I'm not afraid of ghosts. I'm usually up for a good scary movie or X-Files re-runs in the dark. But lately, I wonder if they're seeking me out. And at the risk of sounding like a cheesy cable special about experiencing an unexplained "presence," I decided to collect and present my latest proof.
My husband works at Thomas Edison's old house. He works nights usually. Some evenings when I get off work, the timing works out so I can bring him supper. The Park is completely deserted of visitors at this hour; my husband, the solitary keeper of these old grounds. And we eat our simple dinner on the same property where the great inventor, Thomas Edison himself, lived, worked...and died. Just below us sits the Model-T that Henry Ford gave to Edison as a gift. Outside in the cold winter air, 6 deer sit below an old, bare tree and suddenly jerk to their feet and bound into the nearby black woods...as if spooked by something invisible and inaudible. We eat our slices from Frank's Pizza in silence, but my senses are heightened and I can hear howling, creaking, and rustling. It may not seem like firm proof, but look at this photo and tell me, if this house is not haunted, what house is?
My second point of proof comes with a twinge of emotion. My grandmother's 17-year-old-dog, Sparky, recently passed. Sparky had become more of an indoor dog in her old age with a cozy bed at the foot of my grandma's staircase. Now, this information comes as only second-hand, but my grandma, a reliable eye-witness has seen paw indentations in the snow. Not a squirrels print, nor a cat. No, my grandma knew this print well. It was her Sparky's. Believe what you will, but I know the truth. Rest in peace old friend. Come back and visit if you desire...
Sparky, January 1, 1994 - January 14 2011
And now my final, and most damning evidence. The clincher that made me a believer. Today I began my spring cleaning (a few months early). As is the norm for me, I get out my laptop, open iTunes, and click "shuffle." Somewhere in the midst of my work, I had to pause my music to take a phone call. Absent-mindedly, I went back to work without resuming my beloved tunes. And suddenly from the other room, piercing the silence and sending chills up my spine, the music began playing again on its own. You haven't heard the worst of it. The song that played was that familiar, haunting melody, "Ghost Riders in the Sky." Sure, I have a cat, a dog, and an open window nearby that may have been the culprit, It's only the spacebar that needs to be clicked to un-pause and my animals do run amuck...but my 6th sense tells me otherwise.
No, I'm not afraid of ghosts. After all, they've never done anything to harm me. And on a stormy, snowy night like tonight, when I'm all alone in my apartment, Eddie is gone until midnight, and my imagination is running wild, I guess it could be nice to know that I have company.