THE GHOST

When I stepped out the back door of my art studio earlier last night, no stars or moon could be seen; the clouds had compressed the rolling hills into a very thin horizon and a few twinkling lights shining through the windows of distant houses reminded me that I wasn’t alone.  Recently arriving from a busy city to the rolling mountains of the Appalachian wilderness, I’m still not used to the quietness, the stillness that fills the air.  As I scanned the darkness surrounding my studio, the deep shadows of the trees perhaps playing tricks with my eyes, it felt as if a gnarled bony hand with sharp, filthy nails or claws was about to reach out of the eerie darkness and snatch my soul.  An uncanny chill sent shivers up and down my spine as if whatever I sensed out in the darkness was very close and breathing on the back of my neck.  I stood very still; all my senses on high alert as I listened.  It was deathly quiet, not even a whisper of a breeze could be heard soughing through the trees.  The only sound I could hear was the beating of my heart; it clanged as loud as a morning church bell summoning Sunday morning services.  I didn’t want to turn around but I had no choice.  On the verge of panicking, I couldn’t go running off without any direction, stumbling about in the snow and getting lost in the woods, which were just a few steps away.  Many wild animals live in the forest; in the daytime I’ve seen their tracks in the snow very close to the studio and house.  However, if indeed something was lurking in the darkness, toying with my mind, I was certain it wasn’t a wild animal.  After I took a deep breath and tried to steady my nerves, determined to face whatever was causing the shivers to race up and down my backbone like a pianist playing Rossini’s William Tell overture but there wasn’t anything behind me – only a dark empty space – as empty as my courage.

I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts; supernatural specters, fanatical phantoms or atoning apparitions dressed in see-through gossamer sheets floating about a house or out in the yard.  However, something made the hairs on the nape of my neck stand at attention, but then again, perhaps it was just the cold stillness of a dark winter night that caused this sensation – this peculiar phenomenon to occur.  The reason I mentioned ghosts is because not only have I had this feeling before since we moved into this old house at the base of Green Mountain but I caught a glimpse of something in the upstairs bedrooms.  Yes, as odd as it seems; one afternoon as the sun was settling down behind the autumn coloured leaves tenaciously cleaning to the trees growing along the edge of the road that winds past the house, while I was renovating a bedroom, my peripheral vision caught a sudden movement as if someone had suddenly and soundlessly ducked into one of the other bedrooms.  I remember furrowing my brows and wondering, since nobody was home; did I or didn’t I see something.  Curiosity got the best of me, and, as I cautiously walked towards the bedroom door, the closer I got to the doorway, the colder I began to feel; the hairs on the nape of my neck rising and tingling.

The bedroom wasn’t dark by any means; night was still a good hour away when I stepped through the doorway and looked around.  I didn’t see anything except some of my tools and materials for renovating the room and the closet was empty.  And yet, the room felt extremely cold; as cold as a Siberian mausoleum in the dead of winter.  If something or someone other than me was still in the room, it was definitely dead.  Like I said, I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts, perhaps it was just a trick of the eye, a playful shadow cast across the bedroom doorway or my creative imagination but I was certainly startled and the coldness I felt was real.  But just for argument’s sake, since I seem to be arguing with myself, was it or wasn’t it a ghost, I didn’t feel afraid of whatever I sensed was there because other than the cold sensations, I never felt the least bit threatened.

I can’t be positive that my family and I are the only residents in this old house at the base of Green Mountain, because just this morning around 6:00am, I heard a loud thump upstairs in one of the empty bedrooms, and it just wasn’t my imagination, because my wife quietly whispered, “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah” I responded, “It’s just the ghost.  It must have bumped into one of the walls.” 

Cheers - eh!