*As told by Kerri
A couple of years ago now, it had been a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I’d been dozing on the couch, making the most of my time off work.
My husband Glen was out for the afternoon so I was enjoying my solitude while it lasted.
I remember vaguely waking up from my snooze feeling someone patting my hand. When I realized that no one was there, I figured that I must have dream it, so promptly fell back to sleep.
Waking up an hour or so later, I could feel someone playing with my hair, so I assumed that my husband Glen had come home - but again, there was no one there when I looked around. I felt my head and hair where it had been touched, and to my astonishment, my hair had been plaited at that spot - one small, thin plait.
I was freaked out totally and ran into the bathroom to look in the mirror. The plant was definitely there, and I certainly didn’t remember plaiting it myself. I was totally baffled.
Glen came home not long after and I told him about the strange patting on my hand, then the appearance of the plate, and the feeling of someone fiddling with my hair.
He looked at me as though I was crazy, scoffed and rolled his eyes, which infuriated me to no end.
He tried to convince me that I had indeed dreamt it and that I had plaited my own hair in my sleep. But I was less than convinced. How could I have plaited my own hair while I was sleeping when I could hardly manage it when fully awake?
I tried to let it go and not think of it again for the rest of the evening; but later that night as I lay in bed I was reluctant to fall asleep for fear of the ‘something’ returning.
I must have drifted off at some point because I woke up just after the sun rose, and made my way to the bathroom to prepare myself for the day ahead at work.
I’d forgotten all about the previous night’s occurrences totally, until I glanced in the mirror, about to step into the shower. And there was another plait in my hair - this time on the other side of my head, sitting just behind my left ear. I reached my hand to it in shock, as though needing to feel it in order to confirm its existence. Surely I hadn’t managed to plait my own hair in my sleep again. I had no idea what was going on.
I had no further phantom hairdressing episodes for the following week or so, and had almost forgotten about it totally, until one afternoon while I was relaxing in my garden seat, reading a book.
I was totally engrossed in my book so didn’t notice (at first) the slight tugging on my hair. I put it down to the breeze moving my hair around, so absentmindedly hooked a lock behind my ear, and then got back into my book.
Within a few minutes I could feel my hair slowly being tugged out from behind my ear - then it was lifted up passed my eye level. I snapped my hand up to push it back down, but came across resistance, as though someone was physically holding up the lock of my hair.
The short hairs on the back of my neck prickled and stood on end, and goose bumps shot down my back and right through me down to my toes. I felt rigid; as though I was welded to my seat, and felt polarized with fear. I could feel something around me, although I couldn’t see anything. It felt like someone was watching me, and feeling self-conscious and spooked out, I escaped to the safety of the house, trying to ignore this latest incident.
I didn’t bother bringing it up with Glen as when I had the previous couple of times he had just looked at me as though I was crazy, and as much as I wanted to move to a new home, I knew that Glen wouldn’t hear of it.
I had four more episodes with our ghostly hairdresser; each time occurring when I was either home alone or while me asleep at night. I could feel myself becoming increasingly edgy and anxious, always looking over my shoulder and feeling uncomfortable in my own home.
Glen and I had been squabbling over little things and my irritability levels grew as I struggled to sleep peacefully, at times lying awake for two to three hours at a time each night. It was affecting my home and work lives, and friends were no longer so inclined to drop around to visit. My life was being adversely affected by this now constant sensation of being watched and the playing and styling of my hair while I slept. It was unnerving and eerie to say the very least.
Things deteriorated between Glen and I, so I tried yet again to explain what was going on and why I was behaving like I was - but Glen put it down to my ‘hormones’, and scoffed at the idea of ghosts and spirits in our house.
That next night was the last one I ever spent in that house.
Not long after finally falling asleep next to a disgruntled and grumpy Glen, I woke to the now familiar feeling of someone tugging at my hair. I was suddenly consumed with anger – both at my ghostly hairdresser and at Glen’s attitude and refusal to believe me.
“See! See!” I yelled, pulling back the covers and rummaging around for clothes to throw on.
“I’m not staying here Glen!” I yelled. “Do you hear me ghosts!? I’m outta here!”
I threw some things in a bag and told Glen that I’d be at my mother’s. He didn’t try to stop me as I left.
I’d told my mother all about the goings-on so she wasn’t too surprised to find me on her doorstep so late at night. She ushered me inside and settled my nerves with a steaming hot cup of coffee and made up the bed in the spare room for me. I finally felt relieved, safe and protected, and settled down to sleep as soon as I lay my head on the pillow.
Some time later I awoke to the sounds of activity downstairs and could hear my mother’s voice vaguely waft up the stairs. I quickly went to the landing, concerned, only to see Glen’s ashen face looking up at me; a strange look in his eyes.
“I believe you now Kerri ...” he said, making his way up the stairs towards me, clutching something in his hand. Once he met me on the landing, he held out his hand and showed me tufts of his brown, curly hair.
“I went to sleep after you left, and woke up because I thought you’d come home and gotten back into bed, but when I rolled over you weren’t there - but something was!!” he told me in a rush. “There was something or someone there, but I couldn’t see anything ...” he continued. “Then when I tried to fall back asleep, I heard weird ‘snipping’ sounds near my ear and felt something fall on my face ..... And look at this!” he said, holding out the snippets of his hair. “And your sewing scissors where on my pillow!”
I stood nodding my head. “See, I told you.” I replied matter-of-factly.
After that night Glen was very apologetic and I made him pay dearly for ever doubting me and having the audacity to mock me.
Our friends Sharon and Trevor house-sat our home while Glen and I took a well-earned break, and upon our return we rented out our house and moved closer to Glen’s work.
We haven’t had any complaints from any of our tenants over the years, but I often wonder about our ghostly hairdressing visitor.
* As told by Kerri
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