Apartment 13

 My Brush with an Angry Spirit.

This is the story of my first encounter with an Angry spirit and the thing that happened that made me

second guess my purpose in this world.

"I walked through the door, and the candlestick on the mantle piece flew off the shelf and headed towards my head."

Mum ( Kerry Kulkens)  and I were on our way to the radio station every Saturday night as we had done for the past 15 years. It had been a ritual for most of my childhood. On arrival, Dave, the announcer with whom Mum was performing, asked her to meet with a friend named Michael.

Dave said his friend had a massive problem in his apartment and needed her expertise in handling the situation. Michael was an adorable-looking man with the most striking green eyes, and although he looked as though he hadn’t showered for weeks, you could tell he was quite a well-to-do man. 

Mum went to the corner of the room and quietly spoke to him for about an hour. Then she came to me and said after she had finished the program next week, we would be going to Michael’s apartment for a little while. I didn’t bother asking any questions as this had been something that happened quite often, especially with the celebrities and politicians who wanted to see her but didn’t want the media to know they were meeting with the witch of the hills.  That week seemed to drag on forever because, with Mum, you never know who you would meet at these kinds of meetings, and I was always excited.

After the program, Michael drove Mum and me to his apartment. It was a reasonably old apartment block that needed someone to do a bit of painting and cleaning around the outside. We hopped into the elevator, which smelled like someone had urinated in it. As the doors closed, Michael turned to Mum and said, “See what I mean”. Mum smiled and said, “Yes, don’t worry”.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened; we walked down this little corridor until we reached a door marked 13. Michael showed signs of distress; he fumbled with his keys, turned to mum, and said, “Are you sure you want to do this?” “don’t worry, I can handle this part of my job' '. Michael opened the door, and right before us was this beautiful fireplace with a lovely set of blue glass candle holders and each end of the mantle piece. There was a small photo frame of a girl who looked to be around Michael’s age and was extremely pretty. Her picture looked very familiar. I think she must have been a model. 

A couple of books and other ornaments were also arranged on the shelves below the mantle piece. But what struck me the most was the smell. It smelled the same in the elevator, except it was much more potent. I looked lower, and there was a tiny flame in the fireplace. Michael had left the fire smouldering when he left to pick us up. 

We moved from the doorway forward towards the fireplace. We had no sooner moved forward when the door slammed shut behind us. I thought it couldn’t have been the wind as we must have been on about the fifth floor of the apartment block, and there was no open window in the room. Mum stepped towards the photo on the mantelpiece and said to Michael, “Is this her?” “yes,” he said. Over the years, I learned not to ask too many questions, just to sit back, watch, and listen. 

Mum grabbed her handbag from me. I would always carry it as she tended to forget it all the time. She took out of it two white candles, a packet of salt, some Sandalwood incense, the bible and some matches. Mum lit the candles first, followed by the incense and opened the bible at the part which was prayers for the dead. She grabbed a handful of salt and threw it at the fire while reading aloud from the bible. 

Just then, the tiny flame of the fire rose into a giant flame that lapped the top of the mantle piece. Then, the two glass candle holders flung themselves across the room. Michael was distraught; you could see he had seen this before, and as the tears filled his eyes, he turned to mum and said, “It’s not working”. Mum turned and smiled at him and said have faith; read this prayer with me. The two of them read the prayer. They got louder and louder. The fire in the fireplace got smaller and smaller as the horrible smell that made me feel sick disappeared. It was replaced with this beautiful perfume, which smelt like it could have been an expensive brand. 

Mum turned to Michael and asked where the bathroom was. Michael pointed down the hall to the right. Mum said stay here. 

A few minutes passed, and Mum returned to the room and said to Michael, “It is okay now she knows the truth, and she is sorry.” 

As soon as Mum said that, he cried like a baby. That was the first time I had seen a man cry, not a little tear of joy but an uncontrollable sobbing. Michael's distress continued for about an hour, and then he made us a cup of tea.

We did our usual the following week, except Michael was there with a beautiful girl. He looked different. He had showered, his green eyes sparkled, and he had a beautiful big bunch of flowers for mum.



I found out a few months later that Michael's top model girlfriend had committed suicide inside the bathtub of that apartment all because she thought he was having an affair with another girl she had seen him with. Whenever he brought a female into the apartment, she would throw things at him. Mum had contacted her and explained that the girl she had seen him with was a work colleague, that he had asked her to help him buy an engagement ring for her and that he loved her and wanted to marry her. 

I still see Michael now, thirty years later. He has three beautiful children, is married to a well-known identity and is extremely happy. He still smells his ex’s perfume now and again but doesn’t live in apartment 13 any more. 

Sarah Kulkens 

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