This is one of my sweeter romances, the story of plain socialite Sarah, who falls in love with Wynn, the Appalachian mountain man. No paranormal in this one, just a wonderful heart-tugging story.
As to ghosts, I haven't had time yet to write up the two investigations I got called out on down in Houston. But what happened over at my friend Angela's house on Sunday, June 3, was cute, although a bit irritating at times, so thought I'd let y'all in on a laugh. We have a round-robin for our critique meetings, and this was Angela's turn. I've mentioned before that she has a resident ghost, Alan. Alan fancies himself quite the comedian at times, and this was one of those. Now, Alan also has an ego, so if he's reading over Angela's shoulder as she reads the blog, oh my! His head will swell at his fame! I might have to go over and help her discipline him again. (So fair warning, Alan, Angela's ghost.)
Anyway, the first thing Alan did was move our drinking cups. Since we've had some nice weather in Texas, Angela set up a table under her carport. She had the snack plates and plastic cups on the table, but we all went into the house to help her carry out the drinks and yummy pasta salad she makes. When we left, all four plastic cups were on the table beside the plates. When we came back out, two of the plastic cups were at least fifteen feet away from the table, upside down in the yard! The other two were still sitting there undisturbed on the table. The two male authors in our group just walked on past the cups in the yard. Men have a way of not noticing anything that needs picked up. We both halted and stared at the cups, then each other. There was no wind, and besides, how on earth could a wind move only two cups out of a stack and leave the other two on the table?
"Alan!" we both said at once. She laughed and picked up the cups, and we heard Alan laughing, also. Since the two men were not sensitives, they didn't hear the ghost.
Later, I was reading my story for the day and a dark shadow kept covering my pages. We were under a large carport. There were no clouds under there to intrude between me and the pages. No one was moving; we all sat in our chairs, the listeners (I hoped) enthralled with my new diary for my next volume of true ghost stories. The shadow moved away, then back, then away, then…
"Alan!" I said sternly. "Leave me alone!" Angela had seen her resident ghost doing that, so she broke down into gales of laughter. I'll admit, I giggled a bit, too. The men just stared and shook their heads. They've been around the two of us when things like this happen and are (sort of) used to it.
I read on. Alan returned. This time he irritated me a bit, because I truly believe you can't let ghosts get out of hand or they will…get out of hand. So I only allowed him to "shadow" me once, then was firmer when I told him to scat. "Get the heck out of here, Alan, or I'll discipline you!"
As he left, I glanced up and said, "Damned ghost." Angela giggled, but Alan left us alone after that.
So if you had a resident ghost, what would you do? Call someone to get rid of it? Enjoy having it around? Would it depend? Let me know what you think, and happy reading and hunting!
Boo! T. M.