Since Halloween is today I thought I’d share my ghost story with you. Now as a Christian I am not suppose to believe in ghosts. And now looking back so many years ago maybe it never was a ghost…or maybe it was. You be the judge.
The house I grew up in we lived in from the time I was 5 years old until my parents sold it when I was 21. The house was built in 1955. So it was already over 30 years old when we moved in. It had a few owners before we bought it.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened until I was a teenager. The house was two stories. Upstairs there were only two rooms — mine and my sister’s bedrooms. At night we started to hear things. It sounded like someone was walking up and down the stairs and in the hall. We would always check and there was never anyone there.
Numerous times I would be talking on the phone and it would go dead. Every time I would check the phone jack and the cord would be unplugged. It was a tight plug and impossible for it to slip out. It would also happen when no one else was home so impossible that someone else unplugged it.
My mom always folded laundry on her bed. She would have it in piles ready to put away. Ocassionally when she left the room to do something she’d come back to all the clothes on the floor. At first she thought it was one of us kids. We quickly figured out that it even happened when no one else was home.
The walls in my bedroom were plastered with pictures of this and that. Normal teenage girl stuff. A couple times I came to my room to all of my pictures rearranged. Some were even upside down. At first I blamed my little brother but again it wasn’t him. Then one night my brother and I saw “him”.
Every summer my sister and I slept downstairs in the living room. We did not have central air in our house. We slept downstairs because it was cooler. One night my brother was sleeping in the living room with us. In the middle of the night my brother and I both screamed at the same time. There was a black figure sitting at the computer. Everyone else was asleep. I definitely know it was not my mind playing tricks on me because we both described him exactly the same way. So I know we saw him.
My dad saw him numerous times as well. My parents have an old antique barber chair. It was in our dining room. My dad would always see him sitting in the chair. Then one day our ghost got a name name. Tim Saylor.
Bill Saylor had previously owned our house. He still lived in the neighborhood. One day he dropped by to see the house. He got to talking to my parents. They told him about some of the “weird” things happening in the house. He got a little emotional and told them it was his son. Tim had died of natural causes in our house in 1978. He was only 28 years old. His bedroom was upstairs.
So from that day forward we were never scared of Tim. When things happened we would tell him to go to the light. Even before we were told Tim’s story I was never afraid. It was definitely weird and freaked me out a little. But everything that happened was so harmless.
A few years ago my sister ran into Bill. He smiled at her and said “Tim’s still there isn’t he.” So do you believe in ghosts?