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This Ghostly Library Features:

57. Apparition's Lullabye. . . by Laura George

58. Walk With Me l. . . by Jeff

59. My Entity. . . by Andrea Honeyman

60. Zounds! Hounds!. . . by Mike Houghton

61. Ninja's My Name! . . . by Ninja

62. She Wasn't Alone . . . by Dena Her

63. A Girl and Her Farm . . . by Bev Cormier

64. The Hollow Whistler . . . by Carolyn Davis

65. Bed & Breakfast . . . by Diane Rhodes

66. Dream Dad . . . by Sara

67. Ghost Comic . . . by Paula Dennis

68. Scared Stiff . . . by Tiffany

69. The Long Road Home . . . by Christy Gerrell

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Apparition's Lullabye
by Laura George
Hailing From: Corona, California
Where it Happened: Ashton Apts. Corona Hills, Corona CA

In April of 1994 my boyfriend, my daughter and myself moved into the apartment. When we were in bed we heard foot steps, like those of a child walking softly on the carpet. Then we heard the bathroom door close. After waiting a couple of minutes we heard the shuffling of feet once again.

Scott called out to my daughter to find out if she was okay -- but he received no answer -- so he got out of bed to see if she needed anything. He found her sound asleep in her bed.

At that time, my daughter had one of those toy baby doll-bottles that played a lullaby when you push a button on the bottom. I happened to come home early one day from work, around 2:30 in the afternoon and the lullaby was playing from the bottle. I thought maybe we had a small earthquake, and that maybe the toys in her toy box had shifted, thus hitting the button and causing the bottle to play it's lullaby.

I went into her room and started to dig for the bottle. Of course it was in the bottom of the toy box. I put the bottle on the top shelf in the closet -- and finally it stopped playing.

Three days later, I came early again due to a headache -- it was around the same time as before. Once again the lullaby started playing and I thought to myself, "What the hell?!" I went into her room and looked up on the shelf for the bottle -- but it was not there. Listening to the lullaby and trying to figure out were it was coming from, I followed the sound and once again there it was buried deep in the bottom of her toy box.

I was deeply puzzled and confused on how it could have possibly gotten there. You see, my daughter was only 6 at the time and could not possibly have reached the top of the shelf.

Then, on Saturday afternoon, my boyfriend and I were watching TV when all of a sudden the eerie lullaby started to play again. I looked at him and told him what had happened over the past couple of days when I had come home from work early. He said that he knew exactly what I was talking about because, as it seems, this bottle would also be playing the lullaby each day whenever he arrived home -- which was usually around 3:30 in the afternoon.

I asked him to throw the bottle away. He said he wasn't going to -- he wanted me to do it. He said, "I'm don't want to get it PO'ed."

The bottle played once again that afternoon -- and finally I was tired of it. I took the bottle and wrapped it in one of my daughters fancy baby (things) and then wrapped it in a thick blanket. I finished by putting it back on top of the shelf in her closet and closed the door tight.

Needless to say the bottle played -- but about three days later it finally stopped. I was tucking my daughter in bed and she was angry. I asked what was wrong. She said that she was tired of "putting her doll stroller back to were it belonged." I wasn't sure what she was talking about. She said, that every night when she comes into her room to get ready for bed her baby doll stroller would be on the other side of the room. She then looked at me and asked me if there was such a thing as ghost. I asked her, "Why?" She explained that sometimes she sees a little girl next to her toy box. I was speechless. All I could do was tell her we would talk about it later.

The following weekend we volunteered to baby-sit for one of our friends' newborn baby. The child was wonderful as long as we stayed in the living room -- but whenever we took him into one of the other rooms, he would scream his little head off. If he was asleep and we walked him into one of the rooms, he would wake up screaming.

That Sunday, my daughter was playing outside and found a crib mobile. Believe it or not, that mobile played the same exact lullaby as that bottle. I told her to put it back were she found it, but the next thing I know it's in her toy box -- with just a note that read, "When you come home from work, your cable box will flash HI!"

We went to the managers office and asked them to research the past tenants. Nothing was ever found. Nothing at all.

This story is one of Corona's own.

Thank you for your story, Laura. Sorry it took so long to put up on Ghostories, but here it finally is! I really appreciate it and thank you for sending it to us.

Having had small wee ones ourselves, we can appreciate the predisposition of musical toys to play sometimes all by themselves. However, what I think we have here is this: the music you heard was intended as a greeting to you both whenever you arrived back at home each day. This was, as it seems, the voiceless spirit welcoming you in the only way she knew how (much the same way as a poltergeist gets your attention -- but in this case it was in a good way). And, because of that, I believe she either has known you personally, or had grown to like you very, very much. Finally, because it was a musical bottle, I would theorize that the tiny aparrition was hungry -- (good thing you at least had a bottle handy!! Can you possibly imagine?? Or, hmmmmmm . . . maybe . . . ?).

But perhaps some donut holes chased with some white grape juice would have been the perfect mid-day snack!! And, on that note, I think I'll go hunt for that children's book that sits in our shelf and still now after 6 years churns a low-battery drone of Silent Night whenever the books are shifted -- generally around the first of December!


Walk With Me
by Jeff
Hailing From: Hardburly, Kentucky
Where it Happened:
Hardburly, Kentucky

These stories I am fixing to tell happened to my granny in her old house in the mountains. She used to tell these stories to the family, never failing to scare the living daylights out of everyone of us. You see, my granny lives right in front of a grave yard where everyone of her relatives are buried -- and she was haunted by something from that graveyard from the time she moved into that house until the time she moved out of it.

The first sighting of the ghosts took place the day after she moved in. She had just got out of bed and it was about eight in the morning. As she went outside to feed her chickens, she noticed that there was something moving in the graveyard. When she looked over she saw a little man sitting on top of a grave stone with his hands over his eyes like it was crying. As she was drawing closer to little man she was hit with a feeling of such sadness that she began to cry herself. But when she turned away from it the feeling went away.

Over the next few months the hauntings got much worse. I MEAN MUCH WORSE!!!!. Two months later she was inside the house doing the dishes when she heard footsteps on her front porch, and since they sounded very heavy so she thought she had better investigate. She grabbed her trusty ball bat that my aunt gave to her for protection and proceeded to walk towards the front door where the footsteps were coming from. She said she knew that she was going to see something horrible on the other side of that door, but curiosity got the best of her.

When she opened up the door she saw a blood red corpse staring at her with huge glowing eyes.

