I’ve always been intrigued by ghost stories and imagine most people are. I even went with friends and family to a fun lecture about ghosts at Pierce College some autumns back. The speaker was a scientist, not originally interested in ghosts until he saw one. Putting his scientific methods to work, he began research on the subject. His findings were quite fascinating, although nothing lived up to his original ghost sighting at the mission in Ventura where he worked as an archeologist. When he explained his eerie experience to one of the monks, he was told there are lots of ghosts at the mission. Everyone who lived there knew all about them. The monk rattled them off: names, descriptions and likely sighting locations.
Intrigued by wild stories through the years, I’ve read several books on the subject. There are sightings that are extremely well-documented. I believe ghosts must be something but nobody seems to understand exactly what. I’m fond of the theory purporting ghost sightings are manifestations of latent energy—like a movie that plays over and over. Take, for instance, the myriad reports of a Southern belle who walks across a porch—or the top half of her does. After careful research, it was found there used to be a solid railing along that porch. Only the top half of the woman could have been seen above the railing when she was alive so only the top half of her ghost is visible now.
I might have my own ghost story. For many years, I’ve heard the front door open and close. It is such an unmistakable sound, I usually go see if someone has come in when my “hello” goes unanswered. We are original owners. No one ever died in our house or even lived on our property.
While babysitting my grandson, I sat him in a high chair facing the hall adjacent to our entryway. After hearing the noise of someone opening and closing the door, I went to make sure it was locked. Upon my return, I began feeding my grandson his lunch. He kept looking around me as if he could see some amusing person standing in the hallway. This continued for several minutes. There was no one standing where he looked but he continued to smile and stare. I’ve read that children are especially attuned to psychic phenomena.
In recent years, I stopped hearing the door. But the other day as the Dodger game started on TV, I distinctly heard the door open and close. Sometimes, I wonder if our “ghost” is my dad, visiting with a great-grandson he never got to meet and dropping in to watch the ballgame. It’s kind of a fun, comforting idea. I wonder if I’ll ever hear the door again.
