Here’s something I wrote about 9 years ago... about living with a ghost. Do you believe in ghosts?
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.
Sleeping with Ghosts
(10-4-2009)
Sleeping with ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Yet here I am again waiting for a spirit. An entity to appear. Often I wonder, are you in my head? Truly this is madness that I’m alone in. Do I walk away? No. I wait. Here in the dark, in the silence of this old house, I wait for you to return. Each time only brings me closer to understanding true madness. I don’t want to believe. The moon rises and the shadows move across the old wooden floor. The movement seems to dance before my eyes. I’m no longer alone. The cold air against my skin sends chills up my spine and goose bumps down my arms.
Each sound that resonates in the house has me on edge. Every thump against the south wall makes me tremor in anticipation. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m completely in rapture wondering when you’ll arrive. To any other person the small sounds would be completely nerve-wracking, but to me they provide comforting relief. The signals that precede the visits are unmistakable, the pounding noises, the intermittent phone rings, and the phantom music. In fact, the quiet nights are truly the most restless, as they indicate the unknown. When it’s quiet I wonder if any of this real or purely my imagination gone array. That this is a sadistic punishment executed when I allow myself to get carried away.
My grandmother once told me the Dead watched the living. Sitting, standing and existing alongside us, as they studied our patterns. Our every moments, they shadowed in silence. As the dead have no way of showing their existence. They no longer understand what it’s like to be human; suffering and passion, our emotions. Such things captivate them. Occasionally a human is flawed; cursed to interact with these entities often to the misfortune of that poor soul’s mind. Such extraordinary individuals tend to lose the very thread of sanity due to these frequent interactions with spirits. As a child, I was reluctant to take note of the hidden meaning behind her stories. However as an adult, I understand all too well. Ghosts - watching, yearning and occasionally manifesting to select few.
The first manifestation should have frightened me but it didn’t. Actually I practically ignored its presence as noise and flickering lights in an old house. What caught my attention was the movement. The books stacked on the table collapsed without warning. Upon investigation, I found myself face to face with something not quite human, and not quite dead. Curiosity getting the better of me had definitely led down some unfortunate paths in the past. But that night I couldn’t help myself, so I spoke and reached out a hand. This ‘spirit’ responded in a fashion by moving closer and touching my hand before dissipating. Each night for what seemed like an eternity, we’d play cat and mouse. Hiding from one other and guessing the next move. Hauntings should be frightening, but this was more like a game that I looked forward to each and every day. Perhaps it was just the beginning of true madness, but this ghostly manifestation proved to be more intriguing and less intrusive.
How do you continue to accept something that you don’t believe in? There’s the question that requires a leap of faith. Not knowing where the next manifestation will be. Wondering if the whispers in the house are purely the old noises of my ancestors or your ghost here to haunt? The moments of silence are those times I dread most; the uncertainty of this dark obsession. Truly it is darkness that draws me in. The dead only watch the living and do not cross the line without purpose. Your desire is to possess my spirit and you’ve made it thoroughly clear. However, when you ask for my life and beg me join you in the realm of the dead, I decline and attempt to shut you out. As if I could ever truly shut you out. Mere mortal that I am, this possession is beyond my understanding. Ultimately I question whether you’ll stop asking and just take it without warn as you do not comprehend my grasp of life and the desire to remain among the living. Although this thought rests in the back of my mind, I do not fear your return. Whether you’re here to take my essence or an evil spirit sent to consume my life, it does not matter; I eagerly await your return.
Sitting in the dark waiting. The moon’s shadow continues to dance along the floor boards in the darkness of the room. The cool air gently stirs across the bare skin of my arms. Shivers run up and down my spine as I can feel you enter the room and cross towards me. My heart races as phantom hands find their way across my neck, along my arms and down my back. I’m haunted and shall remain so…
Sleeping with ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Yet here I am again waiting for a spirit. An entity to appear. Often I wonder, are you in my head? Truly this is madness that I’m alone in. Do I walk away? No. I wait. Here in the dark, in the silence of this old house, I wait for you to return. Each time only brings me closer to understanding true madness. I don’t want to believe. The moon rises and the shadows move across the old wooden floor. The movement seems to dance before my eyes. I’m no longer alone. The cold air against my skin sends chills up my spine and goose bumps down my arms.
Each sound that resonates in the house has me on edge. Every thump against the south wall makes me tremor in anticipation. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m completely in rapture wondering when you’ll arrive. To any other person the small sounds would be completely nerve-wracking, but to me they provide comforting relief. The signals that precede the visits are unmistakable, the pounding noises, the intermittent phone rings, and the phantom music. In fact, the quiet nights are truly the most restless, as they indicate the unknown. When it’s quiet I wonder if any of this real or purely my imagination gone array. That this is a sadistic punishment executed when I allow myself to get carried away.
My grandmother once told me the Dead watched the living. Sitting, standing and existing alongside us, as they studied our patterns. Our every moments, they shadowed in silence. As the dead have no way of showing their existence. They no longer understand what it’s like to be human; suffering and passion, our emotions. Such things captivate them. Occasionally a human is flawed; cursed to interact with these entities often to the misfortune of that poor soul’s mind. Such extraordinary individuals tend to lose the very thread of sanity due to these frequent interactions with spirits. As a child, I was reluctant to take note of the hidden meaning behind her stories. However as an adult, I understand all too well. Ghosts - watching, yearning and occasionally manifesting to select few.
The first manifestation should have frightened me but it didn’t. Actually I practically ignored its presence as noise and flickering lights in an old house. What caught my attention was the movement. The books stacked on the table collapsed without warning. Upon investigation, I found myself face to face with something not quite human, and not quite dead. Curiosity getting the better of me had definitely led down some unfortunate paths in the past. But that night I couldn’t help myself, so I spoke and reached out a hand. This ‘spirit’ responded in a fashion by moving closer and touching my hand before dissipating. Each night for what seemed like an eternity, we’d play cat and mouse. Hiding from one other and guessing the next move. Hauntings should be frightening, but this was more like a game that I looked forward to each and every day. Perhaps it was just the beginning of true madness, but this ghostly manifestation proved to be more intriguing and less intrusive.
How do you continue to accept something that you don’t believe in? There’s the question that requires a leap of faith. Not knowing where the next manifestation will be. Wondering if the whispers in the house are purely the old noises of my ancestors or your ghost here to haunt? The moments of silence are those times I dread most; the uncertainty of this dark obsession. Truly it is darkness that draws me in. The dead only watch the living and do not cross the line without purpose. Your desire is to possess my spirit and you’ve made it thoroughly clear. However, when you ask for my life and beg me join you in the realm of the dead, I decline and attempt to shut you out. As if I could ever truly shut you out. Mere mortal that I am, this possession is beyond my understanding. Ultimately I question whether you’ll stop asking and just take it without warn as you do not comprehend my grasp of life and the desire to remain among the living. Although this thought rests in the back of my mind, I do not fear your return. Whether you’re here to take my essence or an evil spirit sent to consume my life, it does not matter; I eagerly await your return.
Sitting in the dark waiting. The moon’s shadow continues to dance along the floor boards in the darkness of the room. The cool air gently stirs across the bare skin of my arms. Shivers run up and down my spine as I can feel you enter the room and cross towards me. My heart races as phantom hands find their way across my neck, along my arms and down my back. I’m haunted and shall remain so…
Haunted.
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