Copyright 2014, All rights reserved.
The screen fades in on a young man with medium-brown hair that falls to his shoulders and brown eyes behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. The dark blue shirt he’s wearing almost matches the the backdrop behind him.
Adjusting his glasses, he looks at the camera and clears his throat nervously. He seems to be gearing up for something. After a moment, the lady behind the camera says, “Whenever you’re ready Derek,” and he opens to his mouth to speak.
“My name’s Derek Maloy and this is the story of my paranormal encounter.”
The camera angle shifts to his left side as he continues. “Five years ago, I was a contractor looking for some extra work for the summer. I found a job near a small town called Little Sykes, about 80 miles outside Austin, Texas. They were expanding out there and had a need for contractors for a few months, so I decided to pack a couple suitcases and head down to rent a place.”
The camera faces him head on again as he scratches his cheeks and delves further into the story. “I managed to find a one-bedroom apartment on the ground floor, already furnished. Right when you walk in was the living room,with a couch, armchair, and table and lamp, and this leftover rug that covered most of the living room floor. The kitchen was connected just behind it, the window just the left of the fridge. Off to the side of them, was a short hallway connecting the bedroom and bathroom, with a small laundry room and hall closet in-between.
“The renting agent, Agnes, was newly on the job and had an enthusiastic energy about her as she showed me around. Not a lot of space, but it was perfectly fine for my needs and she didn’t have a hard sell. I took it right away and moved in the same day.
“It was a quiet building, those first few nights. The neighbors weren’t loud and obnoxious, coming in and out at all hours of the night. I rarely saw any of them and had never officially introduced myself to most of them. I figured, eh, I’ll only be here a few months anyway, so what’s the point really?”
He shrugs and adjusts his glasses as we now see his face close up. “Pretty soon though,” he says, eyes downcast, “the first peculiar incident happened.”
Looking directly at the lens again, he elaborates. “I had just come home one night from having a couple drinks with my friend Brian at the local bar, who was another contractor on the job. I remember putting my car keys on the hook next to the front door, like I always did. But after using the bathroom and checking to make sure I’d locked the front door for the night before turning in, I noticed they weren’t hanging there anymore. There was nothing on the hook.
“I looked around on the floor--” he mimes this action, his eyes sweeping among his feet, ”--I looked on the table, on top of the TV, check my coat pockets, even went into the bathroom again to make sure I hadn’t accidentally dropped them on the counter in there or something. As soon as I came back out, planning on sweeping the whole living room, my keys are back on the hook...swinging, as if I’d just placed them there.”
He pauses, slightly shivering. “I tried to put it out of my mind, thinking maybe I was slightly drunk or something...you know, grasping at the first rational explanation I could think of.
“Well, a couple weeks go by and nothing else strange happens. I’d forgotten about the whole incident and was pretty comfortable in my new apartment by that point. The job was coming along real well, and I was getting paid good money, so I was happy.
“One evening I was just relaxing, vegging out on the couch in front of the television when the light bulb in the table lamp blows out. Phhhtttt!” He gestures with his right hand, as if to demonstrate. “I figure it just needs replacing, so I put a new one in and about five minutes later, it too goes out.