She immediately closed the door and ran to call one of us to come and check it out. At the time we lived right next door to her so it didn't take us any time at all to get over there. We didn't see the apparition ourselves but we did find a set of tracks leading from her house to the graveyard.

That particular sighting wasn't long after the second one, I believe, about two weeks later. My granny and my aunt were baby-sitting my little brother. It was about two o'clock in the morning my brother was real sick at the time and so they were up very late in the night with him.

They were all in the living room because my papa had to work late. My granny was knitting and my aunt was nursing my brother when they heard a faint growl coming from the graveyard. At first they said it sounded like a mad dog, but the sound got worse the closer it got. Before they knew it it was at the front door scratching and clawing, trying to get in. They said it sounded worse than anything they have heard before. But after about 5 minutes of intense anger, they heard it retreat back to the graveyard.

The last sighting was probably the worst of them all. It happened to my granny's sister. She was walking home from a late movie and she had to pass the graveyard to get home. The graveyard sits on top of a hill with the road right down below it. There is also a road from leaving the graveyard and both roads meet at my granny's gate.

At the bottom of the graveyard, where granny's sister was walking, she saw something white inside the fence walking parallel with her. When she took a step it took a step, and it would keep the same pace as her. So by now she was freaking out and started to run, but so does the thing in the graveyard. Now, since she was on the bottom road, and that thing is on the top road, she knew that soon they were going to meet at the gate -- and that is the last thing she wants -- so she climbed up and over the fence, barely dodging the things grasp.

She ran to granny's door, screaming and begging for someone to let her in. When she looked back, she saw that the figure was heading towards the door -- and right at that moment my granny opened the door and let her in. They had to call the doctor and take her in for shock. It took her a few days to fully recover.

You probably guessed that they moved out of the house after that encounter. They now live in Nebraska, far away from any graveyard. We still live right next door to that same house -- and now that I've told you that story, bear in mind that I've never seen anything in that graveyard, but I have seen the twisted looks of fear on the family members who have and I have no choice but to believe them.

Thanks for the story. I'd imagine I'd have to move too if I had those experiences. It's tough enough having solicitors coming to my door (don't get me started on that!), never mind a few ghouls stopping in. Enough to get your heart rate really a-pumping!



My Entity

by Andrea Honeyman
Hailing From: Worcester, MA
Where it Happened: New Haven and Storrs, Connecticut

My account is quite a scary one, at least for me -- and it is very true.

Let me start off by saying that I can sense supernatural presences, and sometimes I am even able to visualize answers to questions or faces of people I have yet to meet. Most of the visualization comes to me via dreams, but lately, due to my exploration of psychic self-defense, it has come during my waking hours. Well, enough bragging . . . .

This story has two parts, the first occured when I was nine years old, and living with my parents in New Haven, while the second occured while a student at University of CT in Storrs.

When I was younger, I used to stay up late (past 2 a.m.) to watch TV when everyone else was asleep. One night I was debating whether to make the trek downstairs to the TV, and another night of almost no sleep. I was laying on my back, and most certainly awake and aware of my surroundings, when I was suddenly struck motionless with fear.

At this moment, I should interject that I am a very jumpy person (always have been), and scare very easily. Anyway, I looked up, and saw what can only be described as a large translucent grey cloud, or a large fluffy jellyfish floatijg above my bed. The "entity," as I will refer to it from now on, was coming closer -- very, very slowly. A feeling of absolute fear overcame me; and at that instant, I knew that I was going to die. I began to pray. My mother used to sing my siblings and I to sleep with a prayer (The Shema, for those of the Jewish faith, or who are familiar). It was the only thing I could think of. I began to repeat it over and over.

At this point, the entity retreated a bit, but I was still paralized. I knew that if I could only move up onto my side (off of my back) that everything would be alright. All of my strength gathered, I managed to roll over onto my side. I looked around, and the entity was nowhere to be found. This experience chilled me, but prepared me for the next visit.

About ten years later, while a sophomore at UCONN, I was living in a supposidly haunted dorm. It, again, was extremely late. I had just returned from Washington, DC, at a Women's Rally, and was winding down in bed, while reading a MAD magazine. I looked up, and the entity was there.

Hovering above me, it seemed to suck every ounce of strength from me, my being. I began to pray, as I had years before. This time, the entity retreated faster than it had years before.

This entity has yet to return. I have trouble sleeping some nights, and I am almost afraid that it will return. Please write me at the above e-mail, should you or someone you know experience anything similar.

There is something eeire about being up late. The house is unusually quiet -- even the sounds from outdoors are at bare minimums. It would seem a pin could drop and cause an explosion in the solitude. That's when I think the senses are the most perceptive.

I do thank you for your story and wish you well. Let us know if the entity returns. Meanwhile the only real cure for an overly quiet abode after midnight continues to be -- ahhhh, errrr -- David Letterman!

Zounds! Hounds!

by Mike Houghton
Hailing From: Livonia, Michigan
Where it Happened: Somewhere in Michigan

After a night with some of my friends dicussing the "old times", I was reminded of a tale that was told to me by my brother one night. It's quite a interesting tale, and I thought you might like it.

While waiting for one of his dates to get ready, my brother spent some time with his date's landlord waiting for her. The landlord had a huge library and my brother struck up a conversation with her. While browsing through her books, he spotted a book relating to occult incantations and the like. Upon further examining the books, he inquired as to why she had so many. The landlord replied that she had been given those books by her daughter when she divorced her husband. The landlord told my brother that there was an interesting story behind the Incantation book, and asked if he was interested in hearing it. He replied yes, and she told him the tale that I'll pass on to you right now.

The landlords daughter married a man rather quickly without getting to know him very well. After a few weeks of marriage, she discovered he dabbled in the occult. One night the couple was invited to another couples trailer for a night out. On the way to the trailer, the husband presented a book he was quite excited over. It was a book of Occult incantations, (the same book my brother had noticed on the shelf.) The wife was not too happy to see the book, but just blew it off, not believing in such things.

Later in the evening, after a few "root beers", the foursome decide to try a few of the spells in the book. The women who owned the trailer put her son to bed, and the group began to read some incantations. Now, the trailer itself was located off in a remote location with the next closest trailer being about half a mile away. The area was a wooded location, and it was during the winter.

As the group continued to read, they began to hear the baying and barking off two dogs off in the distance. Putting it off to the neighbors, the group read on. One of the women suddenly stopped a few minutes later when she realized that the dogs were closer, and seemed to be coming closer to the trailer. After some reassurance by the men, she rejoined the group and continued reading. Before they knew it, the dogs were outside of the trailer.

