Ghost

You sidle up,
half see-through —

a sideways Father Christmas
who knows how good I’ve been,

the transparent constant,
who ruthlessly alphabetizes
the contents of my underdrawers.

You sequester a present for me,
wrapped safe in a tea cozy.

I run my finger over it, 
look for skull and crossbones,
then pop the cork and sip —
my lips stain with immediacy.

“It’s the gift of anticipation,” you whisper.

tk/March 2013

Thanks to the talented R.A.D. Stainforth for reading this poem. 

Not to be Reproduced, 1937 by René Magritte

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group. 

Ectoplasm

click to embiggen

ec·to·plasm (kt-plzm)
n.
2.

a. The visible substance believed to emanate from the body of a spiritualistic medium during communication with the dead.

b. An immaterial or ethereal substance, especially the transparent corporeal presence of a spirit or ghost.

There's something not quite right about the picture of the little girl above my desk. At first, I thought it was the reflection of my camera, but after close examination, the camera is visible inside the frame, on the lower right. Nothing else in the room can explain this kind of reflection on the glass.

My uncle bought this framed vintage photo, circa 1920s, at an antique shop in Florida. The girl is wrapped in transparent toile, has bobbed hair, and is wearing a religious medal.  He sent it to me last Christmas, because he said it reminded him of me, when I was a little girl.  She does look amazingly like me.

I posted this photo, from Tuesday, on Facebook, and one of my friends said the weird glowing green glob looks like ectoplasm, stuff that allegedly oozes from ghosts, and allows them to perform certain feats of telekinesis.  I'm not so sure about all of this.  What do you think?

click to embiggen

(For more about the ghosts at Willow Manor, click on the "ghosts" label below.)

Eastern State Pen

click to embiggen

The last time I was in Philly, I visited the Eastern State Penitentiary. It was first built in 1776 and was known as the Walnut Street Jail. In 1836, work was completed, and 450 cells were available to house inmates. Famous for its radial or wagon wheel floor plan, over 300 prisons worldwide have copied this architectural style. Some of America's most notorious criminals were held within the penitentiary's walls, including Willie Sutton and Al Capone. After being totally abandoned in 1971, preservation efforts continue and over 100,000 visitors a year tour the prison remains. It is amazing that this giant walled piece of history still stands in the midst of a bustling Philadelphia. So is it haunted? The negative energies were so dense, I had to leave after about twenty minutes.

Capone's cell ... obviously privileged
(click to embiggen)

book worm

He spots gold leaf

on faded linen

a forgotten sparkle

bound in dust

confidently pulls

it to him, gently

soothes the dark

of must and soot

allows the pungent

pages, the mellow

vellum to fall open

in his hands

then one by one

devours each word

memorizes every

pilfered phrase



Tess Kincaid
May 2011

Last week my computer crashed, literally.  I knocked the desktop box with the vacuum sweeper and it crashed on the ceramic tile floor.  So, to make a long story short, after the annoying process of starting from scratch with a new PC, I had to get a new compatible headset/microphone.  My in-house computer tech is now home from college for the summer.  He and I tried for an hour to record without static in the background, to no avail.  We decided it must be all the kinetic ghostly energy around my desk.  After all, May and June are the haunted hot spots at the manor.

For more on the ghosts of Willow Manor, click on the "ghosts" label at the end of this post.

ring my bell

From the start, we knew the manor had its imperfections; faulty wiring, antiquated plumbing, and a gaping hole in the dining room ceiling, just to name a few. But the place had a certain irresistible charm that rose from its nooks and crannies like the scent of baking bread.

The dry Ohio summer of 1988, we jumped into the venture with young romantic hearts and have never regretted the plunge. It really isn't a manor, so to speak, but a ramshackle French country style limestone and cedar house, on four acres along the Scioto River, built in 1927 and named "Willow Manor" by the first owners.  The willows once lining the stone culvert, stretching east to west across the property, sadly, are gone.

The manor doorbell is wired to ring in the kitchen. A small celluloid box, covered with years of paint, is fixed in the corner of the room, above the cabinets on the soffit near the ceiling. Upon our first arrival at the manor, it produced a delightfully old fashioned "ding-dong". Fifteen years ago, or so, for reasons unknown, the ding-dong was replaced by a loud, disconcerting, guttural choke.  It was quite amusing for unsuspecting guests to hear the sudden strangulation, after which I would nonchalantly call out, "Honey, get the door!"  I'm sure it was all a bit too "Addams Family".

