My name is James Matthew Peterson, and something strange has been going on in my apartment. I moved into my new place on the lower east side of New York in April, and at first everything was great. Rent wasn’t too crazy, and I had adequate studio space for my photography. I have always loved photography, it started out as just a hobby, but morphed into something much greater. Over the years it has really become my passion. What I love most about photography is that it captures the things we hold most dear, exactly how they were, and how we wish to remember them, in a tiny, evanescent moment in time, to be preserved that way forever. As far as I can tell, it’s about as close to time travel as we’ll ever come. So, when it came time to find a new place, one with enough space to display my work was paramount. While not having a roommate felt lonely at times, I didn’t mind being on my own.
The first time I had a chance to bust out my camera, a new mirrorless Nikon that I had recently gifted myself as something of an early birthday present, was at the housewarming party I threw about a month after I moved in. Everyone was having a good time, drinks were flowing, laughs were had, but most of all I was just enjoying spending time with my old friends, in my new place. A little after 11:00 PM, around the time several of my friends were getting ready to head out, as they had work early the following morning, my friend Grace suggested we all take a group picture to commemorate the occasion, since I was a photographer, and had a nice new camera and all. Capital idea, I thought. On that, I went to my room, retrieved my camera and tripod, came back to the kitchen, set the camera up on the tripod, set the timer, and made my way into the frame. There we all were, smiling and happy, then click, the camera went off, indicating that a picture had been taken, and cementing that moment with my friends forever. After that, the party rapidly wound down.
My aforementioned friends who had to leave early headed out right after the picture was taken, and over the span of the next hour and a half or so, little by little the rest made their way to the door, complimenting me on the new place, before leaving. My place was a bit of a mess following the party, but I was tired, and figured it could wait until tomorrow.
I woke up the next day at the crack of noon, feeling a bit hungover, but not unbearably so. I got out of bed and made my way to the living room, seeing that it was still a mess, and figuring it was probably for the best that I clean up a bit. Before I got to any cleaning, though, I noticed that my camera was still set up on the tripod in the kitchen from the night before. Figuring that the cleaning could wait a few minutes longer, I went over to the camera, took it off the tripod, went over to my laptop, and booted it up. I took the SD card out of the camera, and popped it into my laptop, and in a matter of seconds there we all were, my friends and I all smiling, and just enjoying ourselves in my kitchen. Dave was making a goofy face like always. You can never get a serious picture with that guy.
However, as I was looking over the picture, something caught my attention. There, stood behind us in the background, was a person I didn’t recognize, closing the refrigerator door, and holding something in his hand. He was a taller man, with olive skin, curly dark hair and a beard, a slim-to-average build, and wearing a red long-sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of black jeans. Who was this guy?
I immediately sent the picture to several of my friends who had been at the party, and asked them if they recognized him, or if he was one of their friends that I just didn’t remember meeting, or something like that. Throughout the course of the day, one-by-one my friends got back to me, all responding in the negative, and saying that they didn’t know who he was, or remember seeing him at the party. A couple of my friends suggested that it could have been the result of a malfunction with my camera. While that was technically a possibility, I rather doubted it. The camera was basically brand new, and in all my years of doing, and studying photography, I had never seen an error like this. Dave half-jokingly suggested that maybe it was a ghost. While I have heard of cameras picking up anomalous depictions of specters, mists, orbs, and the like, I highly doubted that that was the case here, although, whoever he was, his presence was rather hard to explain. Was this guy a party crasher? Or perhaps a burglar? If he was a burglar, he sure was smooth, although, I’d say he was setting his sights pretty low in going for my food, and not even bothering going for my $1200 laptop.
About a week later I took my camera to my friend who was a whiz with cameras, to see if he could find anything wrong with it, and to potentially fix it. He told me that he was pretty busy, so it might take him awhile to get it back to me. I told him that was fine, and to take his time. I had an old DSLR camera I could use in the meantime, in case inspiration struck.
When I got home later that day, I dug through some boxes looking for my DSLR. It took a while, but I eventually found it underneath some linens. The battery was long since dead, so I put it on its charger and waited a bit. After about 30 minutes or so, I took the battery off the charger, and popped it back in the camera. I turned the power on, and it started right up. I turned to my left and focused on my dining table. I figured I might as well take a few shots of the apartment anyway, since I really liked my new place, and wanted to show people. Also, since I may very well be listing it soon if it turned out that I did indeed have a ghost. I pushed the button on top of the camera, and the flash went off. I guess I must have needed the flash the last time I was using it. It had been so long that I couldn’t remember what I was doing with it last. So, I figured that picture was likely a throwaway. I then promptly turned the flash off and went about taking pictures of the rest of the apartment.
