Another time I felt the warm terrors of a supernatural experience was when I was in Toronto. I was sitting in the living room, talking to my Mom. The dog was there too. It was a quiet day – no wind, no weather of any kind really. It was overcast, boring, drab.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang from upstairs – like a door slamming very, very hard. The house positively shook. The dog and I got up slowly. We stole up the stairs, prepared for we knew not what. Intruders? Violence? A slam like that and I expected to find damage to the casings – perhaps a splintered jamb or two.
I lifted my head above the stringers and peered around the upper floor of the townhome. One, two, three, four doors – a bathroom and three bedrooms. Alll of them open, un-damaged, unaltered in any way from the last time I was there. The dog went on ahead, sniffing around, turned and looked at me. We exchanged a deep, puzzled moment. My heart was pounding, even if hers wasn’t.
I never found an explanation for it. Like the English experiences, it was both weird and wonderful. It was more proof, to me at least, that everything we live with is not visible – that our world is more than what we can only see and understand. It’s reassuring somehow that there will always be mysteries – that we will never know it all, no matter how smart we think we are.