A Ghost Story – A True One


They say to see a ghost is a harbinger of death. How right they are.

It was a long time ago. It happened in the USA, in a house known to be haunted.

Only visitors to the house ever saw the ghost, never the family. The family heard noises, found furniture disturbed, items moved but never saw anything ghostly. There had been many sightings over the years by overnight or weekend guests in the house, usually in a particular room and always describing the same thing – an old man with grey hair.

I’d been staying there for weeks. Nothing untoward had happened. I had no sense of anything eerie. No intuition, no premonition.

I don’t know why it was that particular night. Maybe he had been there every night but I hadn’t woken.

The house had a violent past. Two brothers had lived there. There had been a bloodbath in the kitchen where one brother had killed the other.

I’d woken early, around 5am. We were going fishing and had to get up early. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t in a very deep sleep, or why I was on alert for someone coming into the room to wake me.

I don’t know what woke me. I sat up in bed abruptly and he was there beside me, an old man with grey hair, eyes down, a deeply lined face and wearing a plaid shirt. I felt cold. Before I could understand that it was not my morning alarm call in person, before I could react in any way, he floated to the end of the bed and disappeared.

Six weeks later there was a death.

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