A 'man in the wall' speaks to a child, haunting him...
(A true ghost story from 'In Too Deep')
I just wanted to share a series of experiences that my son had when he was four years old.
My son never had an issue going to bed. He was one of those rare kids who would simply stand up, look at you and say that he was tired and ready to sleep. Then there was a three day stretch where he flat out refused to go to his bed. On the third night of finding him in our bed, I decided to put him in his own bed. In doing so, I woke him up; and in a half sleep he begain to tell me about the man in the wall.
He said he couldn't sleep in his room because the man in the wall kept talking to him and he (the ghost) was loud. I asked who the man in the wall was and my son said he had no name because he was too old. I asked what the man looked like, and my son replied, "He looks like lots of bees, and he sounds like them too. Thinking that my son was still asleep and dream talking, I laid him down, tucked him in and went to bed with no further issues.
(Angels & Ghosts' question: Could the black static appearance of some shadow ghosts be what the young child was describing when he said looked like "lots of bees"?)
An Angry Ghost
The next night was a repeat. Once again, he had snuck into our room, but I managed to catch him as he was still awake. I asked what was wrong with his bed, and he replied, "Man in the wall again". As he was fully awake, I was a little shocked. Some kids make up little stories in their heads, but my son was never one to do anything like that; so I engaged him in conversation.
He said the man was angry, and I asked why. He told me that it was because he wasn't supposed to tell me about the man. I asked if the man was scary and he said, "Yes." It was about this point that I broke out in gooseflesh (I'm doing it again right now). Not being able to fully grasp the situation, I picked up my son and marched into his room so he could show me where the man was. My son pointed above his headboard. Together, we told the man in the wall to go away. We told him he wasn't welcome here. My crying four year old son bravely repeating every word I said. I'll admit that at this point it was as much for my comfort as his. After maybe 30 seconds of us shouting at the wall like a couple of loons, my son calmly said "He's gone. I want to go to bed now."
The Night to End All Nights
For nearly two weeks, everything was calm. We went on with our lives as usual without any issues. The bedtime routine was bad to normal, and I had all but forgotten about the man in the wall until the night to end all nights.
After tucking my son in, I went to the kitchen to clean up before my wife got home. Needing a dishcloth, I walked to the linen closet in the hallway next to my son's room, and I could hear his whispering; so I placed my ear to the door. He was talking quietly. Being able to hear only one half of the conversation, I had difficulty grasping the context at first; but then, it became clear to me that I was listening to my son explain to the man in the wall that he couldn't come in. This went on for several minutes and it was like something or someone was trying to outsmart him. I'll need to paraphrase, but the conversation went like this:
"My Dad said no."
"No, it's too high."
"The window is too small."
"You can't come here."
"My Dad will be mad."
You're going to hurt me, I know."
"Ask my Dad."
"Can I ask my Dad?"
"I don't like you when you get mad."
At this point I went in. My son turned to me, his bottom lip shaking and said, "The man in the wall keeps hitting my window. He wants to come in."
I then told my son to tell him to go away and, once again, my son sat in my arms as we yelled, at both nothing and everything, at once! My pulse pounding as I stared at the newly cracked upper window pane.
A few years later, I looked out the front window and saw this old fellow standing at the base of the driveway looking up at my house. He stood there for several minutes, smoking a cigarette and just staring. Curious, I grabbed my coat and went out to see if everything was okay. The old fellow assured me that all was well and told me he wanted to see the house one last time before he moved into a nursing home. He told me that he was second owner of the home, having purchased it from the family of the original builder.
We spoke awhile on the house, and I answered many of his questions regarding things like flooring and wood trim. At some point I invited him in for a coffee, but he declined. Then he asked me if I knew the history of the home which I did not. He appeared taken aback by this statement for a few seconds before starting his story.
"Murderers, crooks and rapists were killed in that house by other murderers, crooks and rapists," he started.
"That house was built by the Purple Gang from timbers stolen on Belle Isle (a nearby community) and used as a safehouse. Check out the timbers in the basement and you will see that none of the wood matches." (So I did. He was correct. There are at least four types of wood in the floor trusses alone.)
"You can poke around the attic, OK, but if I were you, I would avoid the bricked up cellar that's hidden under the north east part of the house (RIGHT UNDER MY SON'S BED). You'd think I'm crazy if I told you why, but...there's nothing good to see or do under there - so you're best to leave it alone."
With that, he left.