This post is a continuation of last week’s on ‘ghost writing and fengshui’ so if you haven’t done so already, read last week’s first.
I am standing at the bottom of the stairs gathering the courage to investigate my son’s room. I hear creaking from there as if someone is walking around. But there is no one in the house – just me, my dog and my cockatiel. I am on super alert but that doesn’t mean I’m brave.
In my books, all of my main characters are courageous and gutsy. In A Ghost in My Suitcase, Celeste is a ghost hunter, something I could never be. Part of the reason I write is because I can be someone who I am not.
And if you think your house is too new to be inhabited by a ghost, not so. Nancy, my friend who fengshui’d my house and told the ghost woman in my son’s room to move on, said that ghosts live in trees and attach themselves to people. That’s how they enter houses.
On my walk I found these prints.
Were they made by children having fun with wet cement? Or were they really made by creatures emerging from underground? Nancy said that houses need to be cleansed fairly regularly.
Our street is lined with 70 year old oaks, a perfect place for ghosts to hide away. I imagine them dropping from branches, invisible and silent, onto the shoulders of unsuspecting pedestrians. Anyone want a free ghost? Just walk under some old trees.
To get back to my story…
I walk up the stairs. The first room off the small hallway is Rens room. His door is firmly shut. This is not unusual because he knows I don’t like looking at his mess. The next room is my daughters. Her door is open. And at the end of the hall is my room. I want to look out of my bedroom window to see if the carpenter is climbing around on the roof causing all the creaking.
I am about to enter my bedroom when I glance over my shoulder.
Ren’s door, the one that was firmly closed, is now standing wide open!
Someone or something is in the house!
I step forward warily. Then I see a head, a blonde head, floating down the stairs.
It’s my son’s girlfriend, Naomi, trying to sneak out.
You couldn’t resist telling it Gabi. x Love the leaves and the idea that ghosts could be inhabiting the giant oaks.
Yes, C, I had to tell you the rest of the story, otherwise it would not be a story, I don’t think. I wonder what the definition of a story is?
Hahaha that ending is not what I imagined Gabrielle! Nice 🙂 I also love the idea of ghosts in trees and it’s probably something I’ll probably never forget as I walk under trees that are as beautiful as the ones you have pictured.
Hi Kathleen,
Whenever a slight breeze catches the leaves and branches it’s really the whispering of ghosts.