Posted on October 28, 2010 at 6:34 AM

Second-hand Ghosts, Part IV

Before beginning this chapter, I want to say that in my quest of putting everything in writing, and watching my ghost stories grow and grow, the next couple of years of my seasonal Tuatha de Danaan publication will be devoted to the ghosts. This is, of course in hopes that the world will stay on axis. This does, however, cut into my little creative exercises, that I so much enjoy; so, from time to time my little freebie will be supplemented. I have ideas for a little herbal and rock book, for instance. You never know. The winter edition is the same as the others, that is, printed in color on parchment. Something like Mona's Ghost, it's a poem, only this time, about a dog. The ghost stories will be a little different: printed in black and white pamphlet form, they will still contain artwork and photographs, either of dolls, ghosts, or haunting places...

Anyways, on with the ghosts! I'm calling this chapter second hand ghosts, although I can vouch to say the first house was most certainly haunted, as I'd spent time there.

When I was an undergrad a very good friend of mine lived in an old two story white house, right across from the convenience store. It has since been torn down. She lived there with several other girls. The house was always terribly cold, so cold to need a sweatshirt in August. When I was there, I'd always hear somebody walking around upstairs, but my friend would say that nobody else was home. She'd also tell me about their haunting experiences. It seemed the ghosts there, and she said it was an entire family, enjoyed messing with the blondes the most. The one girl had her head pushed under water while in the bathtub. Another had her foot grabbed while in bed. I also noticed that some people did not seem like themselves while there. It's as if their personalities would change and they would become disturbed, violent, or moody.

My second bit is second hand, from my mother, who seldom has ghostly experiences, except in her dreams. We were in New Orleans, The French Quarter, at The Hotel St Marie on Toulouse Street, where I always stayed, when in the quarter. All the times I've stayed there, I never had any ghostly happenings; but I always stayed upstairs, in a room with a balcony, where my parents were staying out in the courtyard by the pool. My mother was in her bed, doing her nails. My dad was in the shower. She didn't see anything, but she felt somebody sit down on the corner of her bed.

After my mother's dog passed away she also swears she heard him snoring next to her while she was resting out on the patio.