While Tricia had said that I could move in with her and Martin, I had been hesitant about this due to my past experiences. Tricia suffered from anxiety and could be emotionally volatile. I knew it was risky to stay, but I thought to myself, people change.
It would be more rent for her since she was often broke. I needed the familiarity of old friends who had known the dogs, and somewhere safe to stay while I got over the initial shock. Even if the familiar was dysfunctional, sometimes it felt easier than venturing out into the unknown. I also had a few more things to tell Tricia about the 'phenomena'. Sitting down at the kitchen table in her smoke-filled townhouse with a cup of tea I said, "I still have stuff happening around me. The streetlights are turning on and off. I don't know what's going to happen next." I told her that if the 'phenomena' started to happen at her place, and it got too much, I'd leave. She seemed fine with that.
The first thing that happened, when I knocked on the door, was the double curtain rod and curtain fell off their track hitting Tricia in the face and covering her body in heavy fabric. She had touched the curtain in order to unlock the door. But she looked at me suspiciously, saying that it had never fallen on her in the seven years that she had lived at the premises. The next thing happened when we were sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner. I caught a glimpse of the 'shadow man' walking across the loungeroom like he had in her back driveway. I said to Tricia, "That's a new one. He's in the house now. Usually he's outside the house." Tricia glanced over to Martin, and looked back at me shaking her head. He was nine-years-old and a very sensitive boy. So it was agreed, not to 'talk ghosts' in front of him, since he was likely to dwell on it and have nightmares.
Tricia's townhouse was the kind of place where the television was always on. One night we were watching cable and I was thinking to myself that it was better not to focus on things like the 'shadow man' since I might attract them. Suddenly Tricia's cigarettes flew off the armchair. I glanced over at her and she looked shocked. I smiled and said, "You did that didn't you?"
"No!" she shrieked. "They flew off by themselves!"
Another night a packet of frozen peas fell off the kitchen bench and spilt all over the floor. No one was in the kitchen at the time. Tricia immediately looked at me. I said, "It happens." While no one had been near them, I couldn't be blamed for everything. Often when we talked about angels, ghosts or life after death, the fridge would start to make loud banging noises as if it was somehow 'responding' to our conversations.
On several occasions Tricia told me that the fridge had made 'banging' sounds on and off for most of the day. She also said that there had been a huge 'crash' to her double security screen door, as if someone had suddenly smashed into it while she was sitting on the lounge watching television. I had also heard other little knocks and bangs in the kitchen. Once it had occurred beside me on the kitchen bench on the top of the coffee tins. I had been making a sandwich. Another night the laundry door slammed shut while we were watching Most Haunted. It was a still night and that door had really slammed shut hard. We'd thought it was Martin. But he was out. No one was there.
I was still experiencing 'angelic' consciousness. When this happened while shopping at the supermarket, the overhead fluorescent lights continued to flicker on and off. I walked along the end of the aisles. Each time I stopped to look down, there would be a gentle flicker of an overhead fluorescent light. This would happen while I waited my turn at the checkout. In fact, it happened almost every time I went into a supermarket. I noticed that very young children or babies stared at me. Sometimes several kids would start to walk a few steps towards me, as if hypnotised. Babies would turn their heads and one day a baby even winked at me! This only ever happened when I was in what appeared to be an elevated state of consciousness.
