#Paranormal Wednesday - Little Ghost Stories: Part Two

Photo courtesy of Jose M Vazquez via Flickr

Welcome to part two of my Little Ghost Stories. Because of Musa Publishing closing its doors (and consequently, its blog) you may see a couple of recycled Musa blog posts this week. This is one of them. I've gone into greater detail on this particular one because I don't have space/word count constraints in my blog.

Little Ghost Stories: Part Two

I grew up moving yearly. My step-dad was always in search of the "perfect" teaching job, which didn't afford us the stability of a white-picket fence kind of life. In one particular instance, I remember being relegated to a walk-in closet as my bedroom because that's all we could afford. I suppose it has given me issues, but my parents did the best they could. Most of our rentals were older places, and with these older places, came a ghost or two. It's something I learned to accept. A new rental meant a new "something" to coexist with--and sometimes they weren't so nice. This experience is one of many. You can believe me or not, it's totally up to you.

When I was 13-years-old, my parents rented an older house near the woods. It had a garden, a tree-house, a large yard to do cartwheels in—everything a kid could want. It also had ghosts. I would lay awake for hours and watch a white cat walk through my bedroom wall. Over and over again. No explanation for that, it just was. During the day, and out of the corner of my eye, I would see an old lady. She would follow me down the stairs to the playroom and back up again. She would follow me into my bedroom. Sometimes, I would see her in the living room, sitting in my mom’s rocking chair. I wasn't afraid, she was something I came to accept. Out in my tree-house, there was another presence. It wasn't the old lady and it wasn't the cat, but something else entirely. Whatever "it" was, made me vaguely uncomfortable. I'm not afraid of heights in the slightest, but I always felt I needed to watch my back in that tree. I had the strong feeling there was an opportunist who would be inclined to give me a shove, should my attention wander. Yet another presence lingered in the basement, but only when it rained. Another stood beside our mailbox, waiting. Let's just say the house was full! It wasn't until we moved, that I overheard my parents discussing the fact that a lady had died in the house just before we bought it. That was news to me (and unfortunately, taught me the joys of eavesdropping). As far as the other presences went, I'm unsure about them. As a kid, I learned to shrug my shoulders and move on.

If you missed it, part one of Little Ghost Stories is here.