Ghost Stories

I admit, I’m a sceptic. While I love a good ghost story, I’m not a true believer. However, some events in my life are, so far, inexplicable. More on that later.

We recently took a Ghost Tour in Colonial Williamsburg. Trying to navigate in the total darkness, with a mere candle here and there, was plenty scary. What a treat visit the historic area ablaze with flaming iron cages and carriage lanterns lit by a single candle. The dark was a new shade of black. Reminded me of Eastern Turkey, when my family trekked into the hills of Kurdish territory to visit the remains of the Commagene Empire at Nemrut Dag.

The tales spun by our guide were both familiar and stressful, mostly because who doesn’t believe the ghosts of soldiers who died in battle linger in the place they expired. I’ve felt the chill of Cold Harbor where Grant lost 50,000 men. The hospital, converted from the Governor’s Palace, served as such a place when the soldiers’ bodies filled the gardens. Stories of contemporary guards seeing through the bodies of men in British uniforms are legion.

As for a ghost story closer to home, I have one my husband swears in true. He’d just purchased a house built about 1890 which had been owned by just one lady, who lived there with her daughter. In the middle of one night, he was awakened by the dog barking. Sitting up, he saw a woman, dressed in a long black old-fashioned gown, rocking away in the chair in the corner. I believe him!