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Ghost, Go Away: aTrue Story
[ Non-fiction : Paranormal/ ]


I wish I wasn’t telling you this ghost story. I say that because I wish that what I am going to relate didn’t actually happen, at least to me. And, I should tell you right off, the story is true, involved a real ghost, isn’t a work of fiction and the particular ghost in this particular story was a pissed off ghost who possessed absolutely no respect for my personal property.

If you had asked me before this particular ghostly event had happened if I believed in ghosts, I would have told you, “no.”

I wish I didn’t believe in ghosts now. But I do.

I’ve seen a few movies about ghosts. Being movies, the story line is of course very fantastic…violent ghosts who tear through a house causing all kinds of trouble or perhaps romantic ghosts who watch their loved ones rather helplessly, or sometimes not helplessly, but all movie ghost stories are very dramatic.

My story isn’t like that. You couldn’t make a movie from my story, I don’t think. The event itself was limited in time, but the terror that the ghost caused will remain in my mind forever.

Because I learned that ghosts are real and they break stuff when they are angry. My stuff. In my house. Just to make some sort of ghostly point of some sort. Why not simply write a message on the wall, I wonder, instead of causing havoc and damaged household goods?

Ghosts have their own agenda. Who can understand someone who is using a day planner from another dimension?

I’ve told a few people my particular ghost story. I was shook up and I had to tell someone. So I told my best friend, my brother and a few others. They didn’t believe me. They sounded quite uncomfortable when I told the story and they clearly did not believe one word of what I was saying.

Even though I had a witness, I might add.

That bothered me, not being believed.

And when the ghost came back a second time, there were two additional witnesses. But, still, no one believes me. I suppose you have to actually witness a ghost at action before you believe in ghosts.

Our ghost first visited late in the evening. It was about midnight when the ghost showed up, which I think is an entirely appropriate time for a ghostly visitation. If you are expecting me to tell you that I saw a ghostly apparition, that is, a figure draped in flowing white sheets, with eyes burning red and howling a spooky sound, well, you’ll be disappointed. Our ghost was content to remain unseen.

My wife and I were in our bedroom, which is situated on the third floor of our house. You’d like our house, its nestled deep in a dark forest and we have no neighbors anywhere close by. The nearest house is a half mile down an otherwise deserted road in the forest. It’s nice, but when a ghost strikes unexpectedly in the middle of the night, it’s a spooky place, our home. I think that if you have to endure a ghost, it might be better to live in a condo with a large number of neighbors you can run screaming to, or at least go over to visit, related your ghost story, and have a cup of hot cocoa.

We were discussing a recently diseased family member. He died quite unexpectedly, at an early age. He woke up on the morning of the day that he died, and he simply started spouting a lot of blood from his mouth. Buckets of blood…and in that regard, this portion of the story is very much Hollywood in nature. At only fifty years of age, he found himself disgorging blood in a shocking amount into his bathroom sink while his wife looked helplessly on.

They were fortunate to have a hospital across the street from where they lived. The wife packed the husband into the family car and they drove to the emergency room. He died of blood loss a few hours later. Despite the fact that they doctors were pumping blood into his veins via transfusions as fast as they could, he still ended up bleeding to death.

An autopsy later revealed that the poor guy had a tumor in his throat and the tumor had essentially burst. He never knew he had a tumor and he certainly didn’t know that he had a tumor that comprised a ticking time bomb, lodged in his throat and ready to bring him a bloody end at any moment.

His wife took his body and had it cremated. The urn rests in her house and she, the widow of the unfortunate man, has never experienced his spirit dropping by to cause a ruckus of any nature, or at all.

But for us, things were going in a decidedly different direction, ghost-wise.

As we spoke about him, late that night, we chatted about some of his more unpleasant aspects. He was, over all, a decent man, but the sort of man who drank and caused problems sometimes. I liked him. But I didn’t like him when he was drunk, which was a pretty common event.

My wife was reclining on our bed as we spoke. I was sitting in a chair in the bedroom, facing my wife. Next to the bed, near my wife, was an end table. On the center of the end table was a large lamp. This was a fairly massive lamp and I figure it weighs perhaps ten pounds. Next to the lamp was a drinking glass. The glass was made of glass, not plastic. Breakable glass.

As we spoke about the departed relative, the lamp flew across the room directly toward me. It slid across the top of the table, without tipping or tilting. It simply moved in a linear fashion, scooting across the table and when it reached the end of the table, it simply kept going, towards me. The speed of movement at all times was constant. It sped along at about fifteen miles an hour, the same speed somebody might sprint at.

When the lamp cord became taut, the lamp swung down to the floor between where I sat, and broke with a resounding crash.

And the glass that was next to the lamp? At the same time the lamp flew towards me, the glass flew towards the opposite wall…flying away from me, smashing into the wall, breaking into many fragments.

I thought about what had happened for a moment and immediately blamed my wife. I figure she must have somehow caused the lamp to fly towards me and the glass to fly into the wall.

She calmly pointed out to me that she hadn’t moved at all. She has been sitting on the bed and I was looking at her. My numbed mind slowly realized that she was correct, she hadn’t moved. She was not within touching distance of the lamp, the cord or the lamp, or anything physically connected to the lamp.

Neither of us moved the lamp or caused the lamp to be moved. Neither of us had moved the glass or caused the glass to be moved.

We discussed what we had just scene.

My wife agreed that the lamp flew out by itself across the table towards me. And she agreed that there was no rationale explanation for what we had seen.

We got a little scared at this point. Afterwards, I got very much afraid about what I had seen.

“Ghosts are real?” I asked myself. “Shit.”

I didn’t like the idea that ghosts are real after all and that they are lurking around bedrooms unseen, listening to what you say. I say a lot of things about dead people that I would frankly not want them to hear.

A couple of days later, our maids were in the house cleaning on the second floor. My wife and I were upstairs, and we heard the sound of glass breaking. One of the maids came up and said that “three large glass candle sticks were sitting on the middle of the dining room table. As I looked at them, they flew across the table towards the wall and smashed into the wall and broke. I swear to God I didn’t break them. I swear I didn’t touch them and I wasn’t anywhere near them.”

Ghost personal property attack number two.

I was starting to get a little pissed off at the ghost by this time. Three candle sticks, a lamp and a glass. The costs of having a ghost were starting to add up.

But several months have gone by and we have not had any more ghostly property destruction. We hope the ghost has left us for good.

We have been left with the understanding that ghosts are real, that they sometimes visit, and they are capable of being angry or at least, frustrated. Are they attempting to communicate or frustrated that they can’t communicate? Is shoving a lamp their best way of expressing their frustrations? “Hey! I’m right here! Why can’t you hear me! Okay, fine, I’ll break your damned lamp!”

I don’t know. I am not sure I care to know.

I just want them to leave my personal belongings alone and go to wherever peace awaits them.







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