Have I ever told you about my ghost? Well, not MY ghost, but the ghost man who lives in my house? Well, we've got one. Right from the start, I felt his presence. I don't claim to be a psychic or a medium and I've only actually seen one full-bodied apparition in my entire life, which was one of my grandmothers and it was from a distance for a very brief moment, so it wasn't scary at all to me.
But the thought of seeing a full-bodied apparition ever again? No, thank you! I don't care WHO it is! I don't wanna' see it!
So, that being said, I don't know exactly what one would call my ability, but I do sense and feel things, and I see a lot of things in my mind's eye, which is hard to explain. For example, I've never actually laid eyes on the ghost man who lives in our house, but I know he's a man. An older gentleman. He died sometime in the 20th century, he was inhabiting this house before WE came along, and he does NOT appreciate the noise our family creates.
I also know what our ghost man looks like. I see him in my mind as though I'm experiencing a memory of someone I've seen before, though I can honestly say I don't ever recall seeing this man before in my life. And there's one more thing - his name's not George. We discovered that one chilling evening when I headed to bed because, quite frankly, this ghost man's attempts to get my attention while working late one night were completely unnerving me and I had had enough. As I made my way down the narrow corridor to the master bedroom, I felt a very strong energy coming up behind me. I felt pressure on my back and a tingling sensation as though I knew someone was about to touch me, but they hadn't quite reached me yet. I got the sense this man wanted to communicate with me and was extremely frustrated with my unwillingness and the fact that I was now abandoning him for the safety of my bedroom - a room he cannot enter for some reason. He can only stand in the doorway and watch us. But when I shut the door, he's shut out.
As I flew into the bedroom, a rush of air whooshed past me in the hall and continued straight through the linen closet. I clutched my chest and gasped. My husband shot straight up in bed and asked what was going on.
"The ghost man," I panted. "He came after me in the hall. He's mad at me 'cause I won't talk to him."
Bert immediately leaped out of the bed and charged for the hallway where he stood and called out to the ghost. "Hey George," he said. "Are you bothering my wife?"
Just then, I felt completely agitated and, through gritted teeth, with a glare in my eye, I said, "His name's not George."
"Whoa!" Bert replied, throwing his hands up in defense. "What's going on with you?"
I gasped and shook my head. "Oh my gosh. I don't know. It's like something took over my body." In a panic, I pleaded with him to please shut the door. The moment the door latched shut, I grabbed his arm and said, "Please don't call him George. Don't even joke about it. It makes him mad, okay?"
He furrowed his brow. "How do you know?"
I thought for a moment and said, "I don't know. I just know his name's not George and he doesn't like it. I don't wanna' make him angry. Just please don't say it anymore, okay?"
Months later, as I relayed this story to a friend on the phone, she said, "That's creepy. Have you tried researching the property or asking around? Maybe somebody knows who this ghost guy is."
"I've done a little asking around, but this property used to be farmland and since this house has been built, it's been owned by the same man who is still alive and claims nobody has died here," I replied. As I spoke with my friend, I felt a very strong feeling like the ghost man was standing right there in the tiled hallway, staring at me. I nervously shifted my chair away, picked up a pen and began mindlessly doodling on a piece of paper, trying to keep my wits about me.
"So, what's the ghost man's name? Have you ever figured it out?" my friend asked.
"No," I lamented. "I have no idea." Just then I glanced down at the paper I had been doodling on. Without realizing it, I had written the name ALBERT on the paper. The rest was just scribbles. My heart leaped in my chest and the hair on my arms stood on end. "Oh my gosh," I muttered into the phone.
"What," my friend anxiously inquired.
"Oh my gosh," I muttered again. "I think his name is Albert." My breathing became shallow, my heart pounding wildly with fright as I explained that I had been staring out the window while my right hand mindlessly doodled on a piece of paper, and when I looked down, I saw the name on the paper.
Another fact about our resident ghost is the fact that he's confined to certain areas of the house, his favorite being our hallway where he is often heard shuffling up and down the tiled corridor. His second favorite area is the kitchen where he can often be heard milling about, opening and closing doors and cupboards, and setting his mug down hard on the counter.
