Ghost Story #21

This is the story I shared during “Weirdsville USA”.

At 21, I was watching the house of a friend’s mother, in Lafayette, CA., above Berkeley. 

30min drive into work at the I-Beam on Haight. Driving up, was a nice decompression. 

Over the Bay Bridge, off the freeway, onto a dark winding 2 lane road, passing deer, skunk, raccoon. Up a hill & finally into a long gravel driveway. 2 houses above, 2 houses below. Not a single light along the way. A 25yd walk to the oddly configured ‘tudor’ style home. 3 owners had each built an addition to the original two room hunting lodge, so there were now 2 front doors (no keys) 1st door opened to a hallway with 2 bedrooms, bathroom, master suite & a phone nook.The hall lead to a dining room & opened into a main room, but instead of sofas, etc… it had a huge dining table (these were original SCA / Renn Faire folks) & off of that, a large eat in kitchen with back door. 

These 2 rooms were once the lodge. Also off the main room was a small 2-story add on of tv den & office above. Above the bdrms was another add on, a huge sewing room / play room. (remember that last bit of info for tomorrow’s story) One eve, I’m laying in the den, watching tv, no other light source. I feel that someone watching me. Is it the ancient collie dog that looks like an ottoman? 

I look over my shoulder to see instead a man,  leaning in the doorway. He had reddish hair, a beard, pink cheeks, a bit Glen Campbell, in a black & red flannel shirt, arms crossed. Casual. 

We locked eyes, his widened as he pushed off the doorjamb, turned to go & disappeared. 

Though I was surprised & rattled, I’d never been so relieved to see a ghost. 

Had he been a living man, I’d have just freaked out.

When I told the owner of the house, she was excited he was finally seen, she’d only heard him over the last 20 years, but never seen him. She’d lived with him so long, she forgot to mention him to me. Of course I took her up on her offer to actually move in. Though I never saw him like that again,
the next 2 years ‘Glen’ made living there even more interesting.

Ghost Story #11

I turned 11 while living with my grandparents, in San Antonio, in a small house, built in 1960.
Having just begun junior high school. I had a white painted, 30’s metal hospital bed which sat high above brown speckled asbestos tile floor. On weekends, I was allowed to stay up to watch inappropriate late night tv programming. I’d turn off the lights, before switching off the old tube tv. Watching the light quickly dwindle down to a single bright dot. I’d place my hand on the faintly glowing gray screen, a tickling sizzle of static, leaving a silhouette image. Often leaving windows open at night, to catch a breeze, I’d hear distant talking from time-to-time while watching the light of the tv fade. There was an ac unit in the kitchen, but it was mostly used when eating supper; during the worst of summer; when there was company. Otherwise, a floor fan to stir the air, Right outside my bedroom window, I distinctly heard a woman say, “Oh, look at that, it’s raining.”, sounding surprised in a melancholic way. I looked out the window to see the sprinkling rain begin. When I told my grandmother about it, she said, “Don’t listen to those voices, that’s how people go crazy!”

artwork by Adriane Shown                                                      

Ghost Story #16

When I was 16, I'd been living with my high school boyfriend & his dad in NW DC, for about a year. 
The place I'd lived before with my family in SE DC, was torched by a 6yo boy. 
One of my very few, new possessions was a vintage style bisque clown doll. 
The boyfriend's shrink dad was usually off with girlfriend for the weekend, so we got to have slumber parties 
with our lil Rocky Horror family. (I played Frankie for 2yrs)
Sometimes before getting ready for the show we'd play ESP card games. Stirring the ethers. 
Often upon our return, the doll would be in a different position than it was left. 
Maybe only a leg over the other, head now facing the door; but sometimes it moved 12" away from where it usually sat on the desk. It wasn't a first for me, & didn't scare me, but was made even more impressionable by how the others freaked out at first. It happened often enough, that they quit being bothered by it.

Ghost Story #5

When I was 5, we lived on the 1st floor of a lower West, 3-story Victorian building in NYC.

It had a bedroom with French-doors in front. My dad built a sheet-rock wall so I had my own sliver of a room with a tiny loft bed & the gated windows to the street. An art studio with front door to the hallway, living room with big loft & office space underneath, kitchen with back door & then the huge bathroom. Out back was a tiny cinderblock courtyard where I played a lot & where my dad made theatre backdrop paintings. Or where cast party guests would make art, smoke on the steps. 

One eve, I saw a small woman walk past the open French-doors & through the wall. 

I asked my parents who she was, where’d that door lead to, what’s she doing in there? 

They responded with who, what door, where? There’s no lady, no door.

I insisted there were both. Standing in front of where I saw her go through their bedroom wall,

indeed, there was an outline of a doorjamb, long ago plastered over, under countless layers of paint. The wood floor had an edging detail that clearly defined a once used passageway.

During one of the parties, I sat on the floor, facing my mom & her friend, who had their backs to the open front door. I saw my friend (I’ll call her Lillian) got up to greet her & took her to my room to play. The ladies said that they both felt something brush past their legs at the same time.

