where the writers are
Ghost Story Blog: My Ghost Girl

Maybe ghost isn't the best word, but I have something watching over me.

Twice I've seen her. Floating above me, while I was in bed.

The first time was at home in my room way up on the third floor. Not a small space, but it was right under the roof, so the ceiling sloped. During the day it could be a sanctuary. At night, the darkness could make it claustrophobic. 

Admittedly, I can be a light sleeper, easily unnerved. One night, my best friend came in my room while I was sleeping, managing to open the door and take a few steps in before I jumped up. "Where were you going," he laughed.

The night I saw her, some movement in the dark didn't arouse me. Something just told me to open my eyes. Her face was right above me, like a mother checking in on her child or a lover leaning in for a kiss. But I didn't know this young white girl, anywhere between 16 and 20 years old, with long hair that was more white than blond. Later I'd recall she was wearing a flowing white nightgown. She was glowing and transparent, solid and ethereal at the same time.

She said nothing. I just stared up, trying to figure out who it was. As shocked as I was, I didn't feel the need to get up and get out. Maybe it was the reassuring look of concern and curiosity on her face.

The exchanged maybe lasted a few seconds. I didn't see her float out the window or under the closet door, or anything like that. She was just gone, just like that.

A dream? I would've gone with that conclusion, had it not been for the second visit, maybe a few years later. (Honestly, I'm not sure how much time passed between the incidents.) I was lying in bed in my darkened dorm room. Not asleep, but in deep concentration, conjugating German verbs in my head. Again, I got that feeling someone was watching me.

I opened my eyes. I see my roommate, leaning down over me. I'm about to ask him what in the world is he doing, and then I remember: Daniel's not home. I'm alone in our room, which is why I turned in early to take advantage of the quiet.

I refocus and realize it's her. The ghost girl, maybe a little older. She's looking down at me, quizzically. "Whatcha doin' " I read on her face -- or did I hear it?

I don't get to answer, cause just like the first time, she's gone in a blink.

Course these visits have come while I'm alone so I have nothing to back me up and people find the story hard to believe. One day, the football team is at lunch talking about the rumors of haunted dorms on campus and I relate the story. "What ya'll smoking at French house," one says as the others laugh.

As a Christian, I more apt to believe in spirits than ghosts. Maybe even an angel, as I never felt I was in danger in either case? Nonetheless, waking up to a face looking down at you is unnerving at minimum, if not downright scary.