If you haven't noticed I have this thing about ghosts. And am slightly and sort of ish obsessed, but not really, about it. Well, guess what?! I have a real ghost story to tell now. A REAL ONE.
For reals, people, REEEAL.
The other night I got in bed while Husband headed to the basement to iron his fancy clothes (because he has to wear fancy clothes to work now). I closed my bedroom door, got in bed, rolled to face the wall, and started to nod off.
I wasn't really asleep yet though, and I left a lamp on for when Husband came back up. Except that Husband takes a LOOOOOOONG time to iron. Because he likes his fancy clothes to be perfection in starch.
As I laid there, not quite sleeping yet, Heavy footsteps came from the kitchen, and then into the hall. Then my bedroom door opened - I heard the doorknob turn, I heard it creak open (old houses have creaky doors as a rule). And then the footsteps came into my room.
I thought it was just Husband, that maybe he had forgotten something. Because it had only been a few minutes since he went downstairs, so he couldn't have been finished.
But once he had come into the room he got really quiet, and he didn't hear him leave.
I wondered what he was doing.
But I was feeling rather lazy, so I didn't want to roll over just to see him sniffing socks or something. But he was being way quieter than usual, and he still hadn't left the room.
I finally decided to roll over. It had only been like maybe a minute and a half, but you know, what the heck would Husband be doing standing all quiet-like in our room for that much time when precious ironing needed done?
I rolled over while saying, "What are you do......" Husband wasn't in the room. No one was in the room with me.
But I had clearly heard footsteps coming toward and into the room. I had clearly heard the door open. In fact, the door was wide open. I know it actually happened. I wasn't so close to sleep that I had imagined it.
My first instinct was to freak out, but then I decided to believe that Husband had come up, grabbed something, and walked lightly -on possible tiptoes- back to the basement. But even then, he knew to close the door behind him because I had been sleeping with a humidifier and he knows that I will beat him if he lets all my moist air out of the room. But still, I believed it was him, rolled back over, and went to sleep.
The next morning I asked Husband if he had come up to get something after just going down to iron. He acted confused. So I had to put it in really specific terms like, "Did you come back up the stairs, and come into our room, about 3 minutes after you went down to iron? Did you leave the door open?"
And guess what?
He had been downstairs starching and ironing the ENTIRE time.
And that, dear friends, means that something else had walked through my kitchen, down the hall, opened my bedroom door, and walked into the room just to stand there and watch me sleep. Or it evaporated. Or I dunno, something. But it wasn't a live person, and that's what matters most in a real live ghost story.
And I didn't even make any of this up. This time. Pinky promise.