The Parisian Boy

When I was 17, I had the chance to go on my first big trip all on my own. I was pretty happy, because for me it meant going, for the first time, to Paris, without any adult supervision.

My mom had a friend living there, and his partner had an apartment just across the street from theirs which happened to be unoccupied at the time, so they let me stay there for a few days. So every day I would go sightseeing, walking and doing tourist stuff and then go to that apartment to sleep, and it was all wonderful and quiet, until one night.

I was in bed, sleeping, when I was suddenly awoken by a woman loudly knocking on the front door, and then on all other doors in the hallway, asking desperately for help. Now, looking back, this is the time when I realize this wasn't a dream, because the woman spoke in French. Even though I had been learning French for a few months, there is no way a teenage South American girl whose mother tongue is Spanish and who had had no bigger contact with French language other than her classes would dream in French. So that woke me up and scared me quite a lot. I didn't dare open the door, and I didn't hear any other door in the hallway opening to let this lady say what had happened to her, and she left, still crying for help. So I tried to get back to sleep with no success, because I was really afraid.

The apartment was a small studio and, no matter where you were in it, you could see the entire place from there. So I was in bed, from which you could see the front door, trying to sleep again, when I hear a weird noise coming from the entrance. I turned my head to see, and I saw the lock on the door turning, as if someone was entering the apartment from outside. I freaked out and thought of nothing better than to pretend I was asleep. I kept my eyes slightly open, only about one millimeter, just so I could see who was coming inside but make them believe I was actually asleep. I thought it was a robber, and I thought I would let them take anything they wanted; whatever they wanted to steal, they could, because the only possible witness was sound asleep.

Whenever someone opened the front door, it squeaked. So right after I saw the lock turn, I heard the door squeak. The door opened, and I saw a little boy walking towards me. Since my eyes were almost closed, I could only see a little bit, so I didn't see his face, only his body. He was slightly transparent but as white as paper and he was wearing a shirt and an overall, both between a very pale brown and green. He reached the bed and touched me, moving my body, trying to wake me up. He said, in French, something like "Please, wake up, you have to come with me, please, you have to see this" and he insisted for a few seconds. Since I was actually awake, I remember trying to make a decision. So what if I follow the boy? It doesn't necessarily have to be bad. But I didn't dare. I was too scared and continued to pretend I was asleep.

So after a few seconds the boy left. I heard his feet on the wooden floor and I looked to the door again to see the door closing and the lock turning again. I turned on the lights and didn't sleep for the rest of the night. I didn't turn them off during the remain of my stay in that apartment.

A few days later (to be honest, it could have been a few days before, I don't quite remember, it's been ten years since) my mom's friend and I were in his apartment and he asked me to go down to the basement of the building with him to get something out of the storage room. His building is very old, so he showed me a list on the basement wall which had been written during WW2 and had the names of all the people who lived there, and the names of the people who died during the bombings were crossed out. They had kept it there for all these years (this was in 2005 or 2006), which I found really creepy.

So I told him about my experience (I guess then this must have happened right after the experience) and asked him about the building where I was staying. I thought, based on his clothes, that the boy I had seen had died during WW2, but my mom's friend said the building had been built in the 60's. He didn't know what was there before.

Still, whenever I think about that experience I feel chills down my spine. It was the closest experience I have ever had to a spirit.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.