A little confused, the men blew it off, but the women felt uncomftorable. The ladies quit, but the men continued to read on from the book. As the two read more and more, and began to get deep within a incantation, the dogs outside began to get more agitated. Their barking was fierce, and they began to pace around the outside of the trailer. The trailer owner became agitated, and began to go outside but the other man, the book owner, stopped him. As they stood in the doorway, they observed hug paw prints in the snow, and already a well worn trail around the front of the trailer. Growling from the darkness greeted them, and they promptly shut the door.

By now, the women were shaken, and began to get very worried. The two began to read from the Bible. As they read, the dogs pacing began to increase, and they actually began to jump up onto the sides of the trailer. From what the group could hear, the dogs sounded like they were massive. The sides of the trailer would tremble when struck by the hounds. By now, the male owner of the trailer joined into the prayers. They stopped only to lock the doors, and bolt the windows.

After about another hour or so of this, the dogs suddenly stopped, but remained outside the trailer. The group heard what sounded like footsteps in the snow outside. As the group listened, the footsteps stopped right outside the front door, and the sound of the dogs moving to the same spot was heard. The owner of the trailer, yelled "Hello?" and immediately the dogs began to bark again. The females, terrified, began to read from the Bible again. As soon as the words left their lips, the dogs began pacing again. But this time, they were joined by the sound of something, or someone walking around the same path.

Soon after, a small window in the bathroom shattered. The two men ran to the room, and opened the door. The windows glass was spread on the floor, and they could hear the deep growling of a dog just outside, and below the window. They slammed the door, and returned to the living room. But as they were heading back, a crash came from the bedroom of the little boy. Sprinting back to his room, they found him sitting up in bed, crying. He said that a noise woke him up, and that a "scary" thing kept knocking on his window. As the father removed him from the bed, he noticed what the sound was; a small statue of Jesus that the boy had on his nightstand had fallen to the floor, and broken. But the boy claimed he had not knocked it off. It just fell.

The group returned to the living room, and prayed the rest of the night. As dawn approached, the dogs barking faded off into the distance, accompanied by the footsteps. As the morning finally arrived, the group went outside, and found a well worn path of dog prints along with the prints of something they couldn't distinguish. The homeowner called his neighbors, but they all denied hearing any barking or other noise. The couples parted, shaken but safe.

Not long after, the landlord's daughter divorced her husband, and while she was cleaning out their home she stumbled across the books and gave them to her mother, who added them to her book collection.

Thank you for your story, Mike. I really appreciate it, especially since I hail from Michigan and graduated from your neighboring university (Yep! I'm an EMU alumni!) And, I have fond memories of Houghton Lake (any relation to it's namesake?).

But about your story: Calling the hounds has always been interwoven with most traditional European ghost lore -- especially since canines exhibit an ulta-sensitivity to high pitched noises, which leads me to wonder if the people in the trailer might have also heard the distinct sounds of fluttering? The fluttering of the furry night creature(s), the bats! Now, if the chanting and reading summoned those nightmarish demons, it makes sense that the baying hounds would surely follow.

Then again, maybe they were just hungry! (oooooooooooooooooo)

Ninja's My Name!

by Ninja
Hailing From: Natchitoches, LA
Where it Happened: It started in Robeline, LA

Well for several years before I had even moved into the area of Robeline I had been having very unusual dreams. I could feel, smell, and even taste in them. After I moved to Robeline everything began to grow all out of wack.

One night I was in my younger sister's room sleeping when I heard someone calling my name, so I looked to see if my sister was calling me but she had been sleeping for about fifteen minutes and I knew my mother was had been a sleep for hours because during this time she was pregnant.

But I did get up to see.

Then I saw an old man with a cane calling my name. I had been taught to ask a spirit, "What in God's name do you want?" -- and they have to tell you. So I did and he replied that I would meet someone like me (that had the same problems with their dreams). But then he tried whispering something and that's when I got the eerie feeling that I couldn't figure out if he was evil or not (due to the evil expression on his face and his laughter).

During this whole time the kitchen light was on, but he was pale even with this light. After that he disappeared and the light went off.

To extend on the story, I heard that an old man had died in the house not to long before we had moved in. But that was a little to strange for me to believe because I realized that he was the same guy that been in the dreams I had been having for over a year.

Thank you for your story, Ninja! We appreciate it here at Ye Olde Ghostories.

She Wasn't Alone

by Dena Her
Hailing From: Madison, WI
Where it Happened: Santa Ana, California

This is a story that my mother told me when I was about 13 years old.

My father had passed away when I was about 6 years old and of course, my father was still very young. Probably about 30 years old, or so . . .

Right after my father had past away, we were looking for a new house to move into. My mother, then and now, still really misses my father alot. She would always go by the cemetery and sit by his grave and cry. Well one evening, one of my close aunts came to visit and she slept with my mother in the same room. In the middle of the night, my mother got up to use the bathroom. Then, after using it, and when she was about to leave, it happened.

She hadn't quite got to the bathroom door, when IT came. She told me that, she felt something, like a bag, but invisible to her eyes, cover right over her head and at that same moment she felt weaken to her knees and fell down on the floor. She said that she must of been laying there, passed out, for probably five minutes or so, and when she had finally got up she saw something jump and run out of the bathroom window. The funny thing about this story is that the window was closed when my mother went to use it, but after the incident, the window was open.

Pretty spooky story huh?

Thank you for your story, Dena. Although I have to tell you that we do get these kind of stories here every so often -- and many times the really really scarey part is the "What if?" For instance, what if someone knew your mom was left all alone with just a wee one? And they broke in to pay a visit? Only to find that there were others in the house, so they turned tail and ran? It does make you wonder that if, in this particular instance, IF this might not really be "about ghosts," then your mom may have come dreadfully close to joining your father that fateful night. It is more likely it was a blessing, for her -- and for you -- that your aunt was there to keep you both company that night. I believe you have an angel in the family! Call her tonight and tell her thanks for being there. :-)

Also, thanks for reserving a GhosTee! We'll reset the number on the front page to "8" and also place your story in lights for one week. And please come back and visit often :-)

A Girl and Her Farm

by Bev Cormier
Hailing From: Fredericksburg, Va
Where it Happened: Nokesville, Virginia

Dear Sir,   This is a true account of some of the many encounters we had with a ghost that haunted an old farm house that my parents rented from 1970 to approx. 1975.

