That first unsettling experience with the phantom pan flying through the kitchen was only the beginning.

We kept our thermostat at 68°F during the day for comfort and lowered it to 65°F at night. The thermostat was an old manual type—you had to physically slide the tab, which had resistance. We started waking up drenched in sweat, discovering the temperature had somehow been turned up to 85°F or higher. Night after night, we found the setting changed, always coinciding with unexplained disturbances. It seemed whatever was haunting our apartment was feeding off the heat.

One night, while settling into bed, we noticed the room darkening in an unnatural way. No trees or external light sources could explain it. The darkness collected in the northeast corner of the ceiling, and as we stared, the shape of a person sitting cross-legged upside-down took form. A distinct mental impression struck us—it was a little girl.

Both my husband and I have some extra-sensory perceptiveness, so while we saw the darkness and a shape, we got the impression of the little girl and some of her features. I immediately spoke, commanding it to leave in the name of God, asserting my power as the living over the dead. The darkness dissipated, but we both sensed it wasn’t truly a child. It was something else, toying with us. And we knew it would return.

Then came the night of the growl.

Our apartment had two doors—a main exterior one at ground level and a secondary interior door at the top of a steep, winding staircase. That night, we had forgotten to close and lock the upstairs door. We didn’t yet sleep with our bedroom door closed, a mistake we soon corrected.

As I rolled over to sleep, facing the outer wall, a deep, guttural growl erupted inches from my face. I even felt air move as if there were actual breath. I launched myself onto my husband, somehow still horizontal like I was while lying down, panicked.

He had heard it too. We prayed, commanding the entity to leave. Then, as before, we checked the thermostat—it had been cranked up again.

A few nights later, my husband yelped in pain as he jolted awake. Fresh, unexplained scratches marred his back. We had no pets. I hadn’t done it. And when we checked the stairwell door, it was wide open. We had forgotten to close it.

That night, we closed our bedroom door for the first time. It did little good. Soon, the door rattled violently in the dark. Scratching, sniffing sounds came from the other side. The presence on the other side felt massive, primal, furious. The next day, I started researching. What were we dealing with?

As my husband took more overnight shifts, I stayed home alone, growing more afraid with each passing incident. I left every light on. I sat near the computer, which was by the stairwell door, but I never let my back face it. The heat incidents continued. Each time the temperature spiked, the activity escalated.

Then came the night when the door handle jiggled. We watched in horror as the entity fought against the lock, trying to force its way in, all the while scratching, sniffing. We flipped the stairwell light on, and the scratching ceased.

Through my research, I discovered something chilling: we were likely dealing with an Elemental spirit. These entities are often tied to Native American lands, said to be guardians of sacred spaces.

After that night, I sometimes slept in the car at my husband’s workplace while my husband worked his shift. Eventually, he found a day job, and I started working as well. Before long, we moved and were happy to put the apartment on Elm Street behind us.

With the internet’s expansion, I’ve refined my understanding of what we encountered. I now believe it was a Matche-Monetoo—a “Bad Spirit” associated with disturbed sacred land. The house sat only half a mile from eight remaining Native American burial mounds, remnants of what was once at least sixty-two throughout Quincy.

It is highly likely that our apartment was built atop a disturbed burial site or at least an area once considered highly important to the Native Americans. And we, unknowingly, became the targets of an ancient guardian’s wrath.