Even in Death, He Laughs

On January 26th, 2012 I received terrible news. My Uncle John had passed away. My Mother ran down the sidewalk, waving her arms to grab my attention (which was later explained to me so that I would not have to see the Coroners carry my beloved out of his home) as I trekked home from school. Everyone felt the loss: my Uncle was a lively character, even with cancer and diabetes whittling away his health. He was barely able to see. Sugar had saturated his eyes. A combination of Merca, Gangrene and poor Diabetes upkeep led to the rot and eventual removal of his left foot and had begun to set into his hands just before he passed. What made him even more special to my brothers and I was the simple fact that, after my Father passed away and within the same month my Mother had been incarcerated, he took us under his wing without worry or care of the financial issues he already faced. Since 2007, we have watched his health deplete in slow motion. My brothers and I knew it was coming. We just didn't know when. My eldest brother, Christopher (who had recently graduated with a Theatrical Production degree in Michigan) came down to mourn the death of a tired and jolly man. Family, friends and past coworkers all gathered and wept.

It was about a week after he was laid to rest when it started happening.

It started with subtle activity. I would place my brush on my night stand and wake the next morning and find it in obscure places: atop my wardrobe, under my bed, inside my dresser drawer. My brush was not the only victim, rather, a plethora of small objects (like nail clippers, nail paint). It did not happen just in my room either: my brother was constantly losing track of his T.V. remote and other insignificant belongings even when he placed them systematically in the same location every day. My parents (Mother especially) would blame me and my younger sibling for the misplacement of their small items. Everyone ignored it. When I think back on it, I think we all agreed that "it was probably the cats" because none of us wanted to feel the inkling of fear that comes with the full recognition of pupating paranormal activity in your home. When I ask my parents about it, they both in mutuality have experienced a floating shadow busying itself about their door frame at night, but had labeled it as cars passing in the night.

On February 8th-11th, I was hospitalized and diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes (bluh, now that I think about it, I should have seen it coming. It's a family thing, you know). I had not noticed anything particularly odd differentiating from what I was already experiencing until the night I returned. On the night of February 11th, I attempted to sleep. It's hard to sleep when you swear up and down you hear little ticking noises in your wall, or scrapping noises across the same surface. I played it off on not being in my house for a couple of days and because of that, I forgot that my house made noises. I dealt with it for a while and eventually, it ceased (which I played off on growing used to hearing it). Around that same timeframe (which was, if I'm not mistaken, anywhere between the 12th and 28th), my little brother swears that he would wake at about midnight to hear the creaking of springs in the attic. Now, my attic is mostly void. We let the spiders do their thing up there. I can guarantee that our handful of holiday decorations have anything springy in them. Like all kids in their prime, he became disturbed of it and asked me to spend the night with him in his room to make him feel better. Being the heroic middle-sister, I did. He and I were playing video games, when he paused it and pushed his hand out at me, instructing me to "Shh! Shhhhh! Listen." In that small moment of time, I heard the groaning of old springs overhead in the attic. Thinking back on the activity before it had ceased, when I had lived at my Uncle's house and took residency upon his fold-out couch, it sounded almost sibling-like to the sounds his old bed made when he rolled over to go to sleep in the middle of the night. Whenever it was brought up at dinner and other family meals, our parents promptly ignored it and changed the subject.

Since then, all activity has stopped. Our items have ceased misplacing themselves in abysmal location, the creaking in the attic is no more, and the scratching on my walls have went away. However, when you are alone and not feeling well in the house (we have never experienced it at the same time, it has always happened while alone in our house, you can hear his whimsical laughter bubbling faintly through the house. Detection requires a peculiar amount of intention, if any at all! I have deduced that whenever we heard my Uncle's laughter, it is when we are "off in la-la land" and not paying very much attention. It still happens to this very day, and I would think it would be a memory resounding in the back of our minds if it didn't happen so frequently. While I appreciate his happy nature even in death, my family and I would like to see him rest. He was a jovial man, and I know that if he is in fact haunting us, his spirit would leave/rest if we asked him, but we don't want to be assertive or seen unappreciative of his care for us. I was wanting to know if any of you could give me advice as to how to push him out of our house over time? Any thoughts or comments would be appreciated.

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