I Believe in Ghosts
I believe in ghosts. You know the type. Evil and scary. That try to grab your feet from under the bed and pull you down. The type that shut doors and make lights flicker. The type that follow you from room to room and send chills up your spine. The type that watch you from dark corners or crevices. You may not admit it, but you know the type.
One of them lives in my playroom. It turns off the lights, and it opens and shuts the door. One time, when I was asleep, my cat, Ozzy, flew out of the playroom and jumped up on the bed with me. I woke up and watched him. The playroom door suddenly creaked. I looked at it in time to see it close slowly. I looked at Ozzy again, and he was staring at the door. He turned his head slowly as if he was watching something cross the room. His gaze stopped on something beside me. I did not see anything, but I screamed and hid under my covers anyway. My parents heard me scream and came to check on me, but there was nothing there, and the playroom door was open again.
Another time my dad and I were driving down River Road on John’s Island in Charleston. We were headed to see my grandparents. It was about nine o’clock at night. On the way, we passed a man in a red and orange plaid jacket. About five minutes later, we saw the same man walking ahead of us on the side of the road. Just
as we were about to pass him, he jumped out in front of the car. My dad slammed on the breaks, but it was too late, and the man slammed through the windshield. All of the car lights and the motor cut off. My dad jumped out of the car to help the man. I watched him look around, but the man in the plaid jacket was gone, and there was no visible damage to the car. However, the car never worked the same again. The radio stopped working, the headlights flickered, and sometimes the car would not start. We took it to the auto shop, but the mechanics never found anything wrong with the car.
I believe in ghosts. I do not care if you say that I am crazy because I know that when you are home alone at night, you are scared. You keep the lights on, and turn on the TV to escape the quiet. You are afraid of what you might hear instead, but you hear it anyway. And you try to ignore the creaks and footsteps, but in the back of your mind, you know that something is there watching and waiting.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.