My mother later saw a ghost of a grinning jockey ride by. (but not the horse)

Though she never saw my friend, from time to time ‘Lillian’ was heard crying,

“Why did you leave me this way? Why did you leave me like this?”

    photo by John Shown

Ghost Story #8

During my 2nd year in San Antonio, I turned 8 & jumped into the 3rd grade. I was allowed to walk the mile to school by myself. Half way, there was a white hand silhouette on a red background & taped inside of a house window to denote a safe place to go, should there be any trouble. Having come from NYC & seeing these colors of the Salvation Army, who tried to recruit me when I was only 6…I just didn’t trust the hands. But I thought about running to that house, when things got twisted at home. A weird image. Like when I placed my hand on the static charged tv in the dark.Ghost Hand. When I went back to NYC to visit my mom for summer break, they’d moved into an old rowhouse, which was 3 small floors in the single unit. A grand piano, painted pink, had been left behind & took up ½ of the 1st floor which had a run-on living-room-eat-in-kitchen. 2nd floor was the en suite bedroom for baby, mom & step-dad. 3rd floor was a study & storage.
But in the corner, a tiny room all mine, with a mutli-pane glass door. At some point a walk in closet. Aside from the bathroom & front door, it was the only other door, since each floor was one big 10’x25’ room. Being in the farther corner, on the top floor, I felt both trapped & exposed.
The open doorway to 2nd & 3rd floor was in the middle of the open landing. Sandwiched between other rowhouses. there were only windows on the front & back walls.
Also on the 2nd floor was a newly constructed steam room, which they used to store linens, since it was cedar lined. It had a full glass door. I hated going near it. Feeling ike someone was in there, ready to come out of there any second. Having to pass it on my way up or down the stairs, felt like I was being followed on the landing. It always sounded like someone was on another floor, even when we were all on the same floor together. My only time there, since they moved to DC the next year. To a newer, creepier, sprawling apartment complex that was once barracks. I just got a shiver thinking about the connected basements with sliding steel doors!

                                  photo by John Shown

Ghost Story #27

After nearly a year in an abusive relationship, at 27, I was plotting my escape from Taos, NM. It'd be a long winter before making it back to Austin. When a shotgun was pointed at my chest & I begged for the trigger to be pulled, I knew I needed to get the hell out of there. As women of any strength or background, being isolated is a very dangerous place to be. Taos Pueblo is the oldest continuously inhabited structure in the US, so there certainly are some ghosts around there, some of which generations have seen together. Taos people were killed hundreds of years ago, to force others to build the catholic church on that land. I never set foot in the church for that reason alone. The horseshoe shaped village cups the Pueblo itself, which is walled in at the foot of the mountains. I lived in one of those houses, where most had electricity & indoor plumbing. Unlike inside of the Pueblo, but there was a river for water. I only spent the Feast Days in the Pueblo. The tiny town which started up in the mid-1500’s, was less than 3 miles away & certainly had plenty of their own ghosts, too. At over 7200ft, it stayed cold far too long. The depressing 4 room house would heat up easily with 2 potbelly stoves. Driving into or back from town at night was intense. No lights, flat road, nothing to either side but dark fields. Occasionally rabbits or hand raised buffalo or a figure standing on the side or walking along it’s shoulder. Pueblo men would wrap up in light flannel sheets, like a mummy, part of their face showing, doing so to walk outside, during certain times that use of a vehicle was restricted. (similar to certain Jewish law) So, you’d see these swaddled figures, in the headlights, but quite often, it was not a human. As you’d guess, when it would disappear into thin air. The Pueblo has been around well over twice as long as the town, so you can imagine the accumulation of spirits on that road in between the two worlds of town & Pueblo, life & death. I’ve been back to NM dozens of times since then, but I doubt I will ever return to Taos.

Ghost Story #-2

Facebook posted a life event, that we got engaged, me & Facebook, that is. 
No, of course I didn't get engaged, haven't even been on a date in ages. 
Which inspires me for today's ghost story, more a tale of terror. 
Which I've told before, but...
On the one occasion that I got asked out by an unmarried, unattached, bonafide single guy, 
I said no to a party & yes to a 30min tea date. I could see him pacing around through the cafe window after he arrived late, staying outside talking on his phone. 
When he finally walked up to the table, standing over me, 
he said, "So I'm the asshole who stands outside for 10min waiting for you." "You were on the phone." "Why didn't you come get me?" "You were on the phone." 
We're now at 20min. He pinned me in the corner with his chair & leaned 1/2 way across the table. 
I asked for space. "I'm showing you my interest through body language." 
"The fact that you asked me here shows interest." 
He went on to tell me how psychic he was, 
"I knew the second that I ejaculated into my ex-wife, I knew that she was pregnant." 
I don't doubt it, I've heard similar tales of inception, but not on a 20min tea date! We're at -2min. 
"Are you done? Let's walk out together." 
"No, no, I'm going to sit here & finish my tea." 
I won't bore you with the many other gory details. 
Guess his psychic powers were just on the fritz that day.

                                artwork by Marc Bodie