I Miss My Ghost

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I believe in the paranormal. It’s somewhat hard not to, when I spent pretty much my entire life living in a house inhabited by an entity of some description. Even after I moved out of home, I found myself living with something that knocked on the walls and would lightly tough my hand from time to time. Now the skeptics among you will find excuses for that, but having experienced these things myself, I can assure you that I know the difference between something spiritual and something corporeal, and what I had was most definitely a ghost.

The thing about being aware of a presence in your home, is that when it is no longer there, you feel the absence as acutely as you would feel the absence of a living house member. Since moving from my home town to the city, I have been decidedly ghostless. And it genuinely makes me a little sad. See, there was always something kind of reassuring about the presence of the ghost at dad’s. I heard the footsteps through the hall, and felt the breath on my cheek, and heard the muffled sound of a male voice when no one else was home so often, that it just became a part of my life. Like eating breakfast, or breathing. And when I was alone in my former little home, where I was never quite happy and always just a little lonely, there was something rather comforting about those light touches of the hand. It was like my ghost was there, and telling me “Hey buddy, it’s ok. I’m here.”

I have no ghost in this new house. I thought I might have at first…and then I realised that those noises were entirely too loud and frequent to be a ghost. No, instead of a comforting paranormal entity, what I am stuck with in this new house is an irritating, very alive possum. It lives in the walls, and most often sets up camp in the corner of my bedroom on the side of the bed I sleep on. So every morning, early in the morning, I get awakened by the shuffling, scratching, screeching beast. And it doesn’t. Shut. Up. Let me tell you, I would much prefer to be living with a ghost. I think perhaps that is part of why this house just doesn’t feel like home. I mean, my last house didn’t particularly feel like home either but I feel unsettled in this new place in a way I haven’t ever been before. Maybe this week I can win the lottery and buy my own house. And hell, maybe I can buy a companion ghost on the black market or something. A girl can dream, right?


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