My family was thrilled to move to a l50 acre farm in Nokesville, Virginia after living in a neighborhood. I was nine years old at the time of the move. My family consisted of two older brothers ages seventeen and twelve and a younger sister six and my Dad and Mom. I also have an older brother but he was already married and living on his own at the time. Anyway, my parents rented this old farm and we kids absolutely loved it! It had a creek running along side of it and acres and acres of open land. No houses were visible from our home.

The people that we rented from were very nice although they seemed very strange to a nine year old. Now as an adult I realize that their "strange behavior" was due to grief. You see they had a daughter who was approximately eleven years old and she had been killed by a drunken driver. I think she had been riding a bike while they were on a trip of some kind.

After losing their little girl, they could no longer stand living at the farm so they moved out. However, they left all of the little girls clothes on the balcony which was attached to the master bedroom. The balcony itself wasn't very safe. The railing was very loose and we were forbidden to play out on it. The owner warned my parents of the danger but yet never offered to fix it and my father never got around to it so we avoided that area of the house most of the time.

Most of the time we lived there peacefully with no mishaps but when things did happen, it was very frightening for a child. My parents kept alot to themselves but I managed to see things first hand at times. One night my mother was bathing my sister and I. There was only one bathroom in the house and it was connected to the master bedroom which my brothers occupied at the time. My parents preferred sleeping in the middle bedroom to be near my sister and I. Anyway, I remember getting out of the tub wrapped in an oversized towel and following my mother out into the master bedroom to go and get our PJ's. As we walked into the bedroom we saw that every drawer in my brothers' dressers was pulled all the way out. My mother started yelling for my Dad and everyone came up to see. After that we, my sister and I wouldn't go to the bathroom alone again. Not even in the daytime.

Another time that comes to mind is the time that my Dad went to bed early because he had to get up early the next day. We were all downstairs engrossed in the TV when my dad came quickly down the steps and asked me and my sister if we had been upstairs in his room. He explained that after getting into bed and turning off the light, someone had started massaging his forehead. He thought for sure that it was me or my sister because he said that whoever it was had small hands!

Probably the scariest thing was the night that we had a big storm. I remember it so well because it poured and poured that night. As everyone lay in their respective beds listening to the thunder and pouring rain a tiny voice broke through asking in a pitiful way "Is anybody home, is anybody home?" My seventeen year old brother jumped up thinking that someone had gotten lost and ended up at our door. He met my Dad at the stairs and together they bounded down the steps to rescue the poor person. Opening the door they discovered that no one was there!

We still believe today that the little girl occupied that house while we lived there and from talking to the people that proceeded us, she still lived there after we left. Perhaps she would still be ther if the house hadn't mysteriously burned to the round about ten years ago. Anyway, it is a story to pass down through my friends and family and I hope that whoever reads this enjoys it!?

Bev, thanks mucho for the story. Nokesville, eh? I wonder what that name actually means? We have one out here called Wildomar...which not many people know means William, Dorothy and Mary -- the original founders. Nokes seems a little ... er ... forboding, doncha think? Maybe a trip to the town library might reveal some strange history. But one thing for sure, you gotta love a little ghost who is lost and afraid of the dark and thunder. She sounded like a perfect mate for Casper!

Olde Folkes Home

by Laura
E-mail: no email given
Hailing From: Maryville, Mo
Where it Happened: Maryville, Mo

I was staying the night with a friend that I had just met. She lived in a house over 100 years old. I had been told that an old retirement home used to be there and that it was haunted. Well, I thought my friends were just trying to scare me, so I went anyway.

About 12:30am my friend and I were in the living room watching TV and we heard something upstairs. We thought it was her brother, but then we remembered that we were alone in the house. A radio began playing music from the 1920's. So, went upstairs to see who turned it on. When we reached the room, the music stopped and there was no one up there.

We darted for the stairs and jumped on the couch with a blanket... everyghing was quiet for a while. Then we heard the steps creeking. We turned around to see and old woman in a night dress walking into the kitchen. Horrifed we looked at each other and watched. She clanged some dishes in the sink, then walked back upstairs. We never saw her again. Pretty spooky, should have been there. I will never forget it. NEVER!

Finally! A ghost story sans Alzeimers! Remember that for future, er...???

The Hollow Whistler

by Carolyn Davis
Hailing From: Ironton, Ohio
Where it Happened: Ironton, Ohio

Everyone told us that this place was haunted before we bought it, but at $4000 we couldn't afford to pass it up. There were 6 acres of land and a livable house.

Things started happening almost from day one. Cars pulled up in front of our house, car doors slammed, voices muttered indistinguishable words, but when we went to see who had come to visit, there was no one or nothing. No people, no car, nothing.

Doors slammed shut throughout the house, foot steps echoed down the hallway, strange voices garbled nonsense words and phrases, all this when I was the only person in the house.

Then my husband decided to hire a bulldozer to clear some land up the hollow. That evening the land was level, but the driver had inadvertantly bulldozed an old grave on the hillside adjoining the land. That night all hell broke loose. I was awakened in the wee hours of the morning by my children's screaming. When I found them they were huddled together on the bathroom floor sobbing. They told me that a shadow with glowing green eyes had chased them into the bathroom and that they all tried to keep the bathroom door closed with their combined weight, but the thing nearly pushed it open anyway.

One night my daughter was talking to her friend on the phone when she yelled for me to come and listen. When I took the phone, I nearly fainted. A woman was screaming over and over, like she was being murdered. In the background I could hear a child crying. Every dog within a mile of our place started howling. Suddenly the screaming stopped. At the same instant the dogs stopped howling. All that was left was the sobbing, terrified child, who turned out to be my daughter's friend. I asked her if someone had a reason to try to scare her, but she said no. I asked if there was an extension phone in her house and again she said no. She said she was in the house alone, that her mother had gone to the store. I kept the child on the phone until hher mother returned, trying to sooth her. I told her mother what had happened when she returned. Both she and I reported the incident to the police and the phone company, but neither came up with anything.

My son came home soon after that on leave from the Navy. He decided to walk to the bar (about 2 miles) to shoot pool with his friends. As he was walking home that night someone shoved him from behind, so hard that he almost fell face forward. He regained his balance and whirled to do battle with his adversary. No one was there. The night was clear, with a full moon and he could see the area around him clearly. He started walking again, a little faster this time, and again someone shoved him from behind. This time he had distinctly heard foot steps. He turned again. No one, nothing. Now he was scared and he took off in a dead run. Every few steps the thing shoved him hard from behind, making him stumble and nearly fall. This went on until he reached our front door. Needless to say, he never walked out of this hollow again after dark.