A few years ago, after a long absence, the "dong" part of ding-dong randomly returned. Strange, since I had grown fond of the death bell's quirky heralding, a delicious air of perpetual Halloween. Was it possessed by one of the resident manor ghosts? Probably not, but it did add a certain ambiance.

happy halloween, my friends

haunted manor

We moved to the manor 22 years ago. The French Country style limestone and cedar house was built in 1927 and named "Willow Manor" by the original owners. The little culvert, that runs through our four acres, and deposits into the Scioto River behind our property, was once lined with large, lovely weeping willow trees. If you would have asked me then, if I believed in ghosts, I would have laughed.

Not only do I now believe in ghosts, I've learned to live comfortably alongside them, accepting their presence, since Willow Manor is haunted. There's nothing evil or life threatening about my ghostly cohabitants, but they let it be known, on a regular basis, that they exist. Dogs stand at attention, ears up, gazing at a particular corner of the room. Babies have peered up the back stairwell, smiling and waving, when we were alone on the first floor. They are friendly energies.

One of the spirits is that of a small, elderly lady, hunched over, all in white, who roams the house mostly between 3:30 and 5:00 a.m., creaking slowly up and down the front staircase. Her distinctive perfume is so powerful, it often wakes me.  She is known to sit on the edge of the bed of overnight visitors, new to the manor, leaning to whisper indiscernible messages in their ears.  All three of my children have seen her numerous times, but I hear her, most days, loudly rustling dishes in the kitchen, opening and closing doors, walking the staircase, and on one occasion, WT and I actually heard her let out a shrill scream.  She likes to leave the kitchen junk drawer open, the contents carefully sorted on the counter top. Last December, when I was baking holiday cookies, I was inadvertently about to add the eggs, before I had creamed the butter and sugar. (You cookie bakers will recognize this as a no-no.) Just as I held the first egg over the bowl,  ready to crack, a force hit my hand from underneath, sending the egg sailing over my shoulder, to land with a splat on the floor behind me. Obviously, this ghost is not only orderly, but is an experienced cook, as well.

Our first week at the manor, a neighbor boy announced that one of the previous owners of Willow Manor had hung himself on a branch of a tall fir tree on the front lawn. It was a troubling bit of information, but we didn't think much of it.  The next June, I was busy in the kitchen, when I felt a presence at my side. Thinking it was my daughter, who was about seven years old at the time, I closed the cabinet door and looked down, expecting to see her. Instead, a tall, transparent man, with a square jaw and curly hair stood beside me, gazing out the window.  As I let out a shriek, he turned his pale, serious face, and looked down, over his shoulder at me, before swirling into thin air.  Every hair on my body stood at attention. Years later, I did some online research and learned this previous owner had committed suicide in the month of June.

Recently, when we had a new sofa delivered, one of the delivery men announced, quite out of the blue, with tears in his eyes, he had actually lived in this house as a small boy and his father had done away with himself outside, in front of the manor.  This guy was extremely tall, with a head full of curls, and looked uncannily similar to the vanishing ghost, who stood at my kitchen window that June day.

the curse of chief leatherlips

Wyandot warrior

It's Leatherlips season at the manor. For those of you who are new readers of this blog, the Native American Wyandot Chief Leatherlips was executed 200 years ago today, June 1, 1810, on the banks of the Scioto River, in the general vicinity of Willow Manor. The chief was called "Leatherlips" because he was known to be trustworthy; his word was his bond. He was friendly with the white settlers in and around Dublin, Ohio, including the early resident Sells brothers, and was a local fixture at their new Black Horse Tavern. His Wyandot people relocated to Northwest Ohio, and were plagued by many mishaps, including disease. They blamed Leatherlips for their turn of unfortunate luck and returned to Dublin to escort him to their northern encampment. When he refused, his fellow Wyandots accused Leatherlips of witchcraft, and pronounced the sentence of death, executing him by tomahawk. This photo is of a Wyandot warrior, similar to how Leatherlips may have looked in his full tribal regalia; since he was killed in 1810, there are no photos of him in existence.

The Curse of Chief Leatherlips

This time of year is also our local Annual Muirfield Memorial PGA Golf Tournament. It is said that Jack Nicklaus built his course on sacred Wyandot Indian burial grounds, and that the tournament is cursed by Chief Leatherlips. It is certainly peculiar that every year, golfers and spectators are drenched with torrents of rain. Could it be that Central Ohio just gets a lot of rain this time of year? Possibly.

