I’ve always believed in ghosts, whether I liked it or not. I used to be absolutely horrified by the idea that the dead could come back and haunt us, but I never doubted it could happen. I have always understood that everything eventually dies. But like most people I don’t enjoy discussing it. It’s scary to think about.
Recently, I’ve been watching a lot of ghost shows. They’re fun, and typically the guys and gals running it are hilarious. I’m a huge fan of “Ghost Files” hosted by Ryan and Shane from the YouTube channel “Watcher.” If you don’t know, these guys go into a haunted prison or home, one’s a skeptic and one’s a believer, and they attempt to collect evidence of real ghosts.
However, watching them made me remember something.
When I was in middle school, I went to a sleepover at my friend’s house. We had a really good night. We spent the night eating pizza from the local gas station — Casey’s, of course — and watching the old, animated Barbie movies. She had them all on DVD and we made it through every single one.
To be fair, I’m not the best at sleepovers — even now. I really like to go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep. So, by maybe midnight or 1 a.m., I was asleep on their couch. I went to sleep quickly, but that’s nothing new. I’m a big fan of sleep.
I woke up the next morning, and the two of us went back down to the gas station by her house to grab some doughnuts for breakfast. We sat in her kitchen and chowed down on the doughnuts waiting for my mom to pick me up. I had already brought my sleepover bag up from downstairs and was practically ready to go.
My mom arrived and talked for a while with her mom. We didn’t mind, we were having a great time discussing the movies from yesterday. My mom and I were just about ready to leave when I suddenly remembered I had left my charger downstairs. It’s the one that sits by my bed, so it’s super important.
I treaded back downstairs to her basement and un-plug my charger from her wall. Walking back up the stairs, there’s a small storage room off to the side, one only used for Christmas and other holiday decorations. It had one of those closet doors that slide open. The ones that never seem to stay closed all the way so it’s always a crack open.
There, in that little room, sat an older woman knitting in the wooden rocking chair they kept in there. I freeze for a moment. I didn’t think there was anyone else here other than our moms and us. I brush past the door, deciding not to interrupt the woman.
I resurface and immediately ask my friend why she didn’t tell me her grandma was visiting. My friend looked at me oddly and asked what the heck I was talking about. I motion back downstairs and admit to seeing an old woman knitting downstairs in the little room by the stairs.
My friend seemed to freeze, just as I had when I saw the older woman.
She comes clean and admits that an older family member with a penchant for knitting had died in that room a while back.
I have never stopped believing since that day. I go ghost hunting all the time, at my old work, at my old school, even here at Bradley. I’ve downloaded all of the apps, went on every ghost tour I could get my hands on, read every book I could find, and talked out-loud to myself even if I feel just a little unnerved.
I’ve seen more ghosts. Every once in a while, something paranormal will happen. But it always reminds me of my first experience. Although I am terrified sometimes when it comes to this stuff, I am simultaneously obsessed with it.
To this day, I am fully convinced that ghosts live among us.