The first time it happened was the morning after we moved into our house. I was awoken by a bone-chilling whisper of a child, “Mommy? Mommy?” Naturally, I got up and searched the bedrooms of our sleeping children. All fast asleep, tucked tightly into their beds beneath their covers.
Every morning thereafter, I was awoken by the same child’s whisper, like a thread across my cheek, calling my attention and tugging at my heart. I never mentioned this to my husband. After all, what might he think? Life went on, and I wrote off that morning whisper to a constant state of fatigue that came along with raising a gaggle of children.
A few years and two babies later, I was painting upstairs when I heard a child’s footsteps running up the stairs, and screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!”
A commanding “Shh! You’ll wake your brother!” put a stop to those screams, but only for a moment before they started up again and I put down my paintbrush and went to the stairs. There was no one there. I went downstairs to my youngest children’s bedroom, and they were both fast asleep.
Fast forward a few years later, when my oldest son came downstairs and said, “Mom, there’s a ghost in my room. It’s zipping and unzipping my soccer bag.” My husband was all over that—he ran upstairs with my son to see this phenomenon. I remained downstairs.
A few minutes later they both came downstairs fuming angrily. “Why did you call me?” my husband asked. I had no idea what he was talking about. He and my son had both heard, “Honey, come here!” from the hallway behind them, and immediately, the zipper had stopped moving and silence stepped in.
Believer? My husband wasn’t either, until he was the only one awake one night when he was studying outside the master bedroom. The basement door opened and woman came upstairs and walked into the kitchen. She had long dark hair, just like me, and she was barefoot—as I always was. He followed her into the kitchen, wondering how I got past him in the hallway. The kitchen was empty. He went back to check on me, and naturally, I was still fast asleep.
My husband finally revealed to me that he’d been woken up by a child saying, “Daddy!” in his ear for years. He confessed this before I told him about my morning visitor.
The next week my step-daughter and her friend accused me of watching them sleep at midnight. I had been fast asleep with a migraine.
The following year a man who had grown up in the house came to visit. His childhood bedroom was our daughter’s, and his mother used to watch him sleep. We tracked down this lovely ghost of a woman who seemed to be there to take care of the child. Flossie Cleo Thurston was her name, and it turned out that the three families who lived there before us had also seen her in and around the house. Always barefoot, never scared.
We lived with a woman and child ghost. For fifteen years they were ever-present. We had many events such as those noted above, and no, I wasn’t scared by them. I am, after all, a mother.
Are you a believer? If not, I’d love to hear why.
Melissa Foster is a Community Builder for ALLi, founder of Fostering Success, World Literary Café, and The Women’s Nest, as well as a bestselling award-winning author. Follow Melissa on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook, or visit her on her website.