Things went completely haywire inside the house. Power tools started on their own. The kitchen faucet turned on by its self The gas range's burner came on with no one near it. The t.v. and vcr turned on and off alone. Outside it sounded like someone was ripping the siding off the house with a crowbar. What sounded like a cat purring increased in intensity until the whole house vibrated with it. Our beds "breathed". You could actually see them going up and down. It was the middle of August and our house was so cold inside you could see your breath.

One night my married daughter, Becky, came home for a visit. The girls were telling her what was going on and she laughed, saying she didn't believe in such nonsense. At that moment the thing grabbed her by the throat. I watched in horror as her face turned red, then blue from lack of oxygen. Her neck bruised before my eyes. I could see the indents of fingers, but whatever had my daughter by the throat was invisible. I screamed at it to let her go and it did. I don't know why it did, but it did.

Four different people have lost control of their cars going out of this hollow. The brakes didn't work, nor the gearshift. The only thing they could control was the steering as the entity took them down this curvy road at 50 miles an hour.

But of all the things the entity does, I guess I hate the whistling the worst. It sounds like someone wants to whistle a song, but can't remember the tune. It starts way up the hollow and comes closer and closer until it's right by your ear.

I guess you're wondering why we still live here. Well, the truth is we can't afford to move. Besides, everone I talk to says the thing would probably follow us. I wish I COULD move, because I catch myself holding my breath, waiting for that tuneless whistle to start . . . .

Carolyn, thanks for the great story -- a perfect haunted house one too! As a follow-up, I found it particularly interesting that your form was one of the first in 2 years that omitted a "Where it Happened" and "Where You Hail From!" I just wonder if that pesky ghost of yours didn't want us to know! (Carolyn wrote and told me that "communications were unpredictable going in and out of the Hollow") --- And I want to thank you for following up and sending it along to us. That was really nice and I appreciate it. Finally, if you can, see if you are able to record the whistle! Tell ya what, if you send it to us and we'll place it on this page.

Bed & Breakfast

by Diane Rhodes
Hailing From: Helston Cornwall
Where it Happened: Blandford Forum, Dorset UK.

In January 1981, I was visiting a boyfriend who was stationed at the army base in Blandford. I was booked to stay at the Kings Arms, an old pub that also did bed and breakfast. I arrived quite late and went straight up to my room as I was tired. No sooner was I settling down for some sleep when I heard footsteps going up and down the stairs and along the hall outside my room, then more footsteps in the rooms above mine. This went on for quite a while, finally I had enough as the footsteps were particularly heavy and noisy, but, something told me not to open my bedroom door, so I ended up having a sleepless night telling myself off for having a too fertile imagination.

The next morning I went down to breakfast to find that I was the only person having breakfast, on asking I found that this was because i was the only person staying in the place, I asked the landlord if his family also stayed in that part of the building only to find they lived in a part of the building across a courtyard, nowhere near where I was.

That night I persuaded my boyfriend to stay with me too, as he didn't believe me, and it happened again, he was also too scared to open the door to investigate. On the third night new guests arrived and were staying in the rooms above mine, and that night not a thing happened. Needless to say though I didn't stay a fourth night.

Still gives me the shivers when the announcer for Motel 6 tells everyone in television land that, "We'll leave the light on for ya!" - Hey, I mean really, do ya think he ever read any Steven King before he made that line popular?"

Dream Dad

by Sara
Hailing From: Minnesota, USA
Where it Happened: Literally across the United States

We'll I've read about all kinds of ghosts and their different ways of manifesting themselves. But I've yet to read about a ghost who manifests himself into dreams like my Dad did. So I thought I'd write about my father and how he's helped me (and I found out later in life, my sisters and brothers too!). So here's my one and only true story about a "Ghost"!

Here's some background information to help understand how these events take place. My real father died of cancer just days prior to my birth so I never actually knew him. I grew up hearing about him though from my 5 sisters and brothers. I knew he was a good man who loved his family.

My mother continued to live her life and married a man after my father's death. He was not a very nice guy at all to us kids and made our lives a living hell! What saved me (and my sisters and brothers) was a recurring dream. When things got really bad, I would go into a deep sleep and dream. I would only have this dream when things ere unbearable in life. In this dream a little pin-point bright white light would appear on the wall of the dark bedroom in which I lay. It would grow slowly but surely to about 5.5 feet around, and my real dad would step out and down from this light (he wasn't a very tall man. He would come and either sit on the edge of my bed or pull a rocker effortlessly out of the hole and pick me up, hold me on his lap and rock me in his arms. All the while he'd say things like, "It's gonna be alright" or "This will end soon" or in some other way address the problem I had at the time that was causing me such distress. He never actually mentioned the problem or what was going on...just kinda addressed it (if that makes any sense). I would eventually fall asleep in my dream in my fathers loving, secure arms. I never felt frightened or chilled, he was never transparent or any of the "normal" things like I've read about, so I always thought that these dreams were just my way of dealing with the ugliness in my young life.

This dream occurred about 2-3 times a month when I was little, less as I grew up and found other ways of dealing with problems. The dreams were always pretty much the same through the years, as a child and into my first disasterous marriage (I married a man alot like my wicked step-father).

Then I got wise and left my 1st husband and got my life together.

After the divorce was final, my father came to me from the light and told me, "You won't be needing me anymore, Honey. I'm gonna go rest now. Just remember I'll always love you." and he's never visited me again. I also haven't needed him in that way for many years now (I've been married for 15 years now to a wonderful man, and we've had 2 fantastic kids and life, though not always easy, has been wonderful for me!).

It wasn't until after I divorced my first husband, that I came to recogize it as a haunting. My sister and I were talking about the paranormal. You know...about Ghosties and hauntings and such. I mentioned that the closest thing to a ghostly experience was my dreams of Daddy. My sister turned absolutely WHITE! She told me that she too had had that same dream, except some details were different (due I think to actually knowing him). She then called my other brothers and sisters and as causually as she could, asked them if they had ever had any recurring dreams, and believe it or not, ALL of us have had the same type/style of dream for the exact same reasons!

But instead of scaring me like it did my sister, this comforted me. I feel as though he loved us enough to be there for us, even though he could not stop it physically, that he tried to give us the love and security that we needed to make it through those dire situations and one day I will find a way to thank him. Thank you for listening to my tale, not scary, nor chilling, but maybe it will add a warmth to your day, as it has to my life :)

There will come a day, they say, when they only scary thing to worry about are the LIVE people....this tale seems to point to that! Thanks for sending it in!

