Ghosts think I’m boring. That must be the reason they don’t hang around with me or make their presences known. They have more interesting people to haunt. I’m no fun, probably because I don’t scare as easily as some people and I never faint. It must be awfully tedious to haunt someone like that – kind of like pulling a practical joke on someone who doesn’t react.
Even my departed relatives don’t come around, which, frankly, hurts my feelings. The fact that most of us didn’t hang together even when they were alive doesn’t matter. They’re family and they owe me a haunting or two, even if it’s just to give me a couple of good stories to tell people.
I have known so many people who have claimed to have had paranormal experiences. Even my strict Roman Catholic grandmother, who would have considered belief in anything like that a mortal sin worthy of the Inquisition, eternal damnation and excommunication, once had what she described as a dream or vision sent to her by the souls in Purgatory. It scared the stuffing out of her, but it woke her up. Earlier, she had actually prayed, asking the souls in Purgatory to help her wake up. She had to head over to the church at some unreal hour to be part of a 24-hour continuous prayer activity, and she was afraid she would oversleep. I guess someone in Purgatory heard her prayer. Be careful what you ask for!
I have a friend who can sense if there is a ghost around anywhere, and if it is a good ghost or a bad ghost.
My Humor I instructor at Gotham Writers’ Workshop is a paranormal researcher and author, as well as a novelist. Here he is, if you’re interested: http://jkachuba.com/index.htm
So why do I have to go through life deprived of any ghostly encounters, when, according to the Biography Channel, half of Hollywood has seen ghosts, not to mention enough ordinary people to fill up a few TV seasons? What do those people have that I don’t have?
Of course, I’m only interested in good ghosts. I don’t want to meet up with Jack the Ripper, dead or alive. Vlad the Impaler can stay away, too. But if Aunt Grace wants to pay me a visit, I’ll be happy.
The only being who ever came to me after he passed on was my cat Oliver. That was nice of him. I could swear I saw him more than once in my peripheral vision, walking past me, and I could feel his disembodied presence. Even after I adopted my present kitty, Harmony, Oliver stuck around. Knowing him, he probably enjoyed the company.
Unfortunately, Oliver does not seem to have come with me when I moved to my new apartment, so I now have to be content with pictures and memories. Good-bye, Sweet Boy.
I’m making myself cry now, which means it’s time to end this.