I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts.
Sure, I have a firm belief in the afterlife, but a bunch of malevolent beings moaning and rattling chains? I just don’t know about that.
Even so, I may have had a supernatural experience.
Maybe.
I’m still not sure.
I could have just scared myself into thinking so.
It is entirely possible that the unusual circumstances that happened could have been have been a fluke.
Was it a real encounter with the unknown or merely a coincidence? You decide…
About nine or ten years ago my husband and I traveled to Klamath Falls, Oregon for a family event. My sister and her family were living there at the time so she set us up at the bed and breakfast where she worked: The Boarding House Inn (sadly, no longer in business). It was a really cute place with cozy rooms, lots of antiques, and cool custom painted murals. And the food was fantastic. I was familiar with the couple who owned the place and Tom, the owner/chef, certainly knew his way around a filet mignon.
Oh yeah, and The Boarding House Inn was haunted.
At least that is what my sister thought. There had been many strange happenings there, to be sure. Guests had frequently remarked on the sound of footsteps in an empty stairwell. Oil and vinegar bottles that were just haphazardly thrown into the pantry would be discovered the next morning in neat rows: oil, vinegar, oil, vinegar. Bicycles parked in the front hallway fell over with no one around, toward the kickstand.
Certainly all of those things could be explained. It was an old building; it had been a boarding house for railroad workers in the thirties. Creaks and pops of a settling old house could have been interpreted as footsteps. Someone might have tidied up a cupboard (in the middle of the night) without mentioning it. And the bikes? Perhaps it was the wind or an uneven flooring that caused them to tumble in a seemingly unnatural way.
But then there were the creepy sensations my sister sometimes got while cleaning a room. She seemed to sense movement out of the corner of her eye, but there was never anything there. Sometimes she felt like she was being watched. Could these sensations only be proof of the power of suggestion? Who knows.
Nevertheless, I was a bit nervous to be staying there. My parents had booked the room across the hall from us and I remember joking at dinner about coming to sleep with them if the ghost came in my room. We all shared stories of the strange happenings at The Boarding House, enjoying the thrill in the safety of a well lit room. But all too soon it was time for bed.
As is our nightly habit, Walt and I said our prayers before climbing into bed. He soon drifted off to sleep, but I lay awake starting at every noise. After awhile, I turned on my lamp and tried to read. That’s when my husband began screaming.
He awoke in a cold sweat, gripped by a nightmare that still felt very real. Though rare, this was not the first time since he had had a nightmare. Still it rattled me. And yet, once again he was able to calm down and drift off to sleep before I could.
In order to keep from disturbing him (and terrifying myself) again, I switched off the lamp. So, like a child, I lay there in the dark cursing myself for being so scared. I told myself it was just like all the times when I’d make up creepy stories at a slumber party and end up becoming more scared than anyone else. I guess I have too much imagination.
But imagined or not, I just didn’t feel secure in that room. It’s hard to describe exactly, but I had a terrible feeling like someone was standing at the foot of my bed, staring at me. I couldn’t see anyone there, but it just felt like it.
Finally, I reached the point where I could not take it anymore. I knew that if I had psyched myself into this fearful place, I would just have to psyche myself out of it. I told myself that I am gloriously alive: I have a body of flesh and bone, a beating heart. I have a family that loves me and they were alive, real and all around me. I am a daughter of God and he loves me. I have power.
And then, whispering so as not to awaken my husband (and also because I was feeling incredibly stupid), I addressed the probably-not-real being that was troubling me and told him that he had to leave my room. Now.
Almost immediately I felt better. The presence, if there ever had been one, left. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep was looking at the clock. It was 3:15 am.
In the bright morning sun, it was all too clear that my imagination had been the only thing haunting me the night before. Over a breakfast of delicious pecan pancakes I told my family about how I had scared myself into a near sleepless night. I did not mention the fact that I had spoken to the “ghost” for fear of being mercilessly teased for the rest of my life.
All of the sudden my mom spoke up. “I got scared last night too. I woke up from a fast sleep, feeling like someone was standing at the foot of my bed staring at me. I never could get back to sleep. I’ve been awake since 3:15.”
And before I could even begin to process what that meant, the smoke alarm above our heads inexplicably went off.
Walt and I were packing our things before the pancakes finished cooling. And we never stayed there again.

The preceding story is absolutely true. And it still gives me the creeps.
Happy Halloween