The Hatman

Growing up as a Muslim girl of color is hard enough, now add in the paranormal and then you have a great recipe for disaster. When I was 7 years old, my family moved to the suburbs of Chicago. The house we moved into was a small split-level home in a quiet neighborhood. The most exciting that happened there was when a new family moved in and all the gossip that came with it. Which is what happened to us when we moved in. Almost everyday someone new came to our door and introduced themselves while asking all types of questions of our personal lives. It wasn't as bad as it sounds. We definitely met some very good people while living there.

The weird thing about the house was that when we moved in, the landlords asked to keep two rooms locked up because they were still using them as storage for themselves. One was in the basement and one was in the on the second floor with the other bedrooms. We did think it was peculiar but didn't question too much because it meant rent was low. So that was how for almost a full year we never even saw the inside of the two rooms in our own house.

We never saw what was inside but I knew something was there. At all hours of the day and night, I could hear sounds coming from both rooms, as if someone was moving things around. I would say as such to my mom, but she told me it's probably just the landlord's things settling into place. I did not believe it but I also didn't question much more.

I can't say we experienced a lot of paranormal activity at this point other than hearing the sounds coming from the rooms but that all changed once the rooms were opened. The landlords decided to finally move out their things and started clearing out the rooms. Incidentally, one of the rooms became my bedroom. That first night, as I was moving my things into my new room, I had my first full-on contact paranormal experience.

I was standing up on a step stool trying to screw in a lightbulb into my new lamp. I was so focused on getting it in that I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings. That was when I felt the two hands against my back push me off the stool. I fell to the ground busting my lip on one of the steps on my way down. I looked around, absolutely astonished to see who had pushed me but there was no one there. I yelled for my dad and told him what had happened. While he believed me, my mom did not. I was rattled after that day but pushed it far away from my mind and continued moving in my things to settle into my new room.

We're going to fast forward in time a little bit so I can tell you what you've all probably clicked on this story for. The Hatman. It is safe to say I have had my fair share of paranormal encounters in that house, but those stories are for another day.

Growing in that house was tough. I went through everything from boy problems, financial issues, familial drama, and by far the most terrifying and soul-rattling experience was seeing the Hatman.

The first time I ever saw him was during the day, surprisingly. We had this huge ornate, golden mirror hanging in our living room. One day my cousins had come to visit and I was goofing off by jumping on the sofa with them. As I was jumping, I looked through the mirror on the wall and saw, clear as day, the Hatman standing right there in the middle of the room. I was absolutely shocked. I didn't dare look back, afraid of what I might find. He didn't have a face. He was just this dark, shadowed silhouette, standing at about 7 feet tall. He was wearing this old, fedora type hat. It's so difficult to explain but it was as if a character from an old comic book had come to life in front of my eyes. What is even more difficult to explain is the feeling of dread in my heart when I looked at him. Even with no face, I knew he was looking at me. He wanted me to know that he was watching me. Just like that, he vanished. That was the first of many encounters I had with the Hatman.

One night, my mom and I took a late grocery run. We came home to pitch darkness so my mom wanted to me to first turn on all the lights in the house before we brought the groceries in. I walked into the house turning on lights as I went. Suddenly I heard loud running. There was no mistaking it. I looked up to the source of it and saw the Hatman run from my grandmother's room to my parents' room. He was shadowed once again but there was not mistaking that it was him. He was a tangible mass of black. I kept telling myself that maybe it was the trick of my mind but I not only saw him but heard him, something of which I could not discount. I didn't dare go looking for him, instead turning around and running back out to the car and my mother. I was so frightened and could no longer hide it. I needed her to believe me. That changed everything because my mother looked into my eyes and said that I didn't have to go back into the house. She held me and we waited in the car until my dad came back home to tell him what had happened.

He had heard enough. It was then we made the decision to finally move out, after nearly 10 years in that house. Of course, that did not sit well with the landlords who couldn't believe that we would break our lease; but then again, they didn't have to live with whatever was living there.

Looking for another house was taking some time, and unfortunately meant we had to stay in that house for a little longer. I can't properly describe the heavy, anxious atmosphere that surrounded the house after that day. It was almost as if we were having the life drained out of us with all that was left was fear.

What came next was the most terrifying experience I had with the Hatman.

One night, I was watching TV in the basement alone. For some reason, everything in my body was telling me to look to the stairs. I looked and there he was just staring at me with his faceless face at the top of the stairs. I knew this time was going to be different. I knew something horrible was going to happen. I couldn't look away. I was frozen in place, helpless as I watched him drop to his knees and crawl down the stairs, all the while maintaining eye contact with me. He kept crawling until he came to me and that's when I saw it. His smile. It stretched from one end of his face to other with rows of razor sharp teeth. I wanted to scream but it was as if my body was not my own anymore. I had no control of anything. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest, ready to burst. Just when I thought my heart would rupture, he stood up in front of me, still smiling that devil's smile, and walked backwards into the basement bedroom. He was engulfed by the darkness once again.

Needless to say, that was the last straw. I absolutely could not handle another moment in that house. When I had told my parents, we moved into a hotel for the time being. The only time we went back to the house was to gather our things and move out. I remember that day so clearly. Watching the movers take out the last pieces of furniture, I stood at the doorway to the house and bid goodbye to the Hatman. Walking back to the car, a weight was lifted off of my chest. I could finally breathe. After moving out from that house, I have never seen the Hatman again. No complaints there.