Resident Ghost

I have a resident ghost named Frances. Evidently she's the original owner of my house, not that my house is that old -- it was built in 1956. Yet, I'm the seventh owner. The other houses in the neighborhood have been sold three times at the most. Makes you wonder, huh?

When I was moving in, I put some rugs down to catch any moisture or debris I would bring in. I have hardwood floors and didn't want to ruin them. It seemed every time I would bring something in the house, the rugs were balled up. I could explain the one by the front door, blaming it on the door when I opened it, but that didn't explain the ones in the kitchen -- the kitchen has pocket doors. Or the rug in front of the back sliding glass door. Or the ones in the living room.

It dawned on me that I may have a ghost in my house when an unplugged lamp would turn on when I entered the house after dark. I was amused. It was no big deal to me -- messed up rugs and a light turning on all seemed to be relatively minor. The light was helpful.

But then, one night I was carrying a box down the hallway and I was knocked down. An icy cold force seemed to go right through me! I had a friend unpacking books in the living room. She heard me fall and came to investigate. I was shaken. I explained what happened and she immediately started telling me about the woman she saw in the living room reading the titles over her shoulder.

That's when we met Frances. She apologized for balling up the rugs, but she wasn't used to them and found them to be a nuisance. She also had great plans for what I could do in the backyard. She wanted a fountain. I found a bird bath on the side of the house and moved it into the patio. That was as close to a fountain as she was going to get. She seemed pleased.

After moving in officially, I was a bit uncomfortable, but my dogs didn't seem bothered by anything, so I took my cue from them and started to relax. I love to hear the sound of the train whistle, down in the valley below my house. It reminded me of my grandmother's place. It was comforting and peaceful, but...

I heard my front door open, heavy footsteps, then the door close. I heard the click of the kitchen light turn on. I wasn't feeling all that brave. I snuggled down under the covers. The dogs were sleeping -- even snoring. I listened. I heard a heavy pan being put on the stove. The refrigerator opened, I even heard the cracking of eggs in the pan. Before long I could smell the bacon cooking and the coffee brewing. My dogs were up and sniffing the air. They went in the kitchen to investigate. I stayed in bed.

I did get up when they started barking.

Nothing was out of place in the kitchen, but I could smell the food.

It's creepy. I'm just glad they don't come down the hallway into my room!

All comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading