Do you believe in ghosts?

I believe in them - I think there are a few categories:

Ghosts you Pay to See

I have been on two ghost tours.  The first was in Charleston.  We were there for a bachelorette party, and it seemed like a good idea to eat, drink, and then meet this random lady on the corner of a street downtown, and wander around Charleston with her.  We paid for this.  She was on a brochure in our hotel lobby.  So she had to be LEGIT.

We ladies were a little bit toe-up.  But the tour guide, well, in retrospect I can now say it:    she was high on crystal meth.  It has taken years of domestic litigation for me to recognize the symptoms.  She had scabs on her face, her skin was sort of gray, she was super thin and hyper – and she pointed this light thingy in the dark and said “looky, there goes a ghost right there!”  Her accent was not Charlestonian.  It was more Pelionian or Swanseaian.

The second ghost tour was in Savannah.  Bret was with me and he was no fun at all.  He is the second most skeptical man I know.  They put us in this old house, turned the lights off, and played a tape from that Paranormal Activity show.  I thought it was awesome.  Bret thought it was dumb and wanted to go back to the hotel.

Ghosts You do Not have to Pay to See (Yet)

The bests ghosts are pro bono.  In high school, my cousin Brian agreed to take me to see the Land’s End Light in Beaufort.  This ghost is famous.  It is either:  (1) a dead slave crawling around looking for its head that popped off;  (2) a dead slave walking to the hanging tree, but still with his head;  (3) a dead confederate soldier crawling around looking for its head that popped off (4) a union soldier;  or (3) swamp gases.

I was pretty creeped out to go see this ghost, but my cousin Brian was kind of a badass kid.  He knew how to operate most any vehicle, he shot and killed things and fished for big live animals in the Maye River.  Brian drove me around in a gocart when we were little, then a golf cart when we were a little bigger, then his own car when we were 12 or so.  Then he taught me to drive on Hampton County dirt roads and didn’t even laugh when I wisely noted “Did you know if you give the car more gas it goes faster?”

So Brian and I loaded up in the car and drove out to the site.  His version of the story required us to knock on the door of the church before we drove down and parked under the “hanging tree.”  Problem is, I really don’t think we knocked on the right church door.  This was the church we were supposed to go to:

I don’t think our church looked like that.  I think the church we knocked on was constructed in the 1980s.

So anyway, we knocked on some random church door and we got back in the car and we parked under the hanging tree. 

And we turned off the headlights and we waited.  And y’all, we saw it.  This light came bouncing down the road.  It was not a motorcycle.  It looked like this:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubEX-mSy5TI&feature=related

(this link has a video of some really smart southern people and the Land's End Light).

Except our light changed colors before it disappeared.  It was thrilling!

A few years later we decided to go back.  This time though, we took my sister and some other people.  I am not sure who all went with us, but if I had to guess it was Brian’s friend Nick. 

Brian’s friend Nick was loud.  He talked about that duo Kriss Kross and how the lyrics needed fine-tuning:  “Kriss Kross will make ya’ JUMP JUMP . . . A rattlesnake will make ya’  JUMP JUMP . . . two-boys-with-their-clothes-on-backwards will make ya’ JUMP JUMP.”

It just wasn’t the same.  We just weren’t reverent enough for the head-or-no-head dead slaveorsoldier/swamp gases.  I tried to get Brian to tell our story to our new companions, to set the mood.  But he wouldn’t.  In fact, if you ask him today about the Lands End Light, he acts like he doesn’t know what you are talking about.

One of the most fun pro bono ghosts is Alice.  Alice died over a 100 years ago of a broken heart.  Her mean Daddy wouldn’t let her marry the boy she loved.  So the deal is, you walk around her grave 8 times – either forward or backwards, or both.  Then you stand there and Alice tries to take off your wedding band because she’s jealous.

So Bret and I, and my sister Ginny and her husband Kick, and his sister Sarah and her husband Chris - - we all went to Alice’s grave.  Ok, I will admit, when we did this, we were all grown ups.  We were all well educated, and most of us had master’s degrees.  And I even had a KID.  No matter, we wanted to see a ghost.  Or at least Sarah and I did.  So we walked around this grave, we walked forwards and backwards . . . and nothing.  I think it was Kick’s fault.  Because he is the MOST skeptical person I know.  He has a special facial expression that means “No.  I think not.” 

I have seen this expression when I talk about the aliens.

Family

But I have actually seen two ghosts who were family members.  I don’t like to think of them as “ghosts” – because that implies they were creepy in some way.  Really, they were just checking up on me.

When I was super pregnant with Maggie, I saw my paternal grandfather at the foot of my bed.  I don’t remember him, he died when I was little.  But he was there clear as day.  He was kind of pacing, looked a little worried (I had been sick).  But it was definitely him.

I had also seen my Noni.  My Noni passed away in May of 1999.  It was too soon.  We had only just begun to form a real-life friendship.  We had been shopping together and watched Titanic on VHS (turned up REALLY loud – she was hard of hearing).  We had argued about politics and Days of Our Lives.  She had an immense dislike for the internet.  She just knew people would start naming their children somethingsomethingDOTCOM.

She had expressed her dismay at the colors of my bridesmaids dresses – “navy may as well be black and you may not have black bridesmaids dresses it will look like a funeral.” 

Noni - far right, in an appropriate bridesmaid's dress.

If Noni disagreed with you, she said so.  She would say "I know you think you're right but I KNOW I'm right."

She could be so infuriating.

And then she was gone.

5 months later, Bret and I were watching Real World and I felt just gross.  Something was wrong.  My body had been poisoned.  There was no way I was pregnant, because you had to try for like 6 months to get pregnant.  I made Bret go buy a test. 

While he was watching TV I learned the truth - - all those warnings Peggy gave me . . . she was right.  Forget all those other girls, Ashby had to be extra special careful:  

I could get pregnant by kissing too much, or lying down on the sofa with a boy, or accidentally brushing against someone in the hallway at school.

That night while I slept, I dreamt I was in Estill. 

I was walking down the street holding someone’s hand.  It was my Noni’s hand!  Her hand was soft and warm. 

I looked up at her and said “Guess what Noni?!”

“What, Ashby?”

“I’m PREGNANT Noni!”

And she said . . . “Well, I already knew that, but I thought you’d want to tell me yourself.”