my dad.
She said she was absolutely terrified, stiff as a board, unable to move out of fear. Then the pressure on the bed shifted, she felt this presence almost in top of her. Then she felt a hand, the large heavy hand of a man resting itself on her very pregnant belly.
My mom told me at this moment I was kicking wildly.
She had to do something, so she gathered up all her courage and very slowly began to turn over. As she she began to move so did the presence on the bed.
The hand lifted from her belly and as she turned the pressure slowly began to lift from her side.
By the time she was all the way around, the entity was gone and the room felt empty again.
My mom ran out of the room, she called my dad. Something she found odd was that he believed her, even though he usually dismissed anything to do with the supernatural, and came right home.
She never went in that room again, never allowed me in there after I was born.
…
A year later, she took me to visit my grandparents in her home town. When my dad had to place to himself he decided to go out and get wasted with his brothers.
When he came home he was hit with a case of the drunk munchies and decided to cook fries in the oven.
He ended up passing out on the couch, the fries caught fire and so did the apartment. My dad was passed out drunk, inhaling smoke, he should have never woke up. But he said he felt something throw him off the couch.
That entire building went up in flames, burned to ash.
(Everyone lived)
That’s the beginning of a handful of experiences I’ve had throughout my life, if there’s any interest I’ll share more.