In the brief time that I've been a transit operator, I've seen many different locations all around town. Places that I, otherwise, would never have seen if I were doing anything else. I've driven down new streets and seen many new things. In my travels I've spotted new restaurants and eateries that I've since tried. Some good, some not so much. I've seen parks and roadways and all sorts of places that would otherwise go unnoticed. Especially for someone, like myself, who rarely ventures out if I don't otherwise need to.
In addition to all the new scenery, I've also revisited old memories of past haunts. One route takes me down Ruth Street, past a location where me and friends would get drunk at, then stumble home as we lived close-by. The route I'm currently doing in my afternoons, takes me past a house where I lived... HOLY SHIT!! Over twenty years ago, now. I remember I moved out the spring following 9/11. (*Holy crap... Sorry. This realization just freaked me out a little.) 😲
I lived in the basement suite of 70 Laurentian Drive. It was a nice little place. A one bedroom, with a private entrance. It had a cool room, under the stairs and a bar in the living room, where I stored movies and shit. Unfortunately, there was a washer and dryer behind a door in my kitchen, which the upstairs landlord used, so they'd frequently barge into my domicile unannounced and I'd mostly feel awkward. Just imagine relaxing in your underwear, watching TV, when your landlord comes booming down the stairs. It was ridiculous, to say the least.
I had moved into that place after moving from the afore mentioned house where I'd stumble home from the bar to. I worked nights and needed the peace and quiet that I wasn't getting from where I was. For the most part, everything worked well. Come home from work and the landlord and his wife would be gone already. I'd wind down a little bit watching TV, then I'd retire to my dark bedroom for a few hours of shut eye.
One day, I'd come home from work, the last night before a couple days off. As per the usual, I'd camp out in the arm chair, staring at the TV. About an hour or so in to my programs, I started hearing foot steps upstairs. None of the cars belonging to the landlord and his wife were parked in the driveway, so they must have company staying upstairs, I thought. All day long, however, these thunderous footsteps would wander from the living room, which was directly above mine, to the kitchen. Then out of the kitchen and down the hall to the far bedrooms, also located above my similar rooms. The kitchen was above mine, as was the hallway, bathroom and so on. The footsteps continued in this pattern all day long. Heavy steps, that echoed throughout the house. If I was going to get any sleep, it wasn't going to be that afternoon.
From about nine in the morning until about thirty minutes before the landlord and his spouse would return home, A couple hours later, Denny, the landlord, came down the stairs to run a load of laundry. We exchanged pleasantries, then I asked him who the houseguest upstairs was? Denny cocked his head to the side like the confused mutt that he was, forcing me to explain what I was referencing to.
"All day," I explained to him, "I've been listening to footsteps that walked heavily from the living room, to the kitchen to the far end of the house and back." I explained that it'd been occurring all day long and that I wasn't able to get any sleep because of the loud racket.
With a look of clarity on his face, Denny leaned back against the door jam that separated the small kitchen from the living room. He followed that facial expression with a look of hesitation, then explained that there wasn't any houseguest roaming about upstairs. He paused for a moment then said, "It was probably the man in the brown suit."
Denny had only recently gotten married to his bride, moving into her existing residence. (For the life of me, I can't remember her name), had lived in the house for many years, residing there even before meeting her, now, husband, Denny. He continued to explain how in addition to the odd occurrences that happen from time-to-time, there have been a couple actual sightings. Most notable was his wife's introduction to the "man in the brown suit".
Apparently, she'd been awoken from a deep slumber by an unnerving presence. When she'd opened her eyes, she saw a tall man in a brown suit looming over top of her as she laid in bed. Frightened for her life, she sprang out of bed and ran to the kitchen to grab a weapon to protect herself, only to discover that she was alone in the house. Nobody, not a soul... Wait a second! Over the years, she'd grown accustom to the presence and never gave it much thought beyond that.
I was taken aback by the response to my query. It didn't scare me, to be honest, and moving forward from that time, I'd continue to hear odd things, but whatever it was or whoever it was, never ventured down the stairs, so I was never bothered directly.
Eventually, the landlord asked me to move out as they were looking to convert the basement suite into a lounge area for their kids to hang out in. On the day that I was to move out of the tiny apartment, the ghost upstairs was having a fit. I don't know why it chose that day in particular, but I had a feeling that it was protesting my leaving. Not that it was attached to me or had any sort of connection, but I always got the feeling that whatever it was, had a deep dislike of Denny, which as I got to know him over the brief time that I'd lived there, I could understand. Denny was a real boob.
As I sat, waiting for family to come over and help me move, I sat at the bottom of the stairs and listened as the spirit upstairs slammed ever cupboard door in [their] kitchen. I don't know how many doors were up there, but rest assured, every last one was being slammed repeatedly.
I've had many encounters with the paranormal over the years. In recent years, some of it occurs in my very own house. Many weird and strange things happen here, at home. Other stuff has happened when I was at work, in a variety of vocations, even as a bus driver, I've had some strange shit happen. I'm not psychic, but I do believe that I'm sensitive to the presence of weird shit. No time to expand on that subject, at the moment, but I will delve into that shit at a later time.
For now and for the next two months, I'll continue to drive past the ol' homestead and every time I do, like a person with Tourette's, I look at the house and utter the words, "The man in the brown suit." I would not be shocked if I were driving past one day and actually saw a man in a brown suit peering out the window. 😄
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