It’s what got me dreaming crazy stuff and eventually writing paranormal stories. I have plenty more fiction stories to share but right now I’d like to share a real one. At age thirteen I had my first paranormal experience. It’s true.
Every weekday after school I’d go to Pop’s house. He was an elder neighbor up the hill. I did my homework at his kitchen table. I can’t even remember how this routine came to be. He’d fix me a big cup of hot tea with milk and sugar. It tasted so good. I was a quiet teen at the time and Pops just made me feel safe. Just before dark I’d walk down the hill back to my house.
I still drink tea with milk today.
One day I woke up with an awful feeling about Pops. I wanted to stay with him. Sadly, I went to school and when I returned home I found out Pops had passed away. I knew it, somehow, I knew something was wrong with Pops. I was devastated.
Days later at the funeral, Pops’ thirty two year old daughter said we were taking Pops by the house one last time, before we go to the cemetery. There I am in the fifth car behind the hearse carrying Pops and when we passed his house there he was sitting on the front porch waving goodbye.
I knew then I’d miss him forever. After the funeral we all went to Pops house. I was sitting in the living room when his daughter said, “I don’t want to scare anyone but when we brought Pops by the house he was sitting on the front porch waving goodbye.” I was scared, really scared.
I stood up and walked to the screen door. I remember leaning my head on the screen as I looked out at the front porch chair. He wasn’t there. I burst through the screen door, ran off the porch and down the hill to my house. I’ll never forget Pops, and I never returned to that house.
I didn’t grow up in a house telling ghost stories, it wasn’t my imagination. I think if you are attached to someone emotionally they never really leave and they always say goodbye. They will be waiting until we join them in the afterlife. Anyone else out there have a real ghost story to tell?