Ghosts

Ghosts

When Lily was about 4 she often told stories about her ghost friend Samantha who used to live in our house. Depending on the day, Lily’s tales of Samantha would change…keeping a basic core, but with wildly different details.

My initial thought was that Lily was testing her boundaries with Liz and I…what would we believe or reject? To test this theory, Liz and I played along, setting places at the dinner table for Samantha and her family. While eating, we’d ask her to tell us about the ever-changing tale of Samantha.

The stories of Samantha eventually faded like a spirit itself.

But there is one ghost story that Lily told me when she about five that wasn’t so full of the fantasy of Samantha and her family. It was full of earnest reality; actual experience. And unlike Samantha, it doesn’t evolve and change.

Her story: she was alone in the ‘breakfast room’, an addition to the house built in the 50’s, when suddenly an empty box moved 12” toward the Dutch door. She freaked out and left the room.

I told her that maybe she accidently bumped something that caused the box to move. She denied that. Eventually the topic was dropped, until today. She’s 8 now…and we were hanging out in the breakfast room when she offered, “you know, I really don’t believe in ghosts…except for the time when that box moved in here.”

I asked her to retell what happened.

“I was sitting at the table, then I heard someone weeping, and then the box moved toward the door.”

“Who was weeping,” I asked.

“An old lady,” she said.

“Well, an old lady did live here years before we moved in. Maybe it was her trying to get your attention.”

“Maybe,” she pondered.

I’m not sure if we’ve heard the last of this. But it’s my role to let her talk; for her to come to her own conclusions. Who knows, there may be no figuring it out.

But, no matter if it’s a fantasy like Samantha; or an unexplained experience like the weeping old lady and the box, there should always be an opportunity to tell me about it.