Blogging For Books: Ghost stories

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I don’t believe in ghosts, at least not in what people think of as “ghosts.” Since I believe in reincarnation, I can’t believe in ghosts, Ouija boards, etc. I believe that what we call “ghosts” are either echoes in time, replaying in our plane, or a parallel plane of existence showing through a spot where the “veil between worlds grows thin.” For more on these theories, Google “String Theory.”

That being said, I have had some ghostly encounters. When I looked through old entries to find where I’d blogged them, I couldn’t spot the entries. So in honor of the “Blogging For Books” theme for October, I thought I’d take time to gather them.

My mother, Flora, is huge on ghosts. She thinks she’s personally haunted (not that that’s not true) since everywhere she lives, she find evidence of ghosts. The most haunted house we lived in was in Lake Wales, Florida. It wasn’t an old house or a particularly unusual one. The most ghostly moments I had were audio. The radio would turn on by itself. Once it did this and the song playing was “Joanna” so I called the ghost “Joanna.” Hey, I was nine.

The big haunting element was the run-and-thump. You’d be lying in bed at night and suddenly it would sound like someone was running over the roof. Then there would be a flash of light (usually) and a thump on the ground outside, as if someone had fallen or jumped off. It was a human-sized thump, not like there was a wild panther on the loose or something. I never saw any evidence of anyone running or jumping off the roof so I figured it was something else.

Flora told many tales of this haunting. The wicks on brand new candles would all be singed after she left the room. The dirt from the houseplants would be spread all over the foyer. At night, Joanna would pluck at the handles on her dresser drawers until the metal plinking would wake her up. Her kitchen witch would spin for no reason. The cat, who was outdoors about 90% of the time, refused to enter certain rooms, preferring to arch and hiss in the doorway. Personally, I think it was a ploy to move into a fancier house in a fancier neighborhood.

Hawk and I rented a lovely house right on Lake Erie in July 1999. He’s got a scientific yet superstitious mind. I’m a New Age witch who doesn’t believe what’s presented without a reasonable explanation or source. Our house was haunted.

I was home all day, writing usually. Sometimes I listened to music but I also liked to work in silence. I’m big on quiet (so is Holden; Zoe & Hawk like noise). I heard music — old music, like swing bands and ragtime. Since I like that kind of music, I didn’t think much about it. It was far-off and faint, as though it were coming over a baby monitor or through the heating system.

One day, about this time of year, I wanted to work in the quiet and the music had started. So I went to find the source. The windows were closed but I attributed the faintness to that. I thought some strange neighbor was blasting Glen Miller. When I went outside, it was quiet. I came back into the house. It seemed to be coming from upstairs. Maybe a clock radio was going off at the same time every day and we didn’t know it was on. I followed the sound upstairs. I searched for the sound everywhere but, yet again, it seemed to be coming from upstairs. I went into the attic. The faint music was there (the attic was unheated, which blew that theory). I looked all around but there was no source. Now it seemed to be coming from downstairs. “I must’ve missed it,” I said to the empty attic and I went down to the second floor. Now it was downstairs. I followed it to the main floor; it went downstairs. I went into the basement and it was upstairs again. It was the same volume level – barely there – no matter where I was, except when I was outside & didn’t hear it. So I decided it was just a strange thing happening and, since I couldn’t explain it, I turned on my radio and wrote.

Then I started seeing shadows out of the corner of my eye. As though someone had walked past but it wasn’t a form. Just a shadow. I saw this in the bathroom (there was only one) and in the kitchen. The previous residents were an older couple who had rented the home for over 30 years. After one passed away, the other went to a nursing home. Our landlords remodeled the entire house, retaining its charm but doing some much-needed updating. The main renovated areas were the kitchen and the bathroom. In retrospect, someone was upset about the changes but not so upset as to actually do much about it other than check it out. If it got awfully shadowy when I worked in the kitchen, I would bang pots and pans about and it would lighten up.

I never said anything to Hawk about these occurrences. I figured if there was no rational explanation, it must be my imagination.

We went out for First Night Erie and we were waiting for the philharmonic concert to begin at the Warner theater. I’m not sure how it came up but Hawk said, “Do you hear… music in the house?”

I was stunned. “Yes! Like old fashioned music. Like swing bands and stuff.”

He said, “Where is it coming from?”

“I don’t know. I’ve looked all over.”

He said that he’d done the same. He said that he’d followed it upstairs and downstairs, into the basement and attic, as I had. I asked him if he’d seen the shadows.

“Like someone walking by but there’s no one there?”

“Exactly.”

He’d seen it while getting ready for work in the morning, in the hallway outside the tiny, windowless bathroom.

We talked about it for a while, until the concert was about to begin. He decreed we shouldn’t talk about it in the house. We could talk about it when we went out. I was just happy that we’d experienced the exact same thing and hadn’t compared notes until that moment.

Nothing new happened for six months, until we were moving out. Packing boxes & such, I felt “watched” but that wasn’t new. Then I was at the new house and Hawk was at the old house, removing nails from walls, etc. and packing up loose items. He called me and said that he was eager to get home before dark. Well I imagined so, as I had all the lamps and there wasn’t much overhead lighting.

He was all in a tizzy when he got home. He said, “They were out.”

“Who was out?”

“You know. Them.”

“The former residents?”

“Yes. They were moving things around.”

I knew he was tired & stressed from moving and buying the house so I didn’t question it.

He went on to say that he thought it was his imagination. He was using the hammer, set it down beside himself, did some quick thing and reached for the hammer and it was gone. He found it clear across the room. It happened over and over with tools, tape and boxes. Finally he decided he’d had enough, packed up his stuff and came home.

Of course the new house wans’t exactly unoccupied when we moved in either. The only encounter I had there was the clearest ghost encounter I’ve ever experienced; it was visual.

It was the day I’d finished my novel. I’d been up working until 4 a.m., unable to stop. I sent the few final chapters to my friends and went to bed right around the time Hawk left for work. I got up in the afternoon, read my congratulatory e-mails and some feedback notes and prepared to go out for a celebratory dinner.

It was July so I had the windows open. I got undressed and I was running a bath, my back to the master bathroom door. I was testing the water temperature when I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, perfectly reflected in the bathroom mirror. I didn’t move. I saw dark pants, a long-sleeved dress shirt, a tie and dark hair. It was a tall man, facing the same way I was; my view of him was sideways. He fit Hawk’s description and I assumed it was my husband, home early, planning to scare me. I jumped up and turned around to give him a pre-emptive scare and there was no one there. This all happened in a matter of seconds.

He must’ve seen me see him, I said to myself. I peeked into the hallway. Nope. I investigated the bedroom. Not there. I said, “I know you’re here so just stop hiding.” Silence. I got on a robe and went down to check the garage. His car wasn’t there. I looked all through the house and never found anyone. I never saw him (the ghost in the mirror) again.

Those are my true-life, unembellished ghost stories. We tell them from time to time but we generally keep things to ourselves. We already have enough reasons for people to think we’re flaky without sharing our ghost stories. Now I’ve shared them with all of you. But you knew I was a flake anyway.

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