Cindy Carroll: Growing up with a ghost
Thanks to the talented Cindy Carroll for sending this ghost story that's on the sweet side. I think Cindy could use this for a future book. I'm already wondering why the ghost remained in the house instead of enjoying its afterlife.
For 17 years I lived in a house with a ghost. We didn't know her name or anything about her. We were pretty sure it was a girl though, because my make up would go missing. But that's not what convinced us it was a girl. I had some friends over and I had gone upstairs to get something. My friends were in the kitchen. When I came downstairs and went into the kitchen one of my friends asked me to repeat what I had said. They'd been having a conversation with "someone" but it wasn't me.
When I had my wisdom teeth out my boyfriend at the time drove me there and took me back home. He stayed with me because I was on powerful pain killers. He went to the basement to get something and the ghost talked to him when he picked up the phone. We were the only two people in the house and I was knocked out on meds. He ran up the stairs and said he would never go in the basement alone again. 
I also remember coming home around midnight to find my cousin sitting on a lawn chair in the middle of the sidewalk. When I asked why she wasn't inside (she lived with us) she said the ghost was typing up a storm in the top room. She didn't want to go back into the house until other people were home.
The one that freaked me out the most was when I had a sunburn. I was the only person home. I was lying on my stomach on my bed and I heard footsteps walking back and forth in front of my room. But there was no one there. And she liked to wake me out of a sound sleep by yelling my name in my ear in the middle of the night.
Still, I always felt safe knowing she was there. When we moved I missed that extra presence in the house.
Do you have a ghost story? Send it to edieramerbooks@gmail.com. I'm giving a free ecopy of Dead People (Haunted Hearts) to everyone whose ghost story I post.
