Okay, I've never written this down before, so it might take a while. It's completely true.
After my divorce, I bought a house in a very old but lovely neightborhood. I became friends with a woman my mother's age, who lived across the
street. She was a widow; a pilot with her own plane, a world traveler, and a very interesting person. She loved to cook but hated to eat alone, so
she would often call me over to have dinner with her. We would get smashed, eat her wonderful cooking, and have a blast, just the two of us.
Eventually, a friend of her's, a retired FBI agent, moved in the guest suite of her home to recuperate from an illness. She continued to call and
invite me over for dinner, and the three of us blended well, and had some really fun evenings together. But her friend, who I'll call "Pete",
developed this huge crush on me. He started sending flowers to my office and my home, he was constantly looking out the window to see the comings and
goings from my house, and was always trying to get me alone. Sigh. I liked Pete, but in the romance department he was old enough to be my father,
and it just wasn't for me, you know?
One morning, very early, I woke up to find him asleep in his jaguar which was parked in my driveway. I knocked on the window and asked him what he
was doing. He said he'd seen some shadows in my yard during the night, and wanted to make sure no one was there to bother me.
I didn't like
it at all. Pete was becoming obsessed with me. Of course when he figured out I was displeased, his response was to send me dozens of roses to
apologize. (And I had grown tired of that).
Anyway, on with the story, I just wanted to provide you with the backdrop of the story (hope the ending isn't anticlimactic).
After Pete had lived across the street for about three months, he went in to the hospital to have heart surgery. He'd called about 9 pm the night
before to tell me he was scared. I had friends over for dinner and movie, but told him he could come and watch the movie with us, if it would take
his mind off things. He declined, but I met him on my porch and wished him well, and gave him a hug. I told him I'd come visit him in the hospital,
and he decided to tell me outright how much he cared about me. I told him the truth, that I like him very much, but I didn't think I would ever care
about him in "that way". It just wasn't in me to do. He said he figured that, but all was well, and we hugged again, and he walked back across the
The next morning about 10 am, my friend Ellen called to tell me Pete had died in surgery. Well, after surgery really. While he was in recovery, he
had a blood clot that went to his brain, or lung, or something that resulted in his death.
What happened was three days after his funeral.
Again, I must give you a description to make you understand what happened. In my hall, there was a small table at the end . My hall had no windows,
It was just a long hallway, with doors leading off it to the bedrooms. On the table, there was a linen tablecloth. Now, this was a table cloth that
went on a large table for eight people. I had folded it, and folded it, and folded it, until it was small enough to go over this small hall table, so
as you might imagine, it was thick and quite heavy. On top of this, was a silver bowl filled with potpourri, and beside that was a silver
candlestick with a candle.
I was in the house alone, as I said, exactly three days after the funeral. I walked down the hall, and the tablecloth, which mind you was very heavy,
was pulled up over the silver bowl and candlestick. Pulled up from the edges, and up and over the bowl. I was stunned knowing there was no breeze,
or nothing that could have caused that. It crossed my mind that perhaps my golden retriever had somehow caused it.
I put it back the way it
In a few minutes, I returned to the hall to go into another room, and the tablecloth was back up over the bowl. I knew then. I knew in a flash.
Mind you, "ghosts" had never crossed my mind. I didn't believe in them, I never thought about them. I thought they were something for scary movies.
But, I fixed the table back, and went to my den to watch TV. It was summer, and I was wearing a tank top and shorts. I sat down on the couch, and
suddenly there were three strong sensations of someone "blowing" on my arm. Humor me and do this. With force blow on your arm fast, three times in a
row. That was what it was. No mistaking it. I rubbed my arm, jumped up, and said "Pete, I know it's you". I ran back to the hall to find the
table cloth back up over the bowl.
I put it back, and this time, I hid behind a door (yeah, ridiculous, but I did it). I wanted to see the table cloth raise up in a ghostly way up over
the bowl. Didn't happen. I demanded that he do it again. Didn't happen.
I called Ellen and told her she must ride with me to the cemetary.
edit on 3/30/2012 by BellaSabre because: (no reason given)