I grew up in an old house on the edge of Bloody Hill, where the deadliest battle of the Civil War took place in 1861 and General Lyon was killed. As a result, I heard more than my fair share of ghost stories growing up. My older brother and his friends even went on “ghost-hunting” outings at night.
Thinking logically, I don’t believe in “ghosts.” I’ve always believed in angels, but not ghosts in the way they are typically described. However, one summer in the early 1990’s that all changed.
I was sitting on the edge of our pool by my babysitter with my feet dangling in the restricted deep-end, facing the house. My brother and the babysitter’s brother were playing in the water. All of a sudden, I noticed a faint outline of a man standing in the doorway of the back door. There were no features visible; it was a transparent fog-like outline with distinct edges. He was tall, several inches over 6 feet.
After he saw us staring, he turned and ran away, going through the kitchen. As he passed the closed kitchen window, the curtains blew.
I turned to my babysitter just as she looked at me. Her face was as white as mine probably was. We confirmed we had seen the same thing and called the boys out of the pool to discuss what happened. Being the logical individuals we are, we decided that we must have saw a shadow (even though I knew darn well it wasn’t a shadow). We slowly edged around the house in a huddle to see if there was a car in the driveway. There was not.
Later that summer the same fog-like figure came into the living room and turned up the stereo. I saw the volume dial move as it got louder. He then ran from the room as quickly as he had arrived. I stayed under a blanket on the couch for the remainder of the afternoon. (In hindsight, I can’t blame him. We were rocking to Michael Bolton).
My parents hated hearing the ghost stories and eventually fired the babysitter for “putting ideas in our heads.” I didn’t find out that they, too, had experience with this ghost until 13 years later.
My dad slept in the basement guest room due to his surround-sound snoring. He acknowledged that the ghost bothered him that summer, as well. The ghost banged on the walls, turned the t.v. on and off, and flashed the lights during the night. Eventually, my dad spoke to the ghost, telling him that although he wasn’t afraid of him, he was scaring the children and needed to leave our home.
My dad told this story to our neighbors last year. Our neighbors looked at each other in shock, asked what year this occurred, and then told my parents that at the end of the same summer in question, their house had become “haunted.” They too, eventually asked the ghost to leave and had no further problems.
So, believe what you like. …And have a happy and safe Halloween!
