Ghost Encounters in the Real World
Do you believe in ghosts?
As a kid, they were just stories made up to scare our friends and ourselves at Halloween or during sleepovers. But, as an adult, I came to realize there might be something more to the idea of spirits. What convinced me? The only thing that usually does…experience.
Truth is, I have a lot of ghost stories, but that would be a much longer article. So, I’ll try to hit the highlights and let you decide what you believe, and maybe tell the other stories another day.
It began when I was about twelve or thirteen. My parents used to go out on Friday nights, which I usually enjoyed. It meant I could watch whatever I wanted, call my friends (we didn’t have cell phones and texting then. Calls were on a landline with a phone attached to the wall by a cord that always got tangled). Often, I’d invite a friend over to spend the night, but on a couple of occasions when I was alone, I heard something that scared the bejesus out of me.
Footsteps.
To be precise, footsteps coming down the hall, towards my bedroom. This might not be so alarming if I weren’t home alone, and the hallway wasn’t carpeted. Footsteps, clear as day of heels of shoes tap, tap, tapping a hard floor, getting closer.
One such night as I watched my old tube TV (yes, I’m that old!), I heard them. They were louder than usual and coming toward my room. I literally stopped breathing as I stared at my open doorway just waiting to see who it was. Then the sound stopped. Seconds ticked by until I could breathe again, but I was afraid to get off my bed and look down the hall. I did tell my mom about it later. Eventually, this particular sound stopped, but other craziness began.
Same house, many years later…
Me, an adult now, living on my own elsewhere, but charged with watching my parents’ cats while they were out of town. I came over late afternoon, bringing dinner with me. My plan was to stick around for a few hours to give the kitties some company. I went into the den and got on their computer to check my (might’ve been MySpace then) account. The lamp next to me flickered. I looked at it, checked the bulb. Not loose. It flickered again.
This time, I spoke out loud, no longer a scared teenager, but someone much more interested in ghosts and also a bit of an amateur ghost hunter. (More stories there!)
“I know you’re there. Cut it out. I’m busy. Leave the light alone.”
The light stopped flickering and did not flicker again after that.
I’ve always felt there was something attached either to the house or maybe to the land it sits on. But nothing was as weird then as after my stepdad passed away…in this house. Yes, this same house I grew up in, moved out of after high school, until I hit my mid-forties, and then, after he passed, moved back in to take care of my mom. I think it’s important to understand I really don’t like this house. There are too many bad memories attached to it that have nothing to do with ghosts and everything to do with an alcoholic stepfather. But that’s a different tale.
So, my stepdad had been diagnosed with colon cancer in December of 2013. By February 2014, he lost that battle. Day before Valentine’s Day.
I got the call around 10:00 a.m. from my stepbrother. Come over. Dad’s gone.
I broke my own personal land speed record for getting dressed and out the door. The coroner had already taken him out when I arrived. I sat at the kitchen table with my stepbrother. My uncle and aunt arrived. Then my uncle said he forgot something at home (I don’t recall what, but he left the front door open, closing only the screen door. We never lock the screen door, and my uncle was coming right back.
My stepdad, on the other hand, was all about locking doors in life.
When my uncle came back, he couldn’t get in. The door was locked. My stepbrother and I had not left the kitchen area. My mom was resting in the back room. No one had touched the screen door. And it’s not easy to “accidentally” hit the lock because the door wouldn’t close if the lock was engaged.
I looked at my stepbrother and chuckled. “Guess Harvey locked the door on Uncle John.” (Harvey being my stepdad)
We had a bit of a laugh over that.
Over the next couple of days, mom’s landline phone would ring, and the caller ID showed it to be Harvey XXXXX at this house number. If we answered it, all we heard was static. This happened several times, but eventually stopped.
Then, one afternoon after I’d moved back in, I was in the living room writing an article for the local newspaper. I had my handy little digital voice recorder out since it was an interview I was transcribing. My mother was sitting on the sofa watching television.
The door in our kitchen that leads out to the garage suddenly opened and closed by itself. The garage was not open, and neither was the patio door, which would be the only possible way that could happen in an explainable manner (airflow and suction). It just opened and slammed shut.
My eyes popped wide, and I looked at mom. She looked at me, same shocked expression. Then I hit the record button on my DVR and asked, “Harv, is that you?”
I still have the recording. He did answer… “Yes.”
Mom freaked out. I freaked out a little too.
It has been nearly ten years since he passed. Now and again, we still have some weird encounters here in the house, like canned food being knocked off the shelves in the pantry, and mom got touched in the shower in those early days, and as she gets older (and this has been something unique to her for her entire life), she sees spirits walking through her bedroom, the same room where my stepdad passed. She doesn’t know any of these people, and they seem to walk a particular path from the bathroom to the wall that separates her room from mine. I’ve often wondered if his death opened some kind of portal in there. It’s always cold in that room no matter the season. But the cats aren’t afraid to go in, so I figure it’s okay. At least, we haven’t burned any sage in there yet or called in a priest.
These are but a few of my personal ghost stories.
So, do you believe in ghosts? Do you have a “ghost” story?