Okay, at first the ghost child really did piss me off.
I’d gone my whole life with no paranormal experiences: no ghosts, UFOs, bigfoots, nothing—until last summer.
My wife and I, sleeping on our boat, had to open the screens for ventilation. The weather was perfect with a nice little breeze—until we were awoken about 3am by people walking past (from a party further down the dock). About ten minutes later, before falling back asleep, another couple with their kid walked by, talking loudly. The kiddo, I’m guessing maybe nine years old, was chatting it up with the adults.
So, already nagged by work I needed to do, a part of my brain now was wondering what the kid’s doing up so late. As anyone that’s had upstairs neighbors can tell you, noise is one thing—trying to make sense of it is worse.
Finally… silence fell. But then, about twenty minutes later: a single set of kid’s steps walked on the wooden dock. And then stopped in front of our boat.
No biggie. He/she might’ve stopped to tie their shoes. But time kept passing… with nothing but dead silence.
Each minute become increasingly inexplicable, and I had stuff to do. The clock read 3:30 as I got out of bed. The ghost child really did piss me off—not what I needed right then. So enough thinking about that; time to open the laptop. And hearing nothing more, I quickly forgot about it.
The next days were very busy, but I eventually remembered the strange incident and mentioned it to my wife and friend. Venting about it on top of all the shit I had to deal with made me realize how weird it really was. In retrospect I could’ve gone outside and looked, but for what? Step outside to see nobody there? Creepy. Child standing there alone on the dock? Creepy. Me, a middle aged man, approaching a lonely child at 3:30 a.m.? Creepers City.
But now that more time has passed, annoyance has been replaced by respect.
Well played, ghost child. Well played.
First of all, gotta love the kid’s choice on where to live, after my own heart. Why hang around some old dingy building with all the other ghosts? Lame. This youth, flouting the norm, has a way cooler arrangement on the water. Props. Much more interesting than an cellar, basement, dungeon, etc.
This next part speaks to the personality of ghost kid. Okay, I have a friend who’s last name is Taunt. It is literally in his DNA to mess with people. So this same guy who could goad Ghandi into a bar fight, if he were to become a ghost, there’s no way he’d limit himself to an attic rattling chains. In becoming ghosts must we become bland? No. This kid likes to mess with people, and the dock parties surely provide abundant ways to blur hallucinations.
My workday Wednesday was a different story, just yawns and sleep—but not with ghost brat on the case. How can we not admire the timing? Ghost child waited… my mind preoccupied… waited… increasingly annoyed with the noisy 3 a.m. live child on the dock… wait for it… wife falls asleep… wait for it… Now: cue eerie footsteps on the wooden planks. And welcome to the world of the undead. Such a dick move. But respect—maybe not a friendly ghost, but I gotta admit when I’ve been bested.
And in the weeks following, being open minded to its existence and deathstyle choices, ghost child and I now get along great. Debating with my wife, just as I’d build up to a dramatic point, the lights in the boat turned off.
“You see? Ghost child agrees with me!”
And how can anyone argue with that?
Here’s to new friends in unexpected places.
