I saw the Ghost when I was nine. I remember the night vividly, even though
time has softened the edge of fear from the memory.
Before I go any further, I need to describe my room. The setting is
important. My room was in the third, half-basement level of a 1,500 square
foot, four level split. The two north facing windows in my room were
exactly ground level. Had I been of a more mischievous nature, I would
have used that as an opportunity to sneak out of the house at night and
carouse. As it was, I just thought that they would provide me with an
adequate exit in the case of fire. My room was sparsely furnished with
only a bed and a bookshelf (completely filled with books, sorted by size
and author). The bed was placed parallel against the wall opposite the
door. Thus, if I wanted to, I could lie in bed, look through my door, and
see all the way up the stairs into the kitchen. The closet was one of
those flat closets with accordian doors. I always made sure that the doors
were closed at night before I went to bed. You could never be too careful.
The door to my room was covered with various stickers. The significant
thing about my door was that there was no hardware on the door jamb for the
latch. Therefore, if there were any sudden breezes or drafts in the home,
my door would shudder and bump against the wooden jamb. I could never really shut my door.
My room was painted a light blue color, almost white. At two in the
morning the moonlight streaming through my window would envelope the room
in an incandescent glow. It would really creep me out. Therefore, I
really tried hard not to wake up at night.
But that night I did. The sound of my door bumping open and shut awakened
me. Certain that it was my Dad coming to check on me, I groggily turned my
head to great him. Instead of my Dad, though, there was a little girl in a
plain dress standing by my door, about the height of my doorknob. She had
long hair, pulled back, and looked to be between the ages of six and eight.
She was the eerily brilliant, whitish-blue color of my room. I could see
the vague forms of the stickers on my door behind her.
Then she started to move toward me. There was no articulation of her
limbs, or any discernible physical movement on her part--she just floated
toward me. My horror was so complete as to render me completely still. I
tried to scream, but found that my tongue was as still and useless to me as
the books on my bookshelf. She floated right up to and through me, all the
while with a completely lifeless expression (excuse the pun) on her little
face. She seemed to stare through me.
I have no idea how long I sat paralyzed in my bed; horrified beyond
description. When I finally found the ability to move, I bolted from my
bed, ran straight up the stairs to the kitchen, whipped around the corner,
and bolted up the stairs to my parents room.
That's it. I have never seen another ghost again in my life. Here's the
interesting part.
I have long believed that this house was (is) haunted. The room in which
the preceding account occurred was the only room in the house that never
was warm, even though there was a functioning heating duct to the room.
There was absolutely nothing that could be done to make the room warm.
I never made that connection until I read some of the stories on your
website about the physical drop in temperature during some paranormal
activities.
Also, there were many times that I felt someone was watching me. I also
only had these feelings in the bottom part of the home. Never on the main
or upper floors.
