I lived in a haunted apartment briefly myself, and I never saw a conventional ghost or specter, but I knew without a doubt that my roommate and I did not live there alone. At first, I shrugged off the cold patches, and the sensation of someone watching me in the kitchen, and even the glass of water that flew across the bedroom and landed on my chest without spilling. I even shrugged off the slamming of doors at first, blaming it on wind or uneven doorjambs. Then, annoyed by the constant din, I propped a door open with my copy of The Baseball Encyclopedia. For those of you not familiar with this tome, it has about three thousand pages and weighs at least twelve pounds. I stood there as it slid out into the hallway, and I stood there as the door slammed shut. And opened again. And slammed shut. And opened again. And slammed shut. I didn�t see a thing - not a hand, not a mist, nothing except a book I could barely lift crawling across the floor - and that made it ten times creepier.

Sarah D. Bunting