Sunday, March 23, 2008

the ghost

My place is haunted. No big surprise, since the building is more than 100 years old.

When I first started hearing the ghost, I would lie awake in bed, listening to it walk down the hall. Opening doors and then clicking them shut. Sometimes I would come home and things would be out of order. Not ransacked. Just slightly moved around, as though someone had been sifting through my life.

I told my boyfriend. He would often sit up and stare wide-eyed at the creeping sounds in the middle of the night. Terrified. After a while he refused to stay over.

I told the ancient caretaker about the ghost. "That's jist a hant,” he explained. “He won't hurt you none. He lived here a long time ago. Died here too.”

Swell. So what does he want with me?

“He was an artist,” the caretaker explained. “I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want to scare you none. He liked goin’ to the theater and the museums jist like you do. He won’t hurt you none. He’s jist reel innerested in you, that’s all. He was a good man. And he won’t hurt you.”

A few days later I heard the steps in the hallway. Heard the door open and firmly click shut. And I thought, welcome. You are welcome here. And the noises stopped. And haven’t been back since.