We were walking back, and I happened to look down when my heel hit something hard. It was a grave marker, buried in deep grass and far from the gates of the cemetery. As it turns out, the whole of my grandmother's yard is various graves.
My sister has an interesting tale from that old house. When she was about thirteen, she was sleeping when a piano randomly started playing in the house. Curious, she got up and walked into the hallway. At the end of the hall was a man standing outside on a balcony in a soldier's uniform. She about had a heart attack.
What makes some of us more sensitive to these spirits than others? Some say it's just natural for certain folks to be more aware. But have you ever noticed kids see a whole hell of a lot more than adults do?
Seems that those who dream in color are more aware of things not tangible around us.
I digress. The reason I don't write ghost stories is because they creep the hell out of me. I'd never sleep while penning that. Instead, I write deranged vampires and werewolves, and serial killers. The only problem with writing serial killers is the effect it has on your mind. I had to put the dog in the basement the other night since she wouldn't stop whining, and we'd forgotten to close the blinds in the den. There's a sliding door there that leads out to a solarium. I couldn't help but think:
What if I look up and someone is standing there?
O.o With that lovely thought, I leave you. This has been a fun blog hop, and I hope y'all have enjoyed it! If you'd like to find out more about my writing, you can visit my website, which I'll be updating in the next week, or Amazon to find my books!
Thanks so much, and see you around the web!