Perhaps the spirit or maybe…demon lived on the land before the house was built. No one ever died in the house I grew up in, nor did any other family live there before us. Yet, how did this spirit get in? It could have rolled in like one of the local Arizona tumbleweeds that usually frequented our front door, which over the years I grew so accustomed to. Or maybe what I encountered was a long passed Native American Indian, a Papago Indian to be precise, which was one of the many historical tribes dating back hundreds of years ago that lived in Arizona. Could the house have been built on an old Papago burial site?
The house was built in 1977, three years before I was born. Even though it was out in the middle of the desert, the house stood strong and immense, compared to other houses in town. Casa Grande, a town too small to even be considered a town. Our house was always referred to as “That huge red brick house on the way out to the fairgrounds.” But in no way did the house prospect any sign of evil. It was a place where cows, horses, dogs and cats, bicycles, motorcycles, slip and slides and a basketball court all had their domain. The place was our playground haven where there were always kids at the house doing what we do best…being kids.
But, when I turned 5-years-old, and my older brother and sister had gone away and left me. My Dad repeatedly was coming home late from partying with his buddy’s, brothers, and from what my Mom seemed to have figured out…other women. I would hear her scream at him, as she would ask him who the other woman was her sister saw him with, all the while mania filtering the house with plates and shattering glass everywhere I could hear. During this time, I felt very alone and scared. I would find myself going into one of the many bathrooms or storage rooms in the house and sitting in the dark at times. These moments of being utterly alone in the shadows of the beast, always occurred at night. So when I tell you the most frightening part of my story occurred during the day while I was waiting for my grilled cheese sandwich my Mom was making for me for lunch; as I watched Grover teach me how to tie my shoes on Sesame Street, it seems very weird.
There were six bathrooms in the house. The one that lured me in was the hallway bathroom between where my Mom was (in the kitchen), and where I was (in my Mom’s bedroom). Something told me to always run past that bathroom to the kitchen whenever I heard sounds coming from inside. I would always sprint down the hallway and make it to the kitchen, but not this time. As I approached the halfway mark, my body froze and became paralyzed. I felt as if I were being dragged into the hallway bathroom, literally. I tried to cry out but pressure built on my chest not allowing words to escape. I woke up later in the storage closet inside the bathroom to my Mom frantically shaking me to wake up because she couldn’t find me. I was in complete darkness when she found me and have no recollection of the time span I had been in the closet.
I really don’t know any logical explanation for this occurrence. What happened to me and what was pulling me against my will still keeps me wondering to this day. All I know is that it was real and in no way shape or form some type of childhood fantasy I conjured up. I only wish it had been. Nothing ever happened to me in that house again. But ever since then, something changed.
For years I wondered if this black entity followed me throughout my life, as if there was a black cloud that cast itself on me and never went away. But, barely recently in my life I have accepted what happened was a long time ago and it’s in my past and that’s where it needs to stay. Many times, we believe that bad circumstances in our lives render some connection to what happened to us in the past. But what we don’t realize is that all these thoughts are just illusory correlations our minds create in order to cope with the trauma that’s embedded itself within. If only we could all face our fears and overcome certain traumatic memories, we would all be a little better off.
Article written by Marco Elias and Melinda Torres- San Diego, CA
The house was built in 1977, three years before I was born. Even though it was out in the middle of the desert, the house stood strong and immense, compared to other houses in town. Casa Grande, a town too small to even be considered a town. Our house was always referred to as “That huge red brick house on the way out to the fairgrounds.” But in no way did the house prospect any sign of evil. It was a place where cows, horses, dogs and cats, bicycles, motorcycles, slip and slides and a basketball court all had their domain. The place was our playground haven where there were always kids at the house doing what we do best…being kids.
But, when I turned 5-years-old, and my older brother and sister had gone away and left me. My Dad repeatedly was coming home late from partying with his buddy’s, brothers, and from what my Mom seemed to have figured out…other women. I would hear her scream at him, as she would ask him who the other woman was her sister saw him with, all the while mania filtering the house with plates and shattering glass everywhere I could hear. During this time, I felt very alone and scared. I would find myself going into one of the many bathrooms or storage rooms in the house and sitting in the dark at times. These moments of being utterly alone in the shadows of the beast, always occurred at night. So when I tell you the most frightening part of my story occurred during the day while I was waiting for my grilled cheese sandwich my Mom was making for me for lunch; as I watched Grover teach me how to tie my shoes on Sesame Street, it seems very weird.
There were six bathrooms in the house. The one that lured me in was the hallway bathroom between where my Mom was (in the kitchen), and where I was (in my Mom’s bedroom). Something told me to always run past that bathroom to the kitchen whenever I heard sounds coming from inside. I would always sprint down the hallway and make it to the kitchen, but not this time. As I approached the halfway mark, my body froze and became paralyzed. I felt as if I were being dragged into the hallway bathroom, literally. I tried to cry out but pressure built on my chest not allowing words to escape. I woke up later in the storage closet inside the bathroom to my Mom frantically shaking me to wake up because she couldn’t find me. I was in complete darkness when she found me and have no recollection of the time span I had been in the closet.
I really don’t know any logical explanation for this occurrence. What happened to me and what was pulling me against my will still keeps me wondering to this day. All I know is that it was real and in no way shape or form some type of childhood fantasy I conjured up. I only wish it had been. Nothing ever happened to me in that house again. But ever since then, something changed.
For years I wondered if this black entity followed me throughout my life, as if there was a black cloud that cast itself on me and never went away. But, barely recently in my life I have accepted what happened was a long time ago and it’s in my past and that’s where it needs to stay. Many times, we believe that bad circumstances in our lives render some connection to what happened to us in the past. But what we don’t realize is that all these thoughts are just illusory correlations our minds create in order to cope with the trauma that’s embedded itself within. If only we could all face our fears and overcome certain traumatic memories, we would all be a little better off.
Article written by Marco Elias and Melinda Torres- San Diego, CA
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