Boston, you scare me.

Recently, I relocated to Boston to go to school. My studio apartment is located in the North End, a community rich in history (Paul Revere rode through my neighborhood!--not recently or anything), Italian restaurants (why don't any of you take card?!), dumb tourists, uneven/narrow roads, tiny side streets, and notable landmarks that I haven't really checked out yet, but they are definitely there. People tell me there is much to love about this place because it is cute and has that "European"-feel. If "European" means "someone is going to stab you in a dark alley" or "ghosts are going to eat you" or "this street is just quiet because the person who was here before you is now locked in some car's trunk and will soon be harvested for organs" or "this sewer leakage is actually human juice from the funeral home", then yes, North End has a "European"-feel.

My walk home from school involves me crossing a funeral home with business at all hours of the day and a cemetery as old as this country (which is not THAT old, but old enough to look extremely creepy). This is bullshit. What the freak, man?! My quarter-life crisis obsession with and rejection of death did not ask for exposure therapy. I was going to go through the more conventional avenue of cognitive behavioral therapy.

I do not enjoy this. Fortunately, about two hours ago I discovered a new, longer way home to avoid this nonsense.

The first night in my new apartment was, to say the least, horrifying. The building I live in, like all others in the area, is flippin' old. Ancient! Built in the late 1800s, this little brick building has seen some major stuff go down, such as the molasses flood of 1919. My squeaky floors are distorted and slanted. It is like living in a fun house except the fun stops when I realize this is actually where I live. Anyway, the first night--I was startled awake by sporadic scratching sounds. My echolocation told me that the sounds were coming from the closet. Yes, of course, the closet! The source of all nightmares! In my blurry dream-conscious state, I was briefly concern that the scratching noise came from a ghost, or possibly ghosts. This scared the shit out of me for two reasons (1) what if it tries to kill me? (2) I don't believe in ghosts! This is not in line with my beliefs! There is no scientific evidence supporting ghosts! Why am I even considering ghosts as a possibility?!

I oscillated between fear and humility for about three hours throughout the night.

I concluded that the sounds were probably coming from rats, rats living in the walls of my apartment. At three in the morning this made sense. I live in an area with tons of restaurants=rats are living in the walls of my apartment. I was not as scared after concluding that the scratching sounds were produced by rats trying to break through the plaster. I figured that once the rats get into the kitchen they will see that I don't have any food. They will then promptly leave without hurting me. They will only hurt me if they know I am awake and watching them. I will pretend to be asleep, so they can carry on their business and leave me be. I will kill them tomorrow.

In the morning I investigated. With a clear head, I was skeptical about my rat theories and still pissed at myself for truly believing in ghosts haunting the apartment.
Let me get to the ending real quick before my laptop runs out of power.

It was the blinds. The window was open and there was a storm and a crap ton of wind... The sounds came from the blinds. I even reproduced the scratching sounds.