Bill Moose Crowfoot, 1930

Another Native American who was known to wander the area of the Scioto River banks in Dublin, Ohio, was Bill Moose Crowfoot, pictured here in head dress and beaded tunic, 1930. He is said to be the last of the Wyandots to live in Central Ohio. Born in Northwest Ohio in 1837, Crowfoot moved to the Columbus area with his family, when most of his tribe was displaced to Kansas and later Oklahoma. When we first moved to Willow Manor, there were three "Indian trees", sometimes called signal trees, in a line about 150 yards apart, the center one on our property. They were maples bent as saplings and secured with buckskin ties by the Wyandots, to mark a significant location. These maples grew into huge unusual "s" shaped trees. I've always wondered, exactly what was the significance of the trees in this particular location at the manor?

Some 20 years ago, when the area around the manor was very rural, my youngest son came into the kitchen one sunny June day. "Mommy, who's that old man outside in the overalls?" After investigating the area there was no one to be found. A few years later, also in the month of June, by the way, WT saw an old Native American looking man in overalls, standing near a stack of three large rocks we fondly call the Willow Manor Cairn. By the time he walked across the property to greet our visitor, he was gone.

The months of May and June are always hot spots for ghostly occurrences at the manor. A long time resident passed away here in the month of May, and sadly, a previous owner, died by his own hand at the manor in the month of June. This week has certainly been no exception; there's been lots of drawer openings, door slammings and loud nightly noises. But, the most unusual this week, so far, was a dead snake, it's head obviously crushed, strangely displayed on the rock wall outside the garage door. The Wyandot tribe was known to do the snake dance in order to bring on rain. Maybe Leatherlips was just gearing up for the Memorial Tournament, since it's been pouring rain all day. Did I just hear thunder?

overheard at the manor, a ghost post

I stash away all kinds of paper keepsakes; artsy cards, tickets from

treasured occasions, handwritten notes from dear friends, quirky

quotes ripped from magazines. There are boxes and boxes of my

precious ephemera, stuff anyone else would consider trash, tucked

into cubbyholes at the manor. Yes, my name is Willow and I am a

magpie. Or, maybe just a hopeless romantic? I know, you're

thinking pack rat, but I much prefer magpie.

Anyway, last week, I was sorting through one of my prized

collections and discovered several old paper perfume samples sealed

in cellophane, saved from my old retail days, some 30 years ago. I'm

not sure exactly why I kept them, but I don't always have a rhyme

or reason.

Just for fun, I tore open one of the packets of Nina Ricci's L'Air du

Temps, doubting any scent remained. Although, I never wore this

perfume, I was immediately transported back in time. It reminded

me of someone I knew. I'm not sure exactly who.

"Hey, they still smell! But different. Old and kinda mellow." I held

it out for WT to take a sniff.

"Gosh, it smells musty like the ghost perfume, I smelled again last

night, when I got up to pee."

Every so often, there is a strong scent of perfume in a certain spot

in the master bedroom at the manor, just between the door to the

bath and the bed. It's only detectable on occasion, late at night,

usually between 3:00 and 5:00, at times so powerful, it wakes me.

It's not a familiar scent, and it certainly isn't one I wear. It has a

uniquely aged, mellow quality, just like the old sample I opened,

yet deliciously pleasant, and mysterious.

Several years ago, a woman stopped by the house, and introduced

herself as being married to one of the grandsons of the elderly lady

who died at the manor. We invited her in and showed her around.

It had been years since she had been inside. Among many

fascinating things, she told us the master bedroom was once a guest

bedroom, and before it was remodeled in the late 1970's, there was

a hidden window seat, where the family cremation urns were kept.

This particular window would have been in the exact spot, just

between the door to the bath and the bed, where the unusual scent

often occurs, very late, in the still of the night.

.

.

For more posts on the ghosts of Willow Manor, click [HERE].

overheard at the manor

There's been an incredible number of daily hits on the manor ghosts
link on my sidebar, and since it's Halloween week, I thought you
might enjoy some of the latest ghoulish happenings at the manor.

