The Ghosts

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Growing up in the sunny South, you hear a lot of ghost stories. Everyone you know has a story to tell about some spook, some haint, some ghost light on the railways.

There are a lot of stories in my family.

These stories crop up easily when your family owns a 100-year-old house in south Georgia. A house built for the sickly son of the local tycoons then bought by your great-grandmother for song after the boy died.

Oh, yes, there are all kind of stories. A haunted mirror. A haunted rocking chair. A haunted hallway. People died in that house, as my uncle always reminds me, and there’s been some strange goings-on ever since.

My great-aunt, who still snores and rocks back and forth in her rocking chair. Who knows who walks that hallway at night. Who knows who lives in that mirror.

I’ve never encountered one of our friendly family ghosts. But I’ve heard the stories from people who have. And they weren’t just dreaming.

Call me strange, but I’m glad that there are some things left in this world that remain unexplained.

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