In 2008, two sisters living in an apartment within the Chapelgate complex on St. Alphonsus Road, Drumcondra, Dublin, began experiencing a series of unexplained and disturbing events. Initially, the activity was minor: kitchen cabinets would open on their own, and glasses of water left on the counter would be found half-empty on return. Each sister assumed it was her own absent-mindedness – until they compared notes one evening and realised the experiences were shared.

The incidents escalated. One evening, watching television, they heard a thud from the dining table. One candle had fallen from the candelabra. As they watched, the remaining candles fell in sequence. On another occasion, while cooking dinner and mid-argument about the bins, one sister became convinced the other had told her to f**k off and left the room. Her sister followed, equally convinced the same had been said to her. Neither had spoken the words.
Then there was the knocking. The apartment walls were set back about a foot from the original stone walls – a dry-lining arrangement that left a small cavity, with the gas meter accessed through a tiny door halfway up the exterior wall beside the kitchen. One evening, alone in the apartment, one of the sisters heard three loud knocks coming from inside that door. She ran to her room and stayed there until the fear passed.

A visitor to the apartment around this time had their own unsettling experience. On the evening of 24th September 2008, they arrived to spend time with one of the sisters, who had moved to Dublin the previous month. After chatting in the sitting room, they made their way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Almost immediately, they were overcome by a powerful urge to press their back against the wall. Their hair stood on end. They couldn’t explain the feeling – only that it was intense and impossible to ignore. Standing there, they asked out of nowhere: “Has anything weird ever happened here?” The sister spun around and accused the friend of putting them up to it. She hadn’t said a word.
The visitor heard the full account of the disturbances while still standing in the kitchen, their hair on end, their eyes watering with unease. They wanted to leave. But once back in the sitting room, the feeling lifted somewhat – and they began to wonder whether it was all in their heads.

They were starting to relax when their friend got up to smoke a cigarette, taking her usual spot on the wide window ledge in the kitchen, pulling up the old sash window so the smell wouldn’t carry. The friend finished her cigarette and slipped to the bathroom. When she came back, her cigarettes were gone. She assumed the visitor had hidden them as a joke. They hadn’t touched them. They had, however, picked up two CDs sitting on top of the small CD player on the window ledge – and were in the process of setting them back down when the friend’s sister appeared from the hallway, asking if anyone had been smoking in her room because she could smell smoke. Both turned to look at her. When they turned back, the cigarettes were sitting on top of the CDs just put down.

The visitor went pale. Their heart was hammering. They swore they hadn’t touched them – and when their friend saw the state of them, she believed it. They said their goodbyes and left, driving home with the interior light on and keeping every light in the house burning through the night.

The disturbances continued to worsen after that visit. Lightbulbs began blowing every few days. The television would switch itself off. One night, alone in the apartment, one of the sisters heard knocking at her bedroom door just as she got into bed. She rang her father and kept him on the phone until she fell asleep. Shortly after, she moved out. Her sister followed, unable to endure what the apartment had become.