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My ghost story





Since today is Halloween, I thought I would share with you a story about my first and (so far) only ghost sighting.

When my father died in 1992, I went right out to Las Vegas, where he and my mother lived. One day before the funeral, I was sitting in the kitchen catching up on my soaps when one of my mother’s friends came by with some food. She had more stuff in her trunk so I (sighing because I was missing part of “All My Children”) ran outside to help her unload the rest.

Going down the sidewalk, I saw out of the corner of my eye my father standing beside the corner of the house. He was fuzzy, like I was looking at him without my glasses. He had on a gold-and-white striped shirt and khaki pants, and somehow I knew he was wearing his favorite brown leather slippers, although the image was only about three-quarters and not full body. He had one hand on his hip and the other was half raised, as though he was bringing a cigarette to his mouth. I looked at him and thought, “He’s going to say something, and I don’t want to hear it!” (It’s one thing to see a ghost. It’s another to have it talk to you.) So I turned my eyes away. When I looked back, he was gone. Now I wish I had stopped to hear what he was going to say.

The debate about the existence of ghosts continues, but I know what I saw. It was my father’s ghost plain as day. I was not thinking about him at the time so it was not some sort of mental projection. It was kinda neat, not scary. He was there – believe it or not. 

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