Nice complex, huh?
That's the view from just outside an apartment I rented at The Tennyson Arms complex in Waco, Texas back in 1983. I worked for a small radio station and was thrilled to find this apartment which was within walking distance of work and, more importantly, within staggering distance of a club called 'Abracadabra' where most of us hung out after work.
It was a little pricey for someone on my salary but I was single and the location alone made it worthwhile, so I happily moved in.
Two things: First, I wondered how such a prime location was available. It was such a cool place and so close to everything that it should have been occupied all of the time. Second, when touring the place, I noticed two stains on the bedroom carpet which the agent said would be replaced immediately if I wanted to wait a few days or I could just move in and they'd replace it at my convenience. Anxious to get settled, I chose the latter.
The first couple of weeks were fairly uneventful. I spent my days at work, many evenings in the club and the nights sleeping peacefully. After the rather harrowing experiences at my previous apartment I was grateful for the relative calm in the new place. Sadly, it wouldn't last long.
Since I had no desk at the time, I did a lot of job related paperwork at my tiny dining table, with various stacks of paper pretty well covering the surface. It was on one of these nights that the weirdness began happening.
As I sat at the table, plugging away on a new music playlist, a stack of paper on the top right-hand corner of the table shuffled a bit... and then the top sheet lifted up and fluttered to the floor. Assuming that there was a draft of some sort, I checked the windows but they were all tightly shut. My next thought was that the table was lined up with the air conditioner vent and that the breeze had moved the paper. Satisfied with that theory, I went back to work and only a few moments later not one but three sheets of paper fluttered up and then down to the floor. Annoyed - but not yet spooked - I picked up the papers and turned the ac unit off then, again, went back to work. On the third occasion, as the papers began to shuffle, it was accompanied by the sound of someone whistling... not something but
someone and it sounded as if it were right there in the apartment. Now, I was spooked. No, I was flat out scared and not ashamed to admit it. I did a hasty search of the place, satisfying myself that no one was in the place and got the hell out of there. Once at Abracadabra, I told a couple of co-workers what had happened; they gave me skeptical smirks, told me I was working too hard and after a few beers, I was in full agreement.
Back at home, getting ready for bed, a feeling came over me like nothing I've felt since - there was a presence in that room, vile and malevolent and it was phsically pressing down on me, making it difficult to breathe. My heart was pounding and with some effort I crawled out of bed and went to the living room. Terrified but with nowhere to go, I eventually fell into a fitful sleep on the sofa. The next morning, I decided to spend as little time in the bedroom as possible, gathered a few things there and made the living room my main space.
A couple of days passed with nothing weird taking place but then, the whistling started again, happening at all hours of the night; the poltergeist activity picked up as well, with things being moved or knocked over on a regular basis. I wasn't sure what the hell I was dealing with but did know that it wasn't anything benign or anything that I cared to challenge. Apartment hunting became a priority.
Here's something you should know: I am addicted to iced tea. Most nights, I'll take a large glass and place it on a nearby table before going to sleep so that I'll have a drink should I wake up.
On my last night in the place, I did exactly that. Fresh tea, clean glass, ice. Nothing unusual.
When I woke up the next morning, the glass was still on the coffee table but, dear Lord, it was vile. There was mold and crud growing up from the bottom of the glass. It looked as though it had been sitting there, festering for a week or more and it smelled like death... so much so that I ran to the kitchen and retched into the sink. I walked outside for some air and to clear my head and ran into my upstairs neighbor who wa sitting by the pool. I'd never spoken to the guy but he must have sensed that something was wrong because he asked if I were okay. Without thinking about what he'd think of me, I told him the whole story of my time there and asked if he had ever heard anything or had anything similar happen. His reply was a bit starling: "They didn't tell you before you moved in?"
I asked for details and he told me the story. A couple of months prior to my moving in, the apartment was occupied by a young couple. There were fights, occasionally but nothing too drastic until one evening when the husband came home to find his wife in bed, naked and obviously nervous. He knew exactly what was going on, calmly pulled a .38 from his nightstand, opened the closet door and shot her boyfriend in the head before turning the pistol on her (she had gone towards her husband, asking for forgiveness) and putting a bullet in her heart. After the killings, he sat on the bed and called the police... who were already on their way, thanks to the neighbors hearing everything. As my neighbor told the story, my blood turned ice cold and I knew that everything I'd experienced in that place was as real as anything in this world. The stains on the bedroom carpet - which I'd been meaning to have replaced - were bloodstains which someone had tried to clean up but not done a good job. I was, at this point, ready to get the hell out of the place and told the leasing office I'd be leaving that day, they never asked why and even returned my deposit. I stayed at a co-workers place until finding another apartment but I had and continue to have dreams about that apartment and the nightmare scenario that took place.