Later, that evening I went to reviewing the pictures I had taken of my apartment, to post them on Facebook. I’ve gotta say, for a 10-year-old camera, it still took decent pictures. I was looking through the pictures when I came across the picture that I took with the flash on. It looked absolutely terrible, but that’s not what bothered me the most. What bothered me most was that there, sat at the table, working at a laptop, was what looked to be the same man from the other picture. Although this time he was wearing a white V-neck t-shirt, and a pair of gray basketball shorts. Now, I know there was nobody in my apartment when I took that picture. I may not be the most observant person in the world, but I would have certainly noticed if there was a stranger sat at my dining table, right?
I printed out a copy of the photo, in order to ask around, to see if anybody could identify the man. I went to the apartment next to mine and knocked on the door. After several seconds, an older Asian man answered the door. I held up the picture and asked him if he had ever seen the man in the photograph. He took the picture from my hands and held it out in front of his face. With a noticeably confused look on his face, he gave the picture a look, before shaking his head, and handing the picture back to me. I thanked him, and he nodded, before closing the door, and locking it.
It was then that I got a brilliant idea. I would take the picture to the doorman, Ed. He sees everyone who enters and leaves the building. Surely, if anyone could identify the man, it would be Ed. So, I went downstairs to the lobby, walked to the front door, and approached Ed. He greeted me with his typical warm greeting. I reciprocated the pleasantry, before producing the photograph, and handing it to him. I asked him if he recognized the man in the picture. He pulled a case out of his jacket pocket and opened it up to reveal a pair of glasses. He put the glasses on and gave the photo a good hard look. He said that while he certainly did have a good memory for faces, this guy’s didn’t ring any bells. He apologized and handed the picture back to me. I told him it was alright, and went back to my apartment defeated, and extremely confused.
It was about three days later that my friend got back to me about my camera. He said that he took the thing apart, and examined it top-to-bottom, but couldn’t find a anything wrong with it. Damn, I thought, although I figured as much, seeing as how I had captured images of this mystery man on two different cameras, now. He then told me that since he didn’t end up actually doing anything to the camera that he wasn’t going to charge me anything, not even his usual $40 diagnostic fee. That was awfully nice of him, I thought, seeing as how those 40 dollars would really come in handy should I want to hire a medium, because all of a sudden Dave’s joke about it being a ghost was starting to seem more and more possible.
I retrieved my camera from my friend later that day. Not exactly certain as to what my next course of action should be, I had one more idea. While I was no filmmaker, I knew my camera had the ability to shoot videos, and reasonably high-quality ones at that. So, I figured I would set the camera up in a covert location, making it a de facto surveillance camera, and try to catch this intruder in the act. Since my camera was not designated as a cinema camera, I was limited to a 29-minute, and 59-second clip. That gave me a very small window of time to catch something, but I was willing to give it a try. The following afternoon I set the camera up on my bookshelf, and pointed it towards the living room, and dining room area. I hit the record button and left to go grocery shopping.
I returned a little over an hour later, with groceries in hand. I put the groceries away and went to view the footage. I was excited and nervous to see what I caught. I took the SD card out of the camera and put it into the computer. I opened up the file and watched the footage. The first thing I saw was myself starting the recording and leaving the apartment. After that, nothing happened for the next almost 18 minutes. I was starting to lose hope, when I heard what sounded like my front door being unlocked, followed by the sound of a door opening, and closing. It was with nervous anticipation that I watched the video for the next couple of seconds, when suddenly, the man from the pictures walked into the frame.
He just waltzed on into my apartment like he lived there. He looked as calm, cool, and collected as ever. He set his keys down on the table, took his jacket off, and set it down on the couch, and then sat down, and started watching TV. The nerve of this guy. Firstly, how did this guy get a key to my apartment? Was he a maintenance guy, or something? Also, what was the purpose of these intrusions? Was it just to hang out at my place?
I continued to watch the footage to see what he would do, but he didn’t really do much of anything. At one point he got up and fixed himself a snack, and then went back over to the table, and began working on his laptop. I watched as he worked away for several minutes, when suddenly, he slowly looked up from his computer, and methodically turned his head, looking almost directly into the camera. It was at that point that the video ended.
“Damn!” I yelled, aloud. I needed more answers than that. Who was this intruder? And where had he gone? It was then that I disappointedly closed my laptop, and hung my head, feeling as though I had not gained any ground in solving this mystery. I was sat there holding my head in my hands when a worrying thought came over me. What if he’s still here?
Not knowing what else to do, and figuring there was no time like the present, I gathered up some things, called an Uber, and headed down to the police station to see if there was anything they could do.
