It’s been a minute since I last wrote, but the night I saw myself lying helpless in my bed in Bradford, Massachusetts, I wasn’t dreaming. Or at least, I don’t think I was.

Boston’s Charm

Boston has its charms — the great art ambience, colonial mansions, witches of Salem, the Boston Red Sox, Celtics at TD Garden, and, of course, the hidden gems of Massachusetts dispensaries. There’s more to it than that, but these were the pieces I enjoyed and learned the best.

When the opportunity came to relocate for work, I couldn’t ignore it. Boston felt like freedom — a start, a chance to build something new. I found the perfect studio in Bradford, Massachusetts: a brick mansion built in 1919, beautifully crafted, inviting, almost speaking to me. The trees formed a perfect walkway, each one placed as if it held a story.

“Those trees look like someone was hanged on them.”

A coworker once looked at them and fell silent. She told me she wouldn’t come back. I respected her thought, but I felt otherwise. I loved that place. I was even told I could plant anything I wanted in the garden. It was peaceful. It was enough. It was just right to start my life and career.

The Night Everything Changed

It was a simple, peaceful night — my usual daily dose of Za, straight from “Mass.” Mello, my hidden gem, didn’t even look like a dispensary until you stepped inside. That night, I closed my eyes and could already see every inch of my studio. My bed faced the entrance. My small dining table sat in the far front. To the left, a toy stove, countertop, and white fridge. Yes, it was basic, but it was mine.

The room felt alive in a way that was eerie. Then I heard it — a tug at the door, forceful and close, so close it vibrated in my ear. I could see myself lying there, eyes barely open. I screamed at myself to get up. Get up! But she couldn’t hear me, and I couldn’t hear her.

The door opened, and a shadow stood framed in the red glow of the exit sign. Broad shoulders, top-heavy build, tall, breathing hard. I couldn’t see his face, only the cap and heavy jacket. He just stood there, staring at my helpless body.

And then I woke up.

Reflection

I remembered everything. My body felt wrong, my energy off. To this day, I can’t explain if it was real or not. Maybe it was astral projection — my soul leaving my body to warn me of danger. Maybe it was anxiety from having my first place alone. But it felt too real.

The studio was antique and luxurious in its own way. The bathroom was old but enough — a huge bathtub, original 1900s doors with their heavy locks, frosted glass panels. Since that night, it never happened again, but I also spent weeks away in Connecticut for training.

When my relocation ended and my new career at Amazon didn’t work out, I came back home. Since then, I’ve been happy, focused, and loving life the best I can.

I often wonder — if I had stayed, what could have happened? Should I have given it more of a chance?

I don’t know if I left because of fear, fate, or something calling me home. But every time I think of Boston, I don’t hear the cheers from Fenway, the rush of the Charles, or even the hustle of Amazon. I hear that door creak, and the red glow still lingering in my mind.