I don’t see ghosts very often, but I know they’re always around, like shadows detached from their host objects. Something extra. Something forgotten. Something best mistaken for something else.
Last October, my good friend, Melissa Mayhue, and I had attended a lovely new readers’ conference, Hot Mojave Knights, in Las Vegas. The conference was at a huge hotel at the far edge of the city. Slot machines filled every spare corner. Smoking was allowed inside the building, but only faint hint of it lingered in the air. The hotel had a gift shop with a surprising variety of items from clothes to stuffed animals to toiletries.
On our last morning, we stopped to pick up some gifts to take home to the family. I selected a T-shirt for my granddaughter and a small teddy bear for my grandson. As the next day was Monday, it would be a week or so before I’d get to give the gifts to the grandbabies. I set the teddy bear and tee on my dresser and didn’t think much more about it…until strange things started to happen.
It was a cute bear...in the light. But for some reason, in the dark, it looked like a malicious little clown—an observation I never shared with my husband. Half the things in my mind aren’t real anyway, but I spend so much time there that I start to believe them.
My husband and I began having terrible dreams about ghosts and levitating and being thrown around the hallway outside of our bedroom. Neither of us mentioned our nightmares to the other at first. Then one morning, having coffee before sunrise, my husband looked at the bear in the dimly lit room and said, “There’s something not right with that clown.”
We still didn’t put two and two together. Exhausted from sleeping poorly, I decided to take a nap that afternoon. I’d just drifted off when I heard the front door open and someone talking in the living room. My dog barked and got off the bed, then barked a few more times at the closed bedroom door.
I heard a conversation happening in the living room, but thought my husband had it under control. Sounded like a woman and a man in an animated discussion. I forced myself to go to sleep; the dog never left his post by the door. When I woke up a little while later, I asked my husband who’d come by. He gave me a blank look. “No one’s been over. I was out back smoking a cigar the entire time you were sleeping.”
After that, we had doors—locked ones—open at odd times during the night and day, which our house spirits do when they get stirred up about something. I asked my husband to throw the teddy bear away on trash day. It was so malignant, we couldn’t give it to our grandson—or anyone else! When it was gone, so were the nightmares and other inexplicable activities.
That’s one of my ghost stories. What are yours? It’s the time for sharing spooky stories, so share with us!