Monday, July 14, 2008
Whaaa? It’s Monday already? What little piece of mundane can I entertain you with today?
I know, a scaawwweeyyy story.
I grew up with a ghost in my house. Yup, a real “live” ghost. I felt her, but never saw her. Only the men-folk in the family ever saw her. My dad, my uncle, my grandfather, I can’t remember if my brother ever saw her. Even construction workers saw her. She always appeared at the same doorway, which was the entry way to her old bedroom. Story goes that she passed away in her bedroom, of pneumonia. She lived with her sisters. They were spinster sisters. My dad always told me that he had a very kind vibe from her (vibe being my word, I don’t think the work “vibe” is in my dad’s vocabulary!) and every time he saw her, he would try and make eye contact with her. She would always disappear as he reached her eyes. Strange, no? I wish I hadn’t been so scared of her, but I was petrified. I was so scared to be in that house alone. I remember when I was home alone I would either wait up for my parents, or, I would close my eyes and race past that doorway to the stairs to go up to my room. Friends would come over and they would have the willies, one friend even insists that she felt like someone was trying to push her down the stairs! Other friends wanted desperately to hold a séance or do a ouijia board in our house, which I flat out refused to do – you just don’t mess with that stuff.
Once, when upstairs in the guest room, my grandfather says he saw a woman holding hands with a young child. A ghost-mother with her ghost-child. I’ve heard this before; that ghosts often pass through ghost-friendly houses. This must be what he saw.
My parents are still in the house, but my dad has not see “her” in years. She must have found her happy place.
Do you believe in ghosts?