Ghost (almost)

So! I’m starting a new section on my blog: ghost stories. Real-life ghost stories or what I thought were ghosts. Usually there was/is an explanation for whatever occurred, but sometimes, just sometimes, I could only guess at the reason my heart was racing and goosebumps were rising. I don’t really believe in ghosts. But I also don’t not believe in ghosts. I’m a skeptic. But I would love to see a ghost.

I have been fascinated by TV programs about ghosts from a young age. Murder mysteries, Scooby-Doo, Murder She Wrote, Sherlock Holmes, Ripley’s Believe It or Not, Unsolved Mysteries, TAPS, Celebrity Ghost Stories. Anything. I watched The Exorcist and couldn’t sleep for 3 days. If I think about that movie at night, I don’t sleep for hours. That sh!t is scary. It could happen. LOL


My first memory of a ghost experience was when I was about 8 years old. I think. I was over the age of 5, I know that, and I was at home with my sister for a few hours while my mother ran an errand. (This was the 80s, when parents left their children under 10 alone at home for a few hours. Totally normal!)

I was watching TV, sitting on the couch. The couch was orange with big flowers. The same couch that everyone bought in the 70s. My parents had that couch for 20 years or more. Mainly because you couldn’t ruin it. Spills, urine, mud, urine. Nothing could end this couch. And we all secretly wanted it to die. Dirt and liquids just rolled off its back. And arms. And cushions.

babytina couch

^This is me. Sitting on the couch in 1974. So there’s photographic evidence. We had the couch for several more years after the ghost sighting. So, it had to have been 20 years old. Also, this couch existed before I did. So, actually 20+ years.

Anyway. I was curled up on the couch. Drinking a glass of water.

I put my glass of ice water down on the end table. Smooth glass bottom on sleek Formica top. I was watching some TV program with my sister, who was only 2 years older than me, and the glass slowly moved. It slid, BY ITSELF, at least 5 inches.

GAH!

Lump in my throat, frozen. Didn’t know what to do.

If I knew how to curse, I would have uttered a string of profanity impressing even my father. In my 8-year-old mind, I immediately thought, “Ghost!” At 44 though, I would have said, “F***ing ghost!”

Strangely, I didn’t leave the room. I did rocket to the other side of the long lounger and waited for my sister to exorcise the ghost.

Get it!

Was what I was thinking. But what I asked instead, “Did you see that?”

Quiet nod of affirmation.

GAH!

We hesitated, unsure what was happening or how to get rid of a ghost. I finally asked. “What do we do?”

I could tell my sister was just as frightened as I was. And just as sure that it was a f***ing ghost. It was a bizarre, surreal feeling that no words could encompass.

“Call Mom!” she realized.

Crap! The phone was by the glass. I carefully creeped over to the phone and looked around at everything! Carefully examing the atmosphere for signs of wisps or movement or sound. I, with overwhelming terror, picked up the phone and dialed. Old-school rotary dial, so I had to spend a few more seconds in the danger zone. Then I recoiled quickly to the end of the couch when I heard the ring tone begin on the line.

Our mother must have been with our grandmother or at a meeting for school (she was a bus driver for the local school district) because we knew where to reach her. (This was the early 80s, so no cell phones, pagers, tablets, email, etc. You had to know where someone was going to reach them by phone! LOL)

I called. “Mom! There’s a ghost! My glass moved by itself!”

No laughing. No incredulity. No “have you lost your mind?” No dial tone of hanging up on me for telling tall tales. “Is there water under the glass?”

I checked. Water!

She instantly knew. Had she been haunted by the old water-under-the-glass ghost before? How did she know?

The glass of ice water had sweat dripping off the sides and pooling under the glass. I had a quick lesson in condensation. The slick surfaces had magically moved my drink. It wasn’t a ghost. It was science! lol I wasn’t totally convinced. But after a few hours and my mother’s return home, we moved on.

My point though–I thought there was a ghost. Those horrible feelings you have when you’re alone or isolated. The creepy cast that comes over a lonely street in the witching hour. Darkened hallways on moonless midnights. The terrible paranoia of being watched. The blood-pumping, heart-pounding sense of a madman lurking around the corner. Hair-raising, teeth-chattering spooky specters of psychosis.

It doesn’t matter if it IS real. It feels real. Right?


I have many more ghost stories that I’ll add over the next several days. Some much
more serious. And please, leave your ghost story in the comments or email me at martha.maggio@sbcglobal.net. Tell me your personal ghost or almost-ghost stories and I’ll pick my favorite ones to repost with your permission.

 

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