A hauntingly great All Hallows, everyone!
Welcome to today’s chat…we’re sharing stories — REAL stories –
about ghosts. Not the kind that find their way into storytelling
around the campfire where the “punch line” has everyone jumping in
their seat and then laughing in embarrassment. It’s all about personal brushes
with the unknown because it isn’t just ghost hunters that sometimes see things.
Share your tales of personal experiences of the ghostly kind, of
ectoplasmic family visitations passed down by deadly serious
relatives…well, not that they were dead themselves but that they
saw or spoke to one of the recently departed…or not so recently
departed.
I’ve had students tell me tales at this season of living in old
houses and, when coming home late at night, having found people
seated in rocking chairs on a long covered porch…a porch that
doesn’t normally HAVE rocking chairs, and a house that at the moment
has no one at home…no one living, that is.
Or stories told of young children refusing to play in their upstairs
room because “the lady up there doesn’t like me”…what lady? Not one
the adults can see.
Perhaps it’s just a feeling, one that makes the hair on the back of
your neck stand up…or perhaps you’ve witnessed a visitation
yourself?
In my family we have the tale of Uncle George who went off to fight
in Europe during World War I and didn’t come home…or did he?
His mother, my great-grandmother, was out in the barn (the story
doesn’t supply her reason for being there) and when she turned around
she saw George standing a few stalls away smiling at her. Startled,
she said, “George, when did you get home?” but he didn’t answer. He
smiled at her sadly and disappeared. Only weeks later did she learn
he’d been killed that day on a field in Germany.
My own experience is nothing more than lacking the nerve to walk
through the guardhouse on the medieval wall in York, England, when I
visited because the dark interior seemed too eerie…the spirits of
centuries past still guarding the way? In any event, I went down the
steps, across the ancient roadway (now paved) and back up the steps
on the otherside rather than gather any courage to stride boldly
though the shadows. Yes, I’m a coward that way.
Do I believe in ghosts? Well, let’s say in the dark of night (or on a
medieval wall), I’m not saying I don’t believe. Why take chances? One
day I may be haunting a particular spot myself. Most likely the desk
where I write…there will still be unfinished projects on it to keep
me there, hovering. I hope the children of that future household find
me a friendly ghost. Casperish rather than scary.
So share your own stories. The more the merrier…or is that scarier? Bah ha ha!
Author of ARDEN’S TOUCH
Sometimes it takes a ghostly matchmaker in the race to find love.
www.RomanceAndMystery.com
