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| You
don’t have to, really you don’t . . . but I suspect you’re
here because, like most people, you like a good ghost story. Am
I right? Reading a ghost story is a safe little indulgence we can allow ourselves. The feel of skin creeping along the back of your neck, the need to have on every light in the house, even the self-conscious smile at the end are all part of the experience . . . all part of letting ourselves return to a time when we knew, absolutely knew without a doubt that if we let our hands or feet dangle over the side of the bed the monster would get us. One of the other childhood absolutes – along with never stepping on a crack – was that ghosts were real. And then we grew up. So, do you still believe in ghosts? I do. As a child, I would often hear my name called only to look up and see one of my grandmother’s friends. As I said, children seem able to accept a great many more things than adults, so I never thought the sudden appearance one of my grandmother’s friends -- wherever I happened to be at the moment – particularly unusual. They didn’t look any different, there were no glowing auras, no appearance of otherworldliness, and not one of them appeared draped in a sheet . . . but somehow I knew the person standing next to me was no longer living. They would always smile and ask me to tell my grandmother ‘good bye’ from them. Then they’d simply vanish. Suddenly, as if someone turned off a light or closed a door. I have to admit the first few times this happened it frightened me, but after a few dozen times I got used to the abrupt departures. My grandmother, however, never got used to me running up to tell her “Mrs. X said good bye” or “Mr. Y wanted you to know he went away.” To her, this ‘Call of the Grave,’ as she labeled it, was something to be kept hidden. From everyone. ‘No one will like you if they know you can do this.’ ‘Everyone will make fun of you.’ ‘You won’t have any friends.’ ‘If you tell anyone about this they’ll think you’re crazy.’ Sounds a bit like the overzealous mother in Stephen King’s CARRIE, doesn’t it? Well, it worked. I know my grandmother only thought to protect me and yet she frightened me more than any apparition ever had. I hadn’t understood until that moment, that not everyone could see ghosts. So, I stopped talking about it. At least, with the living. A good number of my imaginary friends weren’t just imaginary. As I matured I lost the ability to see ghosts, except on rare occasions, but I still was able to feel their presence. The closest thing I can compare the sensation to is like being on a Ferris Wheel – there’s a moment when you’ve just crested the very top of the wheel and you feel your stomach flutter. That’s the feeling I get, just above my navel . . . a fluttering pull that deepens the longer I’m in the presence of an entity. Within the last few years, however, I’ve not only begun to sense certain emotions that are connected to a specific “haunting” – sorrow, joy, fear – but, in some cases, have even experienced an entity’s final moments of life. |
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Got a Ghost? Have a Haunt? |
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If
you do and would like to have its story told |