I don't believe in ghosts

I don’t believe in ghosts.

It was March in Ohio, so of course it was freezing outside. I was wrapped up in my blanket and sitting on my futon (because at 25 I’m totally an adult and own a futon instead of a bed) when my printer turns on and starts making noises. Repeated noises. I knew I had turned it off days before. I knew I turned it off. Right?

I don’t believe in ghosts.

I should clarify. The apartment I live in is said to be haunted, like one of the most haunted buildings in the city where I live, and this place is filled with old historic places. I’ve read stories about my apartment building, which used to be a bar and restaurant, and they talk about all kinds of creepy shit happening here. Supposedly, alcohol glasses would randomly fall off of shelves, people would hear footsteps when no one else was around, and chairs that had been pushed in against the table magically moved themselves back out.

That being said, I don’t believe in ghosts.

My printer is still making noises, what is wrong with that thing? It’s never done this before. I know I turned it off after its last use—I always turn it off, it’s one of my obsessive ticks.

I read an article about the building where one woman described its basement with the phrase: “It’s like Freddy Krueger down here.” A different man quoted in the article used a similar descriptor: “It’s kind of like Blair Witch down there.” Both are really creepy to think about considering I live alone and my printer just turned itself on.

I find myself thinking about other unsettling occurrences that have happened in the almost two years I’ve lived here. There was the one time when the kitchen lights turned themselves on, but that had to be because I just (somehow) forgot to turn them off—as I said I have obsessive ticks with turning things in my apartment off. The windows creak and groan a whole lot, but the building is super old, so that’s normal. What about the time it sounded like someone was knocking on the door, but no one was out there when I looked? No, a person probably just knocked on the wrong door and then bolted immediately when they realized they were at the wrong apartment. There are plenty of logical explanations for all these weird happenings.

The “Freddy Krueger” and “Blair Witch” people don’t know what they’re talking about. Ghosts are the things that haunt children’s books and fantasy stories, not old buildings in cities in the middle of nowhere like here. Plus, I’m already afraid of everything else anyway. Too many crime television shows when I was younger left me terrified of serial killers (hopefully that’s not who knocked on my door!). I fear someday I’ll leave the burner on in my apartment and burn the whole (not haunted) building down. And when I eat anything with hot gooey cheese, I’m pretty sure someday I’ll choke on it and die—I mean I do live alone, so no one could save me. I can’t add another (especially supernatural) thing to that list.

I go over to the printer, turn it off again, and head back to my futon. Before I sit back down, I return to my living room—where the printer lives—and unplug it so as to not repeat ‘coming alive’.

The only thing I’ll allow myself to believe that haunts this place are the drunk undergrads who stumble around outside every weekend. Oh yeah, and it’s definitely haunted by the neighbor who loudly sings opera throughout the day. But this building is not haunted by ghosts.

Because, well, I don’t believe in ghosts.