To us, it's just the typical noises our fellow otherworldly inhabitant makes. To others, it's terribly frightening.
Now that I've set the stage, let me tell you what happened this past Saturday morning. As Bertrand and I packed and loaded our equipment in preparation for our show up north, we came to the realization that the case Bertrand had purchased to protect my keyboard was too small. "I have time to run to Guitar Center," he said. "It's open and Ryan (our guitarist) won't be here for another hour. Is it okay if I run and exchange this quick?"
"Sure," I said. Our kids were across the street at the neighbors' house and I still had packing and preparing to do so I welcomed the brief solitude I was being offered. Bertrand took off and I sat down at the piano, rehearsing a couple more songs. Fifteen minutes later, I retreated to the master bathroom. As I sat there, I heard a loud crashing sound. I perked up and muttered, "Oh no. I hope that wasn't my keyboard falling." I remembered Bert had propped it against the wall in the entryway where a tiled floor lay beneath. All I could think was, our show is doomed if that keyboard just fell and broke. Just then the bathroom door in the hall shut loudly. I gasped and craned my neck, listening intently again. I could hear shuffling and banging about in the other bathroom so I called out, "Bert? Is that you?" No answer.
"Bert?" I called louder. Still, there was no answer. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach fluttered with anxiety. "Who's here?" I shouted. Still, no answer. I sat as still as stone, straining to hear for any other noises. Just then the toilet in the hall bathroom flushed. I leaped up at that point and exited the bathroom. As I ran out into the hall, I called out again. An eerie chill ran up my spine as I encountered nothing but a silent, empty hallway. There stood my keyboard, still propped against the wall and seemingly unharmed.
Blowing out a sigh, I entered the office and sat at my husband's computer where I groaned and rubbed my temples for a moment in an attempt to calm my nerves before typing out our set list. Just then the phone rang. The caller ID showed Bert's cell phone. I picked up and asked, "Did you just stop by home and use the bathroom?"
"No," he impatiently replied. "Anyway, I think I found the right case for your keyboard."
"You're in Scottsdale already?" I cried out.
"Of course I'm in Scottsdale. I told you I was going to Guitar Center. What's going on?"
I gulped as a feeling of dread came over me. "Um ... I'm hearing things. Somebody just used our hall bathroom while I was in the master bathroom. I thought it was you."
"Maybe it was one of the kids," he said.
"No. They're across the street and the door is locked. They couldn't have come back home without me letting them in. I'm home alone ... kind of." As I spoke, I entered the kitchen and double checked the door. Sure enough, it was locked.
"Huh," he replied in a bored tone. "Well, I'm heading home in a bit. Have you heard from any of the other guys?"
Just then a rush of air whooshed past me from behind. I gasped and spun around. "What?" I said into the phone.
"Has Ryan called?" Bert asked.
"Uh ..." A strange noise seemed to be coming from the office just then. "No, I ... uh ..." I walked toward the office and glanced about the room. There was nothing.
"K. Well I'll be home soon. Hey, are you packing the suitcase yet?"
"Not yet," I replied, then gasped and jumped again as a very loud shuffling noise echoed down the hall toward me. I whirled around, but nobody was there. "K. I've gotta' go. Weird things are happening right now."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh. Our ghost is having a little fun with me, it seems," I anxiously replied.
As I hit the end button on the phone, the sound of dishes moving in the sink caused me to jump and whirl around. "What the ..." A blast of air whooshed behind me and I squealed and spun around again, gasping for air. "What do you want?" I cried out. Shuffling footsteps sounded again in the hall so I dashed toward the sound, but again saw nothing. "Okay, I'm busy right now so leave me alone!" I called out.
And that was it. Everything stopped and I was left in peace until Bert arrived home. Later, as I relayed this story to my band mates, I came to the conclusion that perhaps Albert was upset with us because we've been holding a lot of loud band practices in our home lately and he wanted us to just leave town already and give him some peace. We were originally planning on leaving about two hours earlier than we did, so I suspect he was growing impatient with our major delay.
Anyway, it was a very creepy start to our weekend away.