Ghost Comic

by Paula Dennis
Hailing From: Richmond, Virginia
Where it Happened: 1987-91

In 1987 my "then husband" and I bought a farm-style house in Colonial Heights, Virginia, a small city of about 10,000. The house was on an all-American street where kids played til dark and you could hear Moms calling for them to come home. It had a wonderful front porch with a swing where I spent hours looking at the old and gigantic rose vines at the other end of the porch. Inside there were four rooms downstairs (living room, kitchen, dinning room and morning room turned bathroom). The staircase ran up the back wall to a landing off which was a fantastic old bath with a claw-foot tub that was perfect for long soaks. 5 additional steps to the left led to 3 large bedrooms; the first being the master bedroom to the left. It was a warm, friendly, and inviting house and I loved it dearly --- even after becoming aware of "our ghost" as we called him.

It was definitely a male but we have our doubts about his sexual persuation as my story will explain. I was the first to become aware of him. One summer evening I was watching some silly something on TV. An amusing situation occured on whatever show it was; not "haha" funny but enough to cause a smile. From behind me I heard a male voice laugh so hard it sounded like it was gasping for breath. Thinking it was my husband, I turned around to tell him "its not THAT funny" only to find no one there. I assumed he was playing a trick (I couldn't figure out how he could have escaped so fast but what else could it have been?) I hurried upstairs to catch him and to turn the joke on him....but when I found him he was knee-deep in the work he was doing and was so involved it was obvious it couldn't have been him. He thought I was one fry short of a happy meal and told me I needed to take a nap!!

Sometime later we were returning home from an all-day outing. I came into the house first carrying picnic baskets and other stuff. My husband was close behind me with our little grand-daughter. As I came through the backdoor I heard what sounded like water pouring into the upstairs bathtub. My husband heard it, too. I put all that I was carrying onto the kitchen table and rushed upstairs, expecting to find a flooded bathroom. As I reached midpoint on the stairs the sound stopped. When I opened the bathroom door I found everything to be bone dry; not a sign of even a drop of water. Then I heard that laugh again. My husband came up shortly thereafter. He had no explanation for the sound of water but he didn't believe me when I told him about the laughter. He hadn't heard THAT!

I decided not to tell him when or if I heard anything again; I didn't want to give him any amunition to tease me about a ghost who laughed at me. Other little things happened; friends didn't like the "feel" of the bedroom nearest the upstairs bath, our grand-daughter talked about "the man" she saw, our dogs would stand at the foot of the stairs looking up and barking, our cat would bound down the stairs as if being chased. Even so, all in all the house kept its warm and friendly feel. I was never nervous or uncomfortable in it.

My husband became a "believer" the summer we sold the house to move to a larger one. We had been sprucing things up to help make the house more attractive and we were both pretty tired by the afternoon of one Saturday. I was still in the middle of my "project" (cleaning kitchen cabinets) when my husband decided he needed a nap and went upstairs to lay down. About an hour later --- just as I was finishing the cabinets --- he came downstairs with a sheepish grin on his face. I asked him "what gives?" and he laughed. He said he owed me an apology for all the times he doubted me about the ghost and went on to explain that he had just had his own personal "close encounter". He had stripped down to his undies to take his nap and had drifted off almost at once. He awoke about 50 minutes later and started to get off the bed when he heard a "wolf-whistle" from behind him!! This would be impossible as there was a solid wall behind the bed and he and I were the only ones in the house AND I CAN'T WHISTLE !!

We felt a bit guilty about not telling the new owners about "our ghost" but how do you explain a male ghost who laughs at the wife and whistles at the husband? :)

Sounds like you got infested with the ghost of George Burns! (Sorry George, no disrespect!) Or at least some happy prankster with a good sense of humor and enough power to push a laugh and a whistle through the two dimensions. One can only wonder if there was a pattern (hearts?) on those old shorts! (Kinda reminds me of the puppets and Tim Allen in "The Santa Claus." At any rate, have a great year and thanks for being part of our happy writers family on Ghostories! (re: WebTv...I have been seeing more and more email addresses like this when you send and email from your armchair, using your television? Too cool!)

Scared Stiff

by Tiffany
Hailing From: Baton Rouge, La
Where it Happened: Walker, La.

Scared stiff is to fear something that you cannot see -- and to feel it's warm breath is a true living hell.

In July of 1993, I had purchased a trailer home in a small town just north of Baton Rouge. There I was -- all alone, 18 years old and feeling totally lost. My father had just died the month before and I was numb as stone. I began fixing up the place, picking up knick-knacks here and there -- trying to make it cozy.

One day while shoping at the flea-market, I came across the most unusual set of Tahitian mugs. I had to have them. They all had different looks on their carved faces, yet they all had the expression of what I felt inside -- hurt, mad and po'd at the world. Yes, I thought, they were definitely coming home with me.

I know a bargain when I see one. The shopkeeper explained where they had come from. A man in town who owned a bar had gotten into a brawl one night, and met an untimely demise. Afterwards, his wife closed it down and got rid of everything inside.

So, okay, I'm back home with them and I display them on my bookshelf with so much pride, always wondering why it is that my guests aren't quite as pleased with my new selection as I am -- and I actually I saw a couple of them turn their noses up. Well, taste is all just a matter of opinion right?

It wasnt long after that I started having a lot of very weird things happen to me and anyone who came to visit. Sleeping in the living room, I could feel a warmth behind me. When in the bedroom the warmth was always right in front of the doorway -- and every now and then I would hear a creaking like someone walking. I always blew it off as part of my imagination.

As the death of my father started to really sink in, I started drinking alcohol very heavily -- one or two bottles a day of cheap wine just to get to sleep at night. All the while I am becoming more aware that something is not right here -- the creaks are louder and I begin to feel something hovering over my shoulder in the daytime.

Then, my ex came to town and moved in. I told him about some of the things that I had felt and observed -- he listened yet he looked at me like I was simply crazy. But his opinion soon changed. One night a couple of months later, I was visiting at my mothers and decided to stay the night because it was raining so hard out I did not want to get on the road. He was alone back at the house and when I called him on the phone to tell him I wouldn't be home that night, he said, "I really want you to come over here!! Ive been hearing noises all night and it sounds like a man talking." And then right after he said that, I heard through the other end of the phone something slam the window and he started screaming, "You better get over here right now!!!!"

I jumped into the car and drove like mad. I got over there and sat down to dry off. While he was telling me the story, he stopped in mid-sentence and said, "Shhhhhhh -- listen!" From the back room (my bedroom) real faintly was the most hideous sound I have ever heard in my life -- it sounded just like a dead person crying, begging for help from anyone. I thought it was the radio but I knew that everything had been unplugged because just that day we had been re-arranging the furniture. I reached for the phone but I absolutely could not get to it because I was frozen stiff with fear.

