First thing you should know about this story: it’s all true. Second: I am not  particularly susceptible to suggestion. I was one of the few kids at sleepovers who couldn’t be put into a trance. I consider myself rational. I am a devout atheist. Yet I am convinced that the house I work in is occupied by an otherworldly presence.

I was told by the weekday overnight guy that there was “a ghost” in the house. Yeah, right. This guy was obviously eating too much sugar. The first night shift I worked, though, I heard it. (Her, him, them.) I heard floorboards creaking and cabinet doors slamming. I distinctly heard footsteps. The good news: I was upstairs, and all of the activity was downstairs. But so was the coffee maker. That first shift, I decided that I would just have to rely on adrenaline to keep me awake. There was no way I was going to interrupt whatever was going on down there.

People asked me “wasn’t it just the sound of the radiator banging?” People. I lived in Brooklyn for a long time. I know from the sound of banging radiators. I also know what creaking floorboards sound like. And the only loose floorboards in the house are in the hallway, right at the base of the stairs.

Last weekend I worked two overnights and didn’t hear anything new. The same banging cabinets. Some footsteps. But it wasn’t really a big deal. I had almost convinced myself that I’d made it all up. And then last night something happened. There is absolutely no way to deny it, try as I may. I heard two very distinct, very unusual sounds between 2:20 and 5:45 in the morning. They repeated on and off thoughout that whole time: I heard a large animal, grunting, rutting. And the persistent sound of dripping water.

I assumed, of course, that one of the sinks was running. There are three sinks on the second floor. But I checked them all. I checked the tub. They were all bone dry. And the toilet wasn’t running, either.

I have no idea what to make of it. But I do know that I felt very afraid.

I can only hope that who or whatever I’ll be “spending the night” with can accept me being here again. After all, I’m willing to put up with a lot for a job in this economy. But the first time I find the chairs rearranged on the dining room table, I’m hauling ass down to the job service.

Tonight the coffee maker is coming upstairs with me.

It took me over half an hour this afternoon to realize that the nasty stench I couldn’t get away from was coming from my own clothing. I didn’t recognize it right away, because I’d only smelled it once before: in my office coat closet. It was the same disgusting b.o. I’d almost passed out from at 8:am. By 1 pm, the nausea-inducing odor had contaminated my favorite winter jacket.

Don’t ask why I hadn’t predicted the outcome of shutting my clothing into a dark, airless space with a smell far worse than feet. It’s the same non-logic I use with a molding box of strawberries: “it’ll never spread.” Personally, I shower twice a day. So the fact that I could possibly smell like someone who’s taken the winter off from hygiene for water conservation seems as unreal to me as the far-out chance of losing Ted Kennedy’s senate seat.

Ahem.

I find it hard to believe that I can’t say the word “cramps” without fearing a sexual harrassment suit, but people can light scented candles and eat tuna fish sandwiches and microwave eggwhites in an office environment and that’s perfectly acceptable. Granted, I expect to be forgiven for my “colorful” language. But c’mon, people: no one’s going to lose their lunch over an F-bomb.

Tomorrow, after I hang my coat from a tree and let the wind pelt it for a few hours, I’m going to crumple my outerwear into my bottom desk drawer. Wrinkles be damned. Then I’m going to eat dates, raisins, tofu and kidney beans all day long. 

Your move, candle-lighting-shower-eschewing coworkers.