I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t. Really. But . . .
Our house was built in the 1930’s as a mountain cabin for people from San Francisco who wanted to escape the city and live among the redwoods. We remodeled it when we moved in, adding a couple of rooms and reconfiguring the entrances and exits. I’m telling you this because it’s important to my story.
A few years ago things started appearing on stairs, on counters, and always in the original parts of the house. A red scarf came first and I asked every one of my friends who’d visited in the previous month if it was theirs.
Then one day I went to put on my favorite pearl earrings and there was only one in my jewelry box. I searched. I cleaned drawers. I accused my family of playing tricks on me and trying to make me think I was losing it. First things appeared, and then they disappeared!
After three years passed, I decided that earring was gone forever, so I had a jeweler make a matching one for me. I brought the two earrings home, opened my jewelry box to put them safely away, and there in the drawer was my long lost pearl earring.
I don’t know how to explain why I have three pearl earrings, but I do. Nothing else has happened for years, but a friend who spent the night in the old bedroom swears a ghost visited him. He’d never heard my stories. He’s also never spent the night with us again.
|Stop by. Say hi.|