Recently, when WT was traveling, my sister came to spend the
weekend and keep me company. In the early evening, just the two
of us were alone in the house, in the sitting room off the kitchen,
pleasantly chatting away, talking over each other, as we often do,
about something really important, like face cream. Suddenly, the
hardware on the door of the landing, that leads to the garage, started
to rattle. We both jerked to attention and froze, facing each other,
mouths open. Then, to our amazement and horror, the door opened
with a loud, slow c-r-e-a-k. (No, there were no open windows, and
the garage doors were completely closed.)

"Oh, my gosh! Did you hear the doorknob rattling, before the door
actually opened?"

"I know. This kind of stuff happens all the time. You'd think I'd be
used to it by now."

The next morning, she came downstairs first and was in the little
powder room off the kitchen. As I rounded the back staircase, I was
shocked to see one of the large kitchen light fixtures (yes, one of
those lovely "boob lights", as I fondly call them) dangling on a wire,
four feet from the ceiling.

"Was the light hanging like this, when you came down?"

"No!"

"It just missed hitting your head by about 30 seconds!"

After we turned off the electricity, taped the live wires, and put the
fixture in the garage, for the man of the house to repair on his return,
I asked how she slept.

"Fine. Except, what was that dark shadow that kept moving from
left to right, in the hallway at the top of the front staircase?"

"You noticed it, too? I've always felt a presence in the hall at night,
but thought the dark movements were just my tired eyes playing
tricks on me."

"Well, it sure wasn't your eyes playing the tricks."
(for more on manor ghosts, click on "ghosts" in label section of this post)

Ghosts

I have always loved the romantic notion of ghosts, but never had any
reason to believe in their existence, until we moved to Willow Manor
twenty one years ago. Now, I realize there are many readers who will

completely poo-poo this subject. There are even those who have gone

so far as to ridiculously suggest that demons are trying to possess

me. This, in my opinion, is stretching it just a tad. All I can advise, is

for you to spend a night or two at the manor and you might be willing

to change your mind.

Since the house was built in 1927, there have been at least two

deaths, that we know of, which occurred at the manor; an elderly
woman in the late 1970's and a man in his early 40's, who committed
suicide by hanging himself on a tree, in the early 1980's. We do,

however, consider the manor's ghostly visitors to be friendly ones;

we have never felt threatened or put in harm's way.

All three of my grown children have seen a small woman, hunched
over, dressed in white, who wanders the manor at night. She has
been known to whisper unintelligibly in your ear, late at night or can
be heard descending the front staircase around 4:30 a.m. Many
overnight guests have asked, the next morning, who was up in the

night, leaving the house around 4:00.

The most recent occurrence was when we had a couple spend the
night here in May. We were eating breakfast the following morning,
and I asked if they slept well. The woman's hands started to tremble
slightly and she said, "Well, since you asked, I might as well tell you.
In the middle of the night, I felt someone sit down on the edge of the
bed. I thought it was ___, but when I sat up and looked, no one was
there. And ___ was sound asleep beside me."

I am the only one who has seen the male ghost, and it happened just
once. About 17 years ago, one summer day in June, as I stood in the
kitchen, cupboard doors open, looking into the shelves, I got the
distinct feeling someone was looking at me. Thinking it was my
daughter, who was about eight at the time, I shut the doors, and
turned to look down at her, but she was not there. Instead, a very
tall, transparent, stern looking man, was standing to my left, looking
out the kitchen window. He turned his head and looked down, over
his shoulder at me. The hair on the back of my neck and head stood
on end and I screamed like bloody murder! He vaporized within
seconds.

Since then, I have done quite a bit of research and found a picture
online of the man who killed himself at Willow Manor. I immediately

recognized him as the tall man I saw in my kitchen that summer day,

gazing out at the huge old pines. I also found that he died in June.



*For additional manor ghost stories click on the "ghosts" label at

the bottom of this post.
*If you are interesting in participating in Theme Thursday, click

on the link and join in the fun.

photo: Front Staircase at Willow Manor

She's at it Again!

This morning, I came downstairs to find the kitchen junk drawer
left completely open. Now, I have a thing about my kitchen cabinets
and drawers being left open. I'm always following behind those who
might not be such a stickler, (not to name any names, of course) and
closing any open drawers and cabinet doors. It's my Libra scales,
liking to have things in order.

Since I was the only one in the house last night, being greeted with
this opened drawer this morning, was a tad startling. Our little
resident ghost has been known to leave the junk drawer open, on
many occasions, but not so much recently. One particular time,
several years ago, the top drawer to the left was open and part of
the contents sorted out on the counter!

