The New Ghost
The secretary’s husband from Winyah Nursing Center, a facility I was working in, was acting as a fire watch for us one week when the fire alarms needed replacing. I heard him as he hurriedly came down the hallway. “I think I saw a ghost,” he exclaimed. “I was coming from 1st Station and saw her reflection in the picture that’s hanging up in the lobby. She was sitting in the chair by the door. I turned around to say hey to her and she was gone!”
“Yup,” I agreed. “That was The Lady in the Yellow Shirt. Years ago, they took down the mirror that hung there because of her. I doubt the new administrator is aware of the history though.”
His experience prompted a discussion about ghostly spirits. I shared with him about what had recently been happening in our home; things which had never happened before.
“You might have brought something home with you. Something from here,” he suggested. “You never know.”
At some point, while working at Winyah Nursing Center, I had reconciled with my father after more than 10 years of non-communication with him. A few years later, he passed away. I noticed Christmas of that year, “strange occurrences,” began happening in my home. Because of that, I didn’t feel I had taken anything from work home with me.
At first, it was just simple things like my daughter’s room became ice cold all the time, even during the Summer. We’d hear phantom footsteps coming from her room to the living room. My son video-taped a wire whisk hanging above the sink moving all by itself for several minutes.
While home alone at night while I worked, my husband reported hearing someone in the kitchen playing with the pots and pans. I have an open kitchen and when he turned to look, no one would be there, but when he’d call out, the noise would stop.
My brother and his wife were spending a week with us. They slept on the pull-out-bed in the living room. He complained almost daily about one of us walking to the front door or the refrigerator.
“Do you have to stomp?” he’d say. “And you do know the light in the fridge comes on and lights up the living room too, right?”
“Is he serious?” I asked my sister-in-law about mid-week.
“Yeah, y’all wake us up every night and he’s a hard sleeper, too.”
“It isn’t us,” I insisted.
“Well that explains why when I look to see who it is, no one is there.”
Naturally, we said it was my dad’s ghost. In life, he would pace to the front door and look out then turn and go back to the fridge where he’d open the door, shut it, and start over again a couple more times. He slept in my daughter’s room on her bottom bunk whenever he stayed with us and he loved to cook, so hearing the pots and pans meant nothing to us under the circumstances.
The Christmas that followed my father’s death, my friend, Glenda, also my co-worker, started saying things like, “Your father is haunting your house,” or if she heard phantom footsteps she’d say, “Hello, Mike!”
We’d hear the glasses shake in the cabinets as if someone were stomping around in there going from one side to the other; something he often did while in the kitchen (he was very heavy footed. His footsteps were of a stomping gait).
My bedroom door, which was a bi-fold, would slowly open on its own. It was so slow, my husband and I just explained it away telling the kids, “The house is settling or something, so the door is going to open by itself.” But, when it started closing by itself as well, we had a harder time explaining it.
Just before the master bedroom is another bathroom. The shower door was a smoky colored pane. A lot of times when I showered, my husband would come in the bedroom and wait for me to get out. It was just a habit: him waiting for me in case I needed assistance. Many times, I would see him walk past and go into the bedroom.
One night, I opened the door and called out to him, “Would you get me a towel please?”
“Hey! Would you get me a towel please?” I said again.
Still, there was no answer from the bedroom. From the living room though, my husband hollered back, “Who are you talking to?”
“You,” I said as he walked into the bathroom. “You just walked into the bedroom. What are you doing out there?”
“No I didn’t. I’ve been in the living room the whole time,” he insisted. I told him what happened, about seeing him walking into the bedroom. “Yeah, I’ve seen that too, quite a few times. I thought it was just you though.”
After that happened to me about three times, I made sure my husband was sitting in the bedroom before I jumped into the shower again. There were many occurrences over the years and this was just the beginning.