I finally got up and worked my way to the car and hauled high tail out of there. That same night we had a kidnapping report filed on us because I was so hysterical with fear that a passeby walked up beside me in a parking lot and I almost had heart failure.

On top of all that there were more "events" -- several times I heard knocking on my front door, only to discover that no one was there when I answered. My boyfriend heard me calling his name when I was at the other end of the house. At times I would see, from the corner of my eye, a large black figure. On other occassions, I'd see a small animal that looked like a rabbit or a cat running behind furniture. Sometimes I saw a book get thrown a few feet across the room by something that wasn't there.

And when I decided to get rid of these damned things (the Tahitian mugs) one came up missing. I looked all over for it and it was nowhere to be found. At the advice of my family, they said they knew it had to be these things causing me all this grief. I seached frantically with no luck. I desperately wanted all of them out of the house once and for all.

Finally, six months later, I found the lost mug -- in the exact place it should have been. I remember seeing the dust ring that day as I reached up on the shelf to take it down. I had a bad feeling about carrying this thing anywhere, but I decided that I had no choice but to get rid of it.

Well, I had a flat tire the next day -- getting rid of the mugs was not as easy as I thought it would be. I took them back to the store where I bought them from and the same lady acted like she did not know who I was. She insisted that was not where I bought them and more than that, she flat refused to take them back!!! I begged her and told her I didn't want the money -- I ddidn't even want a credit. I finally left the store with the lady, open mouthed, holding the box of mugs I thought, she must have known something.

About three years ago my mothers next door neighbor was murdered and at the estate sale my mom picked up the exact type mug and said, "Tiffany look at this!" Her husband had committed suicide a few years earlier in the same house. COINCIDENCE? CONNECTED? Don't ask me, but I can give you one peice of advice: Before you walk across that next gravestone or buy (or sell) that pretty plate at the flea-market, you must show some respect for the dead.

A very fine story indeed, Tiffany! And at the end I had an inspiration to hear Aretha belt out her famous tune, "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" (Really, I might even do that for a few weeks as the background music -- kinda like something Steven King would do, right?). But for dead sure, there is mystery in the kind of art you purchased. Take a look at Easter Island and the statues. Many times, like in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" we see similar carvings at cave entrances to protect not only the dead, but their bounty. And, how about the gargoyles in Eurpean culture? A fascinating study indeed!

Actually, now that I think of it, we had a set of wooden chalices with inventful carvings on them -- after the kitchen remodel, I wonder where we put them . . . ??

The Long Road Home

by Christy Gerrell
Hailing From: Tallahassee, Florida
Where it Happened: Meridian, Mississippi

When I was 8 years old I went with my Grandmother to visit her mother in a little town in Mississippi. My great-grandma lived in a house that was built before the Civil War. It had been the overseers cottage, the main house having been burned by the Yankees. The house smelled old as well as looked old and had been in our family since the 1850's.

One morning my brother, twin sister and I had been playing in the gully about a half mile from the house, making mud pies out of the dark red clay at the bottom of the gully. I was digging in the sides of that deep hole having a good time when something fell out and into my lap . . .

. . . it was the skull of a baby.

I must have screamed really loud because my grandma came running and rushed us all out of that hole and back home. We were all talking at once when the sheriff arrived and I kept crying, holding tight to my grandma.

The sheriff officers took the poor remains of that baby away, where they took it I did not know. That night, I was still trembling and crying and my grandma and great-grandma pulled me into bed with them. The bed was huge and high off the floor so they placed me between them and it wasn't long before I fell asleep curled up close to grandma, the one person I knew loved me without question. I loved her without question also.

In the middle of the night I found myself standing on the marble steps leading to the porch of the house. How I got there I still don't know. Before me was a beautiful woman dressed in clothes I would guess now were from the 20's. She was crying softly and I went to her and asked her what was the matter. She told me that her husband had killed her and her baby then buried them both out in the gully. She said her name and then just disappeared.

Her name I kept hearing again and again inside my head.

A light misting rain had begun to fall when grandma found me nightgown clad and standing on those old porch steps. She led me back into the house quietly as she was certain I had been sleep walking. Something I did a great deal after my mother ran away and left me. But I wasn't asleep and once inside I started talking telling my grandmother of the woman. Grandma looked amazed at first but when I said the woman's name she sat down hard on the couch and gasped before calling for her mother.

My great-grandmother's sister had lived in this house when she had first married. She had a baby then one day dissapeared. Years later they found her remains out near the gully and she was now buried in the family cemetary only a mile from the house at the end of Spring Valley Road. Her baby had never been found.

The next morning Grandma called the sheriff's department and found they had examined the remains of the baby. It was the right age to have been my great-aunt's baby. After an ivestigation the remains were released to our family and today the baby is buried in the cemetary, right next to my great-aunt, the head stone reads the name of the baby - Christy - which is my name.

This is an exceptional story, Christy. I thank you for sending it in to us here at Ghostories. One never really knows in this life where the winding road will lead. Simple child's play in an undisturbed setting may catapult into an all-encompassing life experience -- and while one road takes an unexpected turn, another road was connected back home. My friend, you have had the honor of serving as a courier betwixt the realms! One never truly knows, do they, from whence the call will come? It just does . . . .


by Sarah
Hailing From: Austin, Texas
Where it Happened: Los Angeles, California

The story I want to share may be about a ghost, or an angel, or maybe both. Although I still don't know what to make of it, I figure someday I'll understand. It's not something I've talked about with many people, but I liked this page because of the warm and kind approach to the whole subject, and as this is such a personal thing to talk about I wanted to be sure I'd be in good company.

First a little background: I'm extremely normal (boring even) and a college-educated mom (go-o-o-o BRUINS!!!) working in a technical industry. I go to church regularly, don't drink, and I've never even tried any kind of drugs (so please don't go thinking this is all some wierd flashback!). The point is, I am the LAST person I'd expect something like this to happen to.

It all started when I was in college at UCLA -- those of you familiar with the Los Angeles area have probably heard of the VA Cemetary off Wilshire Boulevard. We used to live just one street over from it, and frankly it always gave me the creeps. Why, I don't know, given that it was beautiful, bright, and well maintained with flowers and people everywhere. Perhaps it was because my husband was a Desert Storm vet (Navy), and it disturbed me to think of all the people in there who didn't made it out of one war or another.

