The Sliding Glass Door

Home » The Sliding Glass Door

The new apartment, No. 3023, was on the same block, and actually just one building over from our first crummy apartment we rented here years before.

This would become the third apartment we leased from this complex in four years. All three of these units are within 20 yards of each other.

After a month or so of getting settled into the new apartment, we started to notice our dog, Cheyenne, would stare or bark at an area on a windowless wall in the living room. We thought nothing of it, believing she was seeing shadows from the adjacent window facing the parking lot.

The strange thing about Cheyenne’s behavior, we began to notice, was that she would only bark at the window whenever there was something worth barking at; if a headlight cast a shadow on our wall, Cheyenne would bark at the window. She never barked at the windowless wall when there was a car driving outside in the parking lot, she would go to the sliding glass door and on her hind legs bang on the glass with her paws and bark ferociously. She is a large dog, a Rottweiler, and very protective of us.

More and more frequently, we noticed, Cheyenne would stare up at this area of the windowless wall and sometimes howl and growl. It was always directed at the same spot on the windowless wall, midway from the floor to the ceiling, directly adjacent from the sliding glass door.

In the beginning, me and Jennifer would joke that we had a ghost in the apartment that only Cheyenne could see.

It was no longer a joke one evening in May 2016.

Cheyenne was restless that night, growling at the wall and looking back at me barking, I assumed she needed to go potty.

Jennifer was in bed.

I grabbed my shoes by the front door and began to lace up with my foot on the arm of our recliner, facing the sliding glass door. As I began to tie my shoe, I looked up toward the sliding glass door and saw the reflection of a woman wearing white walking right behind me toward the front door.

At first, I thought it was Jennifer. But when I turned my head to look at her, I realized what I had just seen, and a cold chill ran through bones.

I quickly put my other shoe on and took the dog outside; I needed to feel the warm air.

I have a discerning mind, and I began rationalizing how a light from the parking lot could have made such a reflection.

I never told Jennifer what I thought I saw.

It wasn’t until last night, months later, that I became convinced that this apartment is haunted by a ghost.

I came out of the bathroom into the living room to find Jennifer fixated on the same exact portion of wall that Cheyenne had always been barking at, adjacent from the same sliding glass door.

I sat down, and asked her what she was looking at.

No response.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

No response.

I touched her right arm.

It was cold as death.

Without taking her eyes off that windowless wall, she said, “I just saw a woman in white walking toward the front door.”