The Ghosts That Haunt Me

13 Sep

There was a movie called “Skeleton Key”, I think…and it had Kate Hudson in it, and I think…

It was about voodoo and hoodoo and youdoo, and me-doo, and all sorts of doo, but the one thing I took away from the film was the line; “If you don’t believe, then it can’t hurt you. ”

Which I don’t. I don’t believe in ghosts, voodoo, hauntings, blog reviewers, and other nastiness that goes bump in the night.

The wife does though. She watches those ghost hunter shows where a bunch of guys with video cameras that film in the dark, and old cassette machines for recording obscure noises, turn an hours worth of pure nothing into almost-but-not-quite-we-may-have-recorded-a-ghost-but-more-likely-recorded-the-sound-of-someone-stepping-in-gum entertainment.

Whenever she threatens that I have to sleep on the couch, I just yell through the house, “Show us a sign that you are here. Show us your presence!” Which is what all the ghost hunter people yell at cemeterys, old castles, and old folks homes.

Back into the bed I get to go. I’m better than a monster-shielding blanket for a 4 year old.

My Uncle, (Great Uncle to the kids, so you know he has been around for awhile) believes in ghosts as well. He tells stories about when he owned his million dollar house on the banks of Lake Erie. He tells of a ghost that use to throw his folded laundry off the stairs, and move a shoe horn that he kept by the front door. The ghost also smoked, because my Uncle being a former smoker, (when smoking was cool) would smell cigarette smoke in the house.

My Uncle, a widower, lived alone.

Now you might be able to explain some of that: cigarette smoke lingers in the walls forever, absent mindedness on putting the shoe horn back, you didn’t quite set the laundry fully on the step and eventually it fell…

…or it could be a ghost.

Boo.

That was a long way to go to tell you about what happened to me the other day. I was alone in the house, a rarity with 4 kids, when I heard footsteps in the loft. The loft is on the second floor and over looks the stairs coming up to the bed rooms.

This was definitely not the sound of a house settling, but foot steps walking from one end of the room to the other. I was watching TV, so I turned it off. I heard the foot steps again. I know I was the only one in the house, everyone was accounted for in either activities or work or school… no one can just sneak in either, the front door is way too noisy.

So, son-of-a-bitch for being a man, and protector of the family, I have to go investigate. Being a fan of horror movies and books , I know bringing a knife or golf club, or computer mouse, (hey, that was what was around me) would do no good against a ghost. So I go up the stairs empty handed. But also being a fan of horror movies and books, I know not to call out and alert every supernatural thing to my presence.

When I get to the top of the stairs and turn to look into the loft, I saw an image of my dead Grandmother holding a picture of my first pet goldfish (Goldy was it’s name.) in one hand, and with the other hand she is wiggling one boney finger back and forth, beckoning me to come closer, as she mouths the words, “I told you idiot you cannot walk a goldfish! Your were always a dummy!”

OK, I made that up. Actually when I got to the top of the stairs and turned to look into the loft, I saw…nothing. I pause and wait for a few minutes.

Nothing.

So I go back downstairs, and turn on the Playstation.

As soon as I do, I hear the foot steps again.

Throwing down the controller and muttering a few home made curse words, I charge up the stairs, look into the loft, at…

… nothing.

It didn’t happen again, although everyone in the house has reported as hearing the same thing at one time or another. The house is no more than 10 years old, no murder committed in it, no ancient Indian burial ground underneath it, just regular old suburban house.

I still don’t believe, although I can not explain the foot steps, or why other members of the family have heard the same thing.

 

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