When my grandmother was dying, she saw fairies dancing in the painting hung at the foot of her bed. She saw a little brown dog curled up on the couch and a few days before she went into hospital, she insisted that there was a cat inside her house, despite her cat being outside.
People were very quick to say that she was hallucinating because of the medication and I’m not going to say that they’re wrong. I’m also not going to say that what Nan saw didn’t exist.
A few weeks after her death, while we were cleaning out her house, I saw the ghost cat too. I nearly tripped over it in fact, and dodged, because I saw a cat, which then ran under the table. A cat that didn’t exist, except that it looked like a cat my grandmother had owned previously. An hour later, I saw the same cat/ghost, out of the corner of my eye again.
I believe in ghosts. I always have and there is very little you can say to dissuade me. I have been to Sarah Island and felt the anger and sadness emanating from the convict walls there and the waves of cold and anger that boil through the paths. I have been scared spitless, on a path at Port Arthur, just knowing that it felt wrong.
I believe and I don’t care if you don’t.
When we bought our house, I was very careful to make sure there was no “bad feel” anywhere in the house. And while it felt cold and damp and in need of renovating, it never felt like we shouldn’t be here and I never felt like we ought to leave.
We bought this place over three years ago now. Since then, time and money have conspired against us and we’ve managed to do very little in the way of renovations, short of clearing up the indoor pond and getting the kitchen and bathroom floor replaced.
What has happened though, are enough small things that I am starting to seriously believe that we have a ghost.
A while back, Nathan and I were sitting watching TV, when the dining room light began to flick on and off. Not a minor flicker, but on and off, for around a minute, before the globe blew.
The doors will open and close occasionally, with no rhyme, or reason. Suddenly, they’ll just slam open, or shut.
We have the things that fall off benches, a full beer that threw itself and landed a good metre from the table and a few other niggly things that have me declaring “It’s the ghost” and Nathan rolling his eyes at me.
My brother heard footsteps through the kitchen when he was staying here one night and thought that I was walking around. On inspection, he was the only one awake.
I’ve been touched, twice. Both times cold and strangely not scary. Once on the shoulder as I stood in front of the mirror, and once on the cheek as I was laying in bed.
It’s spooky and it’s occasionally creepy and I absolutely believe that we have a ghost.
Earlier today, after my friend and her children had left, Nathan and I were sitting in our bedroom chatting. To my left there is a closet, with stuff being stored on top of it. One of those things is a lamp with a glass shade.
As we were talking, one of the panes of glass in the shade shattered, like an explosion.
There was nothing putting stress on the glass (it’s a loose frame type thing) and nothing fell on it. It just, broke.
Which is yet another thing to add to our “we’ve got a ghost” files.
Frankly, if we had the money, I’d seriously consider selling this house to move to a less haunted place. Not that there is anything wrong with sharing real estate with a ghost, I’d just prefer I wasn’t getting touched and having lamp shades shatter.
What about you? Do you believe in ghosts?