Come to think of it, last week, when WT and I were watching TV
around 8:30 one evening, we heard a loud clink, that sounded like
one of the lids on the glass canisters. It was audible enough to be
heard over the TV, and WT likes his volume turned way up! The
sink was completely empty and all the dishes put away, so it couldn't
have been a cup settling in the sink. The next night, at exactly the
same time, we heard it again, coming from the same spot, which, as
you can see from the picture, is in the same location as the drawer
in question.

Maybe she was just helping herself to a little evening snack from the
canister with the mixed nuts? (Which I'm sure some of you are
thinking is most apropos.) But what is she searching for in the junk
drawer?



And just in case you were wondering, here's a peep of the other side
of my old galley style kitchen.





For more stories of the WM ghost, click on "ghosts" in my labels.

Do You See Her?

Our son, home from college for the weekend, was awakened at 4:00
A.M. with the intense feeling that someone was in the room. He
quickly grabbed his cell phone and started taking pictures in the
dark. There are large framed prints on opposite walls in the newly
redecorated "bat cave". One is of the Titanic, which you can see
reflected from the flash in the glass of the larger, revolutionary ship
print. Do you see the image captured between the reflections? One
little piece of history you might want to know, is there was a black
maid, named Cleo, who lived at the manor in the 1940's.

My stack of Charles Simic books were waiting for me at the library
yesterday. I am thoroughly enjoying a leisurely browse today.
I thought this one paired nicely with our ghostly visit.



Mirrors at 4 A.M.

You must come to them sideways
In rooms webbed in shadow,
Sneak a view of their emptiness
Without them catching
A glimpse of you in return.

The secret is,
Even the empty bed is a burden to them,
A pretense.
They are more themselves keeping
The company of a blank wall,
The company of time and eternity

Which, begging your pardon,
Cast no image
As they admire themselves in the mirror,
While you stand to the side
Pulling a hanky out
To wipe your brow surreptitiously.

Charles Simic

If you are interested in previous ghost happenings at the manor,
click on "ghosts" in the labels section of my sidebar.

Okay, here's some help. Look just right of the Titanic reflection, in
the center of the large print. She's angled, facing right. I think it even
looks like she is wearing a kerchief.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.

This it is, and nothing more."

from The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe

Since it is the season for all things scary, Cynthia shared a few

favorite hair raising ghost stories and asked if anyone else had any

that they especially liked.

Well, as I have mentioned before, Willow Manor is haunted. We have

all heard, felt, smelled and actually seen ghosts at various times in

this old house. Every once in a while, the heavy scent of a woman's

perfume hangs in a certain place in the master bedroom, which was at

one time the guest room, and also the room where the former family's

funeral urns were stored in a window box. It is not a scent I, or anyone

I know, wears. It usually can be detected between the hours of 3:00

and 4:00 a.m. and Friday night WT noticed it again on his way to the

bathroom. It's very strong, very distinct and very unusual.

Sometimes it's so strong it wakes me. Our daughter also noticed the

scent in our dining room last Christmas Eve when we were up late

chatting in the living room and she passed through the dark room on

her way to the kitchen. One thing we do know is this lady ghost has

very classy taste in perfume.

Saturday night, WT and I were sitting in the family room, which is

an open area off the kitchen, watching Hitchcock's Rebecca on TCM.

We were chatting during the movie, and right after I mentioned

something, we both heard a loud shriek come from the landing area

between where we were sitting and the kitchen. We both jumped,

looked at each other and at the same time asked, "Who was that?"

It was definitely a female voice and a loud enough scream to be

heard by both of us over the TV volume, which was cranked up fairly

high, and our conversation. WT got up and looked around, but found

no clues.

Another thing she likes to do, is open my kitchen "junk drawer"

during the night, leave it open, take some of the contents out

and place them on the counter top. Once part of the drawer had

actually been cleaned out and organized. She must not like the

messy contents and state of my junky drawer. Sorry Mrs. G.

All three of our children have seen the form of a small older woman,

hunched over, in a white nightgown late at night, in various spots in

the house. And they still randomly see her when they come home to

visit on holidays. Our youngest son is convinced that she fell on the

steps leading up to the front door area from our dining room, because

he saw her curled up at the foot of the steps late one night this past

summer. We do know that an elderly lady died here in the summer

of 1976 at the age of 88.

