The Apartment Pt. 2

For my birthday, my girlfriend at the time bought me the complete tablature book on Pink Floyd’s The Wall. I’d often sit on the floor in my bedroom strumming through some of Floyd’s greatest work. When I was done playing my guitar, I’d lean it up against the wall (the actual wall, not the album) with the pick stuck between the first three strings.

I discovered, often times when I was playing a song or two out of the book, that I had a presence near me. I could feel it on my back, someone else in the room listening to me, watching me play. I never let it bother me, but sometimes it was strong enough that it would mess up my playing, like someone interrupting me on purpose.

One night just before bed I decided I was going to do a little strumming and call it a night. After I played my guitar for a while, I went through the routine of sticking the pick between the strings and leaning the guitar up against the wall. For some reason though, I didn’t close the tab book like I normally did, I just left it open.

As I laid in bed trying to fall asleep, I started hearing something. It was a flapping sound, light and subtle, but it was there.

Just outside of my bedroom was one of the parking lot lights. My room never got to be pitch black, but it wasn’t really lit up either. It was just lit up enough that I could barely make things out in the room with my lights off. After the noise stopped happening, I looked down at the floor and noticed the book sitting there, still open. I decided to get up and check it out, since what I had heard sounded like pages flipping.

In the dim light I could just barely make out the pages and I discovered something. The pages HAD been flipping by themselves, and they stopped on the song “Hey You”, and those two words were the only thing I could really make out on the page.

A cold chill went up and down my spine. I shut the book and said aloud, “I’m going to go to bed now. Don’t bother me, I need my sleep.”

Instead of feeling like I had control over whatever was apparently in my room, most definitely in my apartment, I felt creeped out and couldn’t fall asleep for quite some time that night.

However, due to the recent Pink Floyd related incidents by my ghost, I decided to name him “Pink”.

Oh and, for the record, the following day I checked it out just to be sure it wasn’t some sort of accident or coincidence. The spot in the book where I had been at and where I had left it open on the floor was on the opposite side of the song Hey You, so that if the pages were to turn themselves because of their own weight so to speak, the pages would’ve flipped the other way in the book, not to the song Hey You. I also had no A/C or heat on that night, so there was no moving wind in my room.

Yet still, to make the pages turn on their own, I had to get them moving myself. They weren’t and wouldn’t turn by themselves. And this incident wasn’t the last time Pink made himself known, nor was it the last time he showed his appreciation for my guitar.

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