The Ghosts of My Past Part Four

Not every day held a paranormal occurrence. Our ghosts didn't follow a schedule. And thankfully, long stretches of time would pass and nothing out of the ordinary would happen. Everyday life was hard enough.

The move took its toll on all of us. I was thrown into a den of nine-year-olds that wanted to know how much money my parents had saved for college. My old nine-year-old friends biggest concern was, "What game are we making up on the playground today?" College. We didn't have enough money for food half of the time. College was the least of my worries. My classmates quickly decided I didn't belong in their school and did what they could to prove it.

My sister? She learned differently than most. In our first quarter of the new year, my teacher sent me to collect fundraising money from classrooms. When I reached my sister's homeroom, I found her sitting at her desk in tears. The teacher decided shaming her was an appropriate teaching method as she asked her in front of everyone why she wasn't as smart as me. I wasn't able to go to her or make her feel better. Instead, I was lectured too, for not teaching her like a sister should. That teacher made me late back to my homeroom and I was written up. By the way, she's much smarter than those teachers ever gave her credit for.

I felt bad for her. She had a rough road. The school decided she would benefit from a program at another school for those with learning disabilities. However, the children she was bussed with had severe disabilities. She only needed a little extra time with a tutor. She went through hell on that bus and in that new school.

My father dealt with quite a bit too. He struggled to make his paycheck stretch enough to keep us fed and a roof over our heads. For a few months, everything seemed like it might be ok. He was able to finance a new car. We were all thrilled. The engine blew within a month. This was before the lemon law and there weren't any warranties. It took a while before he could afford another car and took the bus to work. He had to walk a half a mile in the winter to borrow my grandma's car so he could go grocery shopping for us. She never let him keep it at our house.

We all struggled after moving. Life wasn't easy. In a perfect world, no matter how hard life gets, home is supposed to be a sanctuary—a place where you can relax, find shelter from the storm.

On this particular Friday, the movie wasn't even a scary one. Dad fell asleep on the couch. We were sent up to bed. The bathroom light was on. It remained on. Even through the night. None of us would sleep in the dark. So we yelled down our goodnights. I shifted a few times trying to make myself comfortable. I did my best to not stare at the closet. Or toward the bedroom door. Or the window. My sister drifted off quickly. I said my prayers and closed my eyes.

Something slammed down hard on the foot of my bed. I jumped up and screamed. Then yelled, "Dad!" There was a clear indentation on the foot of my bed highlighted by the bathroom light filtering into the room.

I slipped my legs up and out of bed. My sister was up now. I told her it was dad playing his jokes again. When I snuck out of the room, nobody was upstairs. I tiptoed down the stairs and peeked into the living room. Dad was still asleep on the couch and our dog was fast asleep on his chest. It wasn't him.

If I followed the same pattern as before with these blog posts, I'd type "to be continued..." But this time the pattern changed. The haunting wasn't something obscure, like a voice or a story or even something outside of the window. This was much closer. This happened on my bed. I have never forgotten the feeling of the weight hitting my mattress, or the silence that followed once we knew it wasn't him. I still get chills recalling that night.