I Fell In Love With A Ghost

Part 2: Floating Mugs

Several weeks had passed and things  seemed to be quite normal. Things still went missing, but now it was my  clothes, my cologne, and at one point a full pillow went missing. While I  was sat drinking coffee in the kitchen one morning my intellectualism  and coolness were completely validated with how I had managed to deduce  there was in fact a poltergeist in my apartment with only a simple clue.

While  I was sipping my coffee and reading on my phone everything in my  kitchen had begun to float as if gravity had decided to just give up  where I was. I noticed I was a foot off the floor, surrounded by  floating mugs, plates, and cartons of old Chinese food were gently  spinning in the air. For a brief moment I felt like I was in a space  shuttle until reality slapped me hard and I screamed with such a high  pitch that I broke the physics of whatever was happening. I slammed to  the floor and crescendo of porcelain followed. I slammed off the chair  and onto the floor and felt the coffee from my mug pour all over me. At  this point, I wasn’t going to put up with whatever this demonic, evil  thing was—if it even was that.

“You fucker,” I said to the air, feeling my skin bubbling from the burns.

I’d  contacted my local priest from Saint Andrews church. Father Diblan was a  thin man with graying hair and was a very progressive kind of priest.  As I explained the situation with the floating mugs, the shadow people,  and the constant disappearing items, he seemed quite open-minded. He  didn’t even mention how red and swollen my face was from the burns. He  ran a hand through his grey hair.

“I  believe that you may have some kind of prevalent spirit. I wouldn’t say  that it’s a demonic presence, but I’d be happy to bless this place.”

“But I did float, and I know I saw something.”

“Has this entity attempted to harm you?”

“It dropped coffee on me.”

His face seemed frozen. “It dropped coffee on you?”

“Yes, it made it float and it fell all over me.”

“Do you believe you didn’t just drop—“

“I wouldn’t drop it all over my face.”

“Ah,” he said. “That explains it.”

I wanted to itch my sore cheeks so badly.

“In  any case,” he added. “I’ll be sure to bless this place but I’m sure  there are more logical explanations for this. It may be the house  settling or it may be temporal spirits moving beyond this realm.”

Now my face didn’t change. “Temporal spirits?”

“Shifting spirits, moving on. They sometimes have trouble but I doubt it. In any case, let’s begin.”

I  watched him go from room to room blessing each one, and dousing  everything with holy water. He lit some incense and moved from room to  room until the smoke detector went off and he jumped with a screech. I  felt a little relief when he was done and slept soundly that night. But  the very next night I’d walked back into my kitchen with the cupboards  all opened, and my sink, which was once full of dishes, was now a kind  of metaphysical sculpture of piled dishes.

“Jesus—“ They all tumbled down, shattering.

“What is your deal with my fuckin’ plates!? I need to go to Ikea *again.*”

I  was going to have to bring in the big guns. I decided to Google a local  spiritualist. A West Indian woman called Aunty Em who was a  “practitioner of spirits, demons, folklore, and witchcraft.” When she  stepped into my apartment I could smell the heavy lavender on her.