Well, come senior year my husband decided he's not up to being married and so we split up -- and at this point I have a two year old daughter. I should take a minute to mention something about her right quick: she is (on dad's side) Hispanic and Pueblo Indian. For whatever reason, she is extremely in tune with things that would fly right past me -- extremely intelligent and very observant -- and her name is Hope. Okay, now back to the story.

One day I returned back from class early and Hope was still at daycare. I was driving by the cemetary and suddenly I felt this overwhelming curiousity overtake me, and I decided to go in and start walking among the stones. I was honestly surprised at myself, but I wasn't scared at all. More than anything, it just broke my heart, especially as a mother, to see all the stones of kids, 18 or 20 years old, who were soldiers that never came home.

So here I am wandering around until I came across one of this guy named Bruce who had been a Marine and died in the Vietnam war. I cannot to this day explain this but as I read the name on that stone I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my body. I crumpled to the ground and lay there sobbing for almost an hour. After a while I swear I felt a hand on my back, and it was all warm around me (yes it was very startling, thank you very much) and looked up quick but nobody was there.

A couple of days went by, and I still couldn't shake this guy out of my head. I thought, "Well, I don't want him to feel alone and forgotten in that huge place," and so I decided to start visiting him on a regular basis. I didn't know if he could hear me or if he had any idea someone was there, but I asked God to let Bruce know he was being remembered. It was a pretty place to go actually, with all the trees and flowers, and we (the baby and I) went to visit on the order of once every week or two. I'd just go lie there and talk to him, bring flowers, or read the Bible, or from a book, or play music -- that sort of thing. Sometimes we'd decorate his stone at Christmastime and have little birthday parties for him.

This went on for quite some time.

Well as our merciful God would have it, I met a wonderful man named Rye some time later. He was, coincidentally, also a Marine, about the same age as Bruce when he died (I was a very young mother).

Then, there we are one day, Hope and I were in the bedroom sitting and looking at books -- and out of nowhere she looks up at the end of the bed (what is it with ghosts and the ends of beds?) to about adult eye-level and says, "Oh, look mommy, it's Rye!" I looked up and of course no one was there. Meanwhile, she started talking to someone I couldn't see. I went to where she was looking and searched for some indication of him -- a photo or anything that would make her think of him -- but there was literally nothing but bed and a blank wall just a foot away.

Then she said, "Wait, it's not Rye, it's daddy" (Remember my ex-husband was in the Navy.)

Then, "No, it's not daddy! Who is it?"

I said, "I'm not sure who you're talking about honey, what are you looking at?"

Meanwhile she continued talking to whomever, smiling and giggling, pausing at times as if to listen and nodding her head uh-huh. Then she waved and said, "Okay, bye bye!" She then turned to her, by now, thoroughly confused mommy and said matter-of-factly, "He's gone now. He went bye bye."

And just like that she went back to looking at her story. Now THAT was curious! I had that overwhelming feeling of, "What the heck???"

I didn't give it much thought after that, though my best friend pointed out, "Hope saw someone, invisible to you, who she thought was your boyfriend in the Marines. You do the math."

Frankly I didn't WANT to think about it, but I didn't have much choice after that, because the oddest thing started happening on a regular basis. The front wall of our apartment was mostly windows, including a big ol' sliding glass door. It had this old flip lock which you had to press hard -- on the downside it was locked, and on the upside it was unlocked -- and since we were in LA, as you might imagine, that door was kept locked at all times. Suddenly, not more than a week after our little incident in the bedroom, I'd walk by and find it flipped up, i.e. unlocked. I suppose you could blame it on gravity, but the last time I checked, gravity pulls things down, not up. I'd chalked it up to Hope's playing, and told her not to be messing with the lock. Frankly, how a three year old could manage to unlock that door without serious effort was a real mystery to me.

We continued on this way for some time and a number of months zoomed by. Sometimes the lock would be flipped up a few times a day, and sometimes a few times a week. I'd always find some excuse in my head for it, and honestly it really didn't scare me. Then in November (after six months of this happening), I see it flipped up again. I relocked it, grab the laundry and the kid head downstairs to the laundry room. We came back up within ten minutes -- and when I walked in, sure enough, that thing is flipped up again.For the first time I was genuinely frightened because now there is NO WAY to explain it away, so I said out loud,

"Okay, NOW you are scaring me. If you want to be here, fine, but don't EVER do that again!"

And that was all it took -- the lock stayed locked.

Then there was a new twist -- within a couple weeks, my key would no longer work in the front door. I had lived there for two years and out of nowhere my key won't work. Even the super couldn't figure it out, and he ended up replacing the entire mechanism.

Right after the new year, we were getting ready to move back to Texas. We had boxes everywhere (mainly toys). It was crazy. In order to maintain some semblance of order, I stacked all the boxes along the front wall. There was only a few inches between the boxes and the windows, and you can imagine my surprise when I reached up and around them to find stuff and sure enough that dang door was unlocked again! It happened four times in the two days before we moved -- and I can only imagine it was someone's sweet way of saying goodbye.

Thanks for the story (and your patience for me to post it) Sarah. I appreciate it.

This is the kind of story that it would be really easy to pass off the first time you read it, maybe thinking to yourself, "Ahhh, it's not scary . . . after all, what's really all that compelling about it" -- right? But if you did that, I think you'd be missing a "big something."

See, what I mean is, while it looks like just a series of events, it has an invisible undercurrent that almost pulses while the story is being told, and doesn't come into focus until some time after you've read it. If you stop and think about it a few hours later, you'll see what I mean. It's like it follows you around (just like the deceased soldier).

Just the visual of a woman sobbing in a cemetary for a fallen war hero she never knew is powerful (imagine it as if you were able to look at it from above -- a woman lying on a grave, flowers all around and people passing nearby). If you connect the dots to the day when Hope talks to the invisible presence, and then draw your line to the stubborn lock, you begin to feel the undercurrent as if it was a magnetic pull that began one day on a simple drive home from a typical school -- past (and drawn into) a well-kept cemetary -- and then flowing into a home in a very big and sometimes impersonal city. It's like a rythym alternating, "Come here, let me in, come here, let me in."

Take a moment to read it again in a few hours and see if you can feel it too. I suspect that some of you might find this story following you around later tonight, or tomorrow morning -- if you do, be sure to check your locks!

I'll return just as soon as I can fix that sticky deadbolt on my front door!

Oh, and Sarah, on that day when you were returning from the laundry, I believe that your new found friend was just trying to be helpful and, since you probably had your arms full, he was just opening the door for you -- a soldier and a gentleman after all!



Now! On To Our Next Library (LOTS More Tales!)


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