Somewhere in Nairobi’s Central Business District (CBD), in December 2009, my family and I were tired of living in our old house, so we decided to relocate somewhere far away. We were living in a rented apartment, just opposite Dedan Kimathi Street. We moved out on a Saturday afternoon, carrying all our belongings and loaded them onto the truck. Our household items weren’t that many as it took only two short trips to and fro.
At last! Mom and dad wouldn’t be paying rent again like they always did. But disaster started when we moved into our new home.
Our new home was a six room duplex where an old Indian couple used to live. They died two decades ago. They converted their house into a bar before renovating it again. I didn’t bother digging into the couple’s history and background but as days passed, I realised that our house was haunted.
We are only four members in our family; my little sister, my parents and myself. I was given a room upstairs, directly facing my sister’s room. There was also an attic where we stored things.
Being thirteen years old, I was the happiest boy on earth before we moved. Things changed when we moved into this duplex. I became sad, moody and angry. But my sister was the total opposite; she was way too excited. I had a strange feeling about this house, especially the room I was in.
At night, on top of my bed in my room, I suddenly felt a rush of cold air invading my room. I turned off the air conditioner but still the cold kept on increasing. I took a glass of milk from under my bed, I kept it for when I was struggling to fall asleep, and gulped half its contents. I covered myself with heavy blankets, hoping to escape the cold.
But somehow, the cold air crept in. This made me nervous despite the closed windows. Ten minutes later and I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to sleep downstairs in the living room. But before I picked up my bedding, what I saw before me sent cold chills run down my spine.
Coming out of the closet, was a dark creepy shadow. It was slowly heading towards my bed. It stood beside my bed, staring directly at me. I let out a deafening yell, which woke the whole family from their deep slumber. My dad was the first one to arrive carrying a revolver, he turned on the lights and aimed the gun at nothing. He let out a sigh, next followed by my mother and my little sister.
“What’s wrong son? Why are you shouting like a lunatic in the middle of the night? Do you know what time is it?” roared my dad.
“What in the world made you shout like that, son?” asked my concerned mom.
“Tell us big brother,” added my sister.
The whole family was glaring at me waiting for my answer, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to tell them that I saw a ghost. It would make me look like a fool in front of them. Besides, no one would have believed me. My mother was a staunch Catholic; this was evident as she always wore her rosary everywhere she went. I doubted she believed in dark ghosts except the holy ghosts from her Apostle’s Creed. My dad simply did not believe in ghosts either. I was uncertain about my sister, but she was only six years old.
I begged my parents to allow me to sleep in their room just for one night. My dad adamantly refused, but my mom agreed. So I slept in my parents’ room that night. Luckily nothing happened, so I was able to sleep peacefully.
Tell us: What do you think James saw just before he left his room?