All of us have been awakened in the night by the sound of a woman

whispering in our faces. This only happened once to me, and I could

actually feel the force of her breath on my face! The whispering is

always very fast and unintelligible. She can also be heard descending

the front staircase between 3:30 and 4:30 a.m. Many of our overnight

house guests have asked, the next morning, who it was walking down

the stairs late at night.

The most frightening lady ghost episode for me was one night last

spring when she actually turned the latch and opened my bedroom

door at precisely 3:30 a.m. That made me sit up and take note At

least it's not at 11:11. That would creep me out even more.

But, seriously, after living here for twenty years, we are all very used

to these occurrences and feel no harm or ill intent. If she intended to

inflict harm, she would certainly be doing more than just opening

doors, turning on lights and cleaning out kitchen drawers.

If you happen to enjoy reading these hair raising episodes, these are

just a few of our resident lady ghost. Stay tuned, I'll save the

experiences associated with the male ghost for a later post.

More Tales from Willow Manor

I was chatting with Lady Em over at Lavender Beekeeper about
ghosts the other night. She and Betsy asked me to share more hair
raising stories from Willow Manor. There are many to tell, but I will
keep this short and just fill you in on the latest.

.

Last week, when our daughter was home, we were all sitting in the

living room, and the conversation turned, as it usually does, to the

subject of our resident ghost(s). Our youngest son mentioned that the

occurrences here could be from the Native Americans who lived in

this area. Chief Leatherlips is said to have been executed on June 1,

1810, by his own people, along the Scioto River near our property. He

was apparently friendly with the white man and his Wyandot people

did not approve. I then mentioned that I thought it was Laura, the

woman who died here at Willow Manor. At the exact moment I

mentioned her name, a nearby potted plant rustled and six or eight

large leaves fell off and scattered to the floor. We all saw it, heard it

and were stunned. There were no open windows, no air conditioning,

no fans. The plant was on a table across the room. We all agreed that

she must have wanted us to know that it was, indeed, her.

And that's not all. Sunday night, after I had been asleep for about an
hour, the door to my bedroom suddenly burst opened at 3:30. It had
been completely latched tightly shut before I went to bed. The turning
of the knob and the rattling of the hardware was loud enough to wake
me. It opened about 18 inches. I just froze and stared at the open
door. I was too frightened to get up to close it! And of course, WT was
away. The house was completely dark, the guys, who had to work
early the next day, had long gone to bed. What was that all about?

Lady Em suggested that I get a little recorder to see if there are any

EVP's (Electronic Voice Phenomena) here. I might just have to do

that. I'll keep you posted. And if you like this kind of thing, I have

many, many more odd tales to tell.

.

photo: living room at Willow Manor

Willow Wraith

There has been some chat with David (Authorblog) and Lady Em
(The Lavender Beekeeper) recently about ghosts. David said that he
would be very interested to read a post about this subject. I was
hesitant at first, but decided that others might find it intriguing to read
about the happenings at Willow Manor. Until we moved into this house
twenty years ago, I had no real personal experiences that might lead
me to ponder the existence of ghosts. However, that quickly changed
the first year we lived in this house.

.

Now, creaks and thumps are normal occurrences in all houses over

80 years old, especially those with the old hot water, radiator heating

systems. After living in a home, you familiarize yourself with all the

usual noises. But many nights, between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m., the

systematic creaking of the front steps sounds exactly like the gentle

steps of a female descending the stairs. WT has, on occasion, been

up early working with European clients on the phone, heard the steps

and mistakenly thought I had descended the stairs, only to find me

upstairs asleep in bed. Overnight guests have asked who was up

around 4:30, walking down the front stairway.

.

All five of us have been awakened at night with the soft whispering

voice of a woman in our ear, often accompanied by a unique scent of
perfume in the air. Two of our adult children have seen the white

flowing nightdress of a small woman late at night, that swirls and

disappears quickly. We have also had unexplained radios blaring,

drawers opened at night with the contents pulled out and doors

slamming.

.

Several years ago, I watched a 12 month old child, during the day,

while her parents worked. She would often look up the kitchen

stairway, smile and wave, when the house was empty except for the

two of us. Well, at least the ghost must be a friendly one, right?

And one with fabulous taste in perfume!

.

We have become very accustomed to these occurrences over the

years and they are fairly commonplace, so I don't feel afraid. I would,

however, be very interested to know if any of you might have similar

experiences.