Back in 1989, I had the interesting experience of sharing a living space with a non-corporeal entity. I was living in Japan, just outside of Amagasaki-shi halfway between Osaka and Kobe. I was learning pottery in Kyoto at the time and had didn’t have much money, so I was staying rent-free in a room on the second floor of a college gymnasium.
When I opened the door to my room, it opened out onto a walkway which ran around the top level of the gymnasium. The entity, which I referred to as “it,” lived in the corner directly across from my room, in the far right corner of the back of the stage. Neither I nor any of my friends ever saw anything move or heard noises coming from that area, but when it was around, the sense of a presence in that area was so overwhelming, it wasn’t necessary.
The first time I came into contact with it, I was sitting on the stage playing my guitar, looking out into the empty gymnasium. It was a weekend, so there weren’t any students around (no dorms on most Japanese college campuses). During the middle of a song, I had the feeling that someone was behind me, watching. When I turned to look, however, there was no one there. Just an empty back stage, everything was still and silent. I tried to continue playing the song, but the feeling was so unnerving that I couldn’t continue and returned to my room.
Thereafter, I would feel the presence from time-to-time, always in that same corner.
One afternoon when students were around, I examined that area of the stage but there was nothing out of the ordinary, just a dusty corner of a stage. I did notice, however, that there was no railing on the second floor balcony above that corner, so if you ran through the exit door on the second floor and weren’t paying attention, you would fall off the walkway and land right in that corner. Sometimes I suspected that maybe a student had died there, but was never able to find anything out.
Contrary to being all brave and wanting to “mess with the ghost,” I simply tried to stay out of its way as best I could. I’d come home in the evening and go up the stairs to the second floor, then I’d have to walk down the walkway to my room. The entire way to my room I would talk to it, telling it to stay in its corner and I’d stay in my room and we’d be fine. Or I’d sing or whistle, trying to ignore its presence as best I could. Once I was in my room and was able to close the door, I would feel safe.
Sometimes the feeling of the presence would be so strong, I would have to run to my room almost crying from a sense of fear. At those times, the presence felt like it had swelled up from the corner and was like a bubble, pushing at me. It was scary (and even as I’m typing these words I feel shivers). The presence didn’t feel angry or malevolent, but it felt wrong. Like it shouldn’t be; it was unnatural. I didn’t want to be around it, but I didn’t have anyplace else to go at the time, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I just did my best to “live and let live” so to speak, and not bother it any more than I had to nor attract its attention.