When I arrived at the police station I asked to meet with a detective, and after about 15 minutes or so I was called back to speak with one. I entered a small, cramped office where a detective was sat behind a desk. He was an older gentleman, I would guess to be in his mid-50s, with wavy salt and pepper hair, and a thick mustache, and an overall austere demeanor. He asked me what it was he could do for me. I told him that I believed that I had an intruder in my apartment, possibly a squatter, and that I wished to file a police report. He asked what evidence I had, to which I showed him the pictures and the video I had taken. He questioned me as to how I didn’t realize there was a stranger at the party, as well as how a guy was sitting at a table right in front of me, without me noticing. To which I told him that I was honestly stumped. He returned a blank stare, and an overall confounded look, before asking me to confirm that I didn’t know the man in the photos and video. I confirmed that I didn’t, and he went on to explain that the most they could do is file a police report for a suspicious person and log it into some database. I opted to go that route, and a report was made. I asked him if there was anything else I could do, to which he shrugged and said that he guessed I could take more pictures, and gather more evidence if I wanted to, but that that was about it. On that, I thanked him for his time, shook his hand, and left the police station.
When I got home, I figured I might as well get right to work gathering more evidence. I figured since this mystery man just kind of appears out of nowhere, I might as well just take a bunch of random pictures all over my apartment and see if he turns up in any of them. I took a set of nine pictures, afterwards I went straight over to my laptop, to see what I got. I didn’t see much in the first so many pictures, but the second to last picture shown something that gave me pause before making me shutter. It was the man, standing in the middle of my living room, holding up a camera, and it looked as though he was looking directly at me.
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My name is Micah Toller, and something strange is going on in my apartment. I moved into my apartment on the lower east side of New York in January, and at first things seemed fine. I loved living in a place where the rent was manageable, and that had an excellent view of the city. Most of all, I really enjoyed living alone. Nothing, and no one to bother me, so I could just focus on my work.
Everything was fine until one night in May. I was up late one night designing a logo for a new start-up company that had contracted me to do so. I was just about ready to turn in for the night but figured that a late-night snack was in order. I powered down my computer and headed for the kitchen. I got to the kitchen, opened up the fridge, rooted around a bit, before settling on a cup of yogurt. I grabbed the yogurt and went to close the door, when as I was doing so, I heard a clicking sound from my right. I looked over but could not seem to identify what had made the noise. While the noise was a bit confusing, I figured it wasn’t anything worth getting too worked up over. So, I just ate my yogurt, and went to bed.
It was about a week later that the second odd occurrence took place. I was sitting at my dining room table, again working on some graphic design projects, when out of nowhere a flash of light came from the living room. It caught me by surprise, and I had no idea what to make of it. Not long after that, as I was sat there in a state of confusion, I heard that familiar clicking sound that I had heard a week prior. This time it wasn’t isolated to just my kitchen. This time it sounded like it was coming from every room in my apartment. Now, I’m not a big believer in the paranormal, but I was starting to consider consulting a medium, because I was starting to suspect that there might be a ghost, or something in my apartment.
The next couple of days went by without anything overly strange happening. However, on the fourth day after the incident with the big flash of light, I recall having the distinct feeling of being watched. Not for overly long, or anything, but I definitely felt a presence, like someone, or something was watching my every move. It first became apparent when I sat down on the couch to watch TV, after getting home from the gym. It felt as though whatever was watching me kept eyes on me from the couch to the kitchen, where I fixed myself some cheese and crackers, and over to the table, where I went back to working on my work projects. After a couple of minutes of working, I don’t know what impelled me to do so, but I turned my head slowly towards the far side of my apartment. Not sure what I was expecting to see there, but I didn’t see anything. My apartment was empty. After that, the feeling I had of being watched subsided.
Not knowing what else to do, I left my apartment, hailed a cab, and headed to across town, to see my friend who was a paranormal investigator. I figured it couldn’t hurt to see if there was anything she could do.
I arrived at her apartment building, where she buzzed me in, and up to the tenth floor I went. She greeted me warmly and asked me what it was that brought me by on such short notice. I regaled her with all the recent goings on at my apartment and told her that I feared that I may have a ghost, or a poltergeist, or something of that nature. She thought the random clicking sounds, and flashes of light were rather odd, and admitted that she hadn’t dealt with anything quite like that before. She asked me if anyone had ever passed away in my apartment, to which I told her that I wasn’t sure, but that my apartment building was constructed in the 1940s, and that given all the time between now and then, I supposed it was a distinct possibility, but that I didn’t have any concrete proof.
At a loss, she sent me on my way insisting that I look into the history of the building, before assuring me that she would come by in about a week or so to see if she could produce any evidence of paranormal activity. I thanked her for her time and help, gave her a hug, and left, but not before she gave me one last helpful hint about something I could do to catch evidence of the paranormal.
When I got home, I figured I might as well get started right away on learning the history of the building. I got out my laptop and immediately Googled my apartment’s name but didn’t find any results having anything to do with anyone dying in any of the apartments. I sat there feeling defeated. Then, after several minutes, I started hearing those familiar clicking sounds again, and just like before, they were seemingly coming from all over the apartment. On that, I got up from the couch, went over to the shopping bag I left on the table, and pulled out the new camera I had just bought.
Credit: Steven Allen
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