When I was about 16, my parents decided to renovate the entire main bathroom. During this time, we were to shower and such down in the guest room. One particular night, I dried my hair after taking a shower (as many of us do). When I was done, I turned the dryer off, placed it on the side of the counter next to the sink and left, leaving it plugged into the wall and went to bed.
Later that night, I was awoken to the sound of the dryer going off. Thinking it was four a.m. when my dad usually got up to get ready for work, I immediately went back to sleep. 5 minutes later, I was once again woken by the ongoing sound of the dryer.
“Surely it doesn’t take him *that* long to dry his hair?” I thought with annoyance. I rolled over onto my side, the glow of my light pulsating in my eyes. It was 10:30. Confused, I got up and padded down the hallway to the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, but the lights were off. The dryer was running all by itself.
Terrified, I slowly reached in through the crack of the door, switched the dryer off, and snatched my hand back, afraid that whatever turned it on was going to reach out and grab me. I walked into the family room.
“Didn’t you hear the dryer going by itself just now?” I asked my mom, who was watching the television.
“No,” she said. “Maybe you didn’t turn it off all the way.”
“I turned it off all the way. It wasn’t on when I went to bed.”
My mom shrugged. I was sure that she wasn’t believing a word I said. “I don’t know then.”
I went back to bed, terrified I might hear the dryer go off on its own accord for the second time. I never heard it turn itself on again, but neither did I leave it in again for a pair of pale white hands to dry ghostly hair.