There.  I had told my story to my brothers and I had received the reaction that I knew I would – disbelief.  But it would not be long before their laughter faded and their doubt was abolished forever!

My story begins on an ordinary night in the heart of summer.  I plodded quietly around my flat, avoiding the debris that surrounded me, and prepared for bed – but perhaps I should enlighten you on my situation first.  I had rented the flat nearly a month before.  The space occupied the second story of a house that was nearly two hundred years old.  The previous owner, an old woman, had died of old age, or so the story goes.  The flat was in a state of disrepair with chipped paint, peeling wall-paper, and scratched floors that had seen far better days.  The appliances were antiques and yet they miraculously still worked.  I was not dissuaded from renting the unit for I could see beneath the dilapidated exterior to the grandeur that lay hidden beneath.  So it was that I embarked on the daunting task of the renovation.

The small sun porch ran along the back of the house from which the back entrance to the kitchen was found.  The master bedroom attached the kitchen and was the room that served as storage for all my personal belongings with the exception of my bed, which I set up in the living room for the moment.  A narrow hallway ran from the kitchen to the dining room and a small bath adjoined the hall.  Across from the bath along the remaining wall of the hall was a built in china cabinet with doors that had been painted shut.  The dining room and living room were open and merely separated by a half wall with columns and on the other side of the living room and off to the right was a cozy nook with a doorway to a front porch.  The main entrance from below joined the upstairs with a grand staircase and entered at the point where the dining and living room connected.  To the left of the stairs and adjacent to the built in cabinet was the second bedroom. 

I had begun the renovation with vigor and currently had stripped the paper from the walls, patched the plaster and stripped the cabinets in the kitchen.  There was dust and general upheaval every where.  The bathroom was the only room that I had not disturbed for I felt the need for cleanliness in at least one room for the time being.  I worked diligently at night, after my day job, and on the weekends until late in the evenings, then wearily I would crawl into bed.  I had reached a point in my renovations when I was nearly ready to have the floors sanded and so had invited my brothers to assist me the following week. 

As I stated previously, on this ordinary night in the heart of summer, at the end of my grueling day I crawled into bed, exhausted from my labors, and fell almost instantly asleep.  I was awakened in the middle of the night to the distinct sound of the back door opening and footsteps plodding across the debris-strewn floor.  My heart beat furiously in my chest and ripples of goose-bumps coursed up my body from the cold fear that gripped me.  I peered through my eyes, which I opened to such a minute slit that the action was imperceptible.  What I saw, or rather didn’t see, did little to ease my anxiety for across the room there was nothing.

The sound echoed across the empty room, reverberating from the bare wooden floors like the distinct clop of hooves on brick.  There was no denying what the sound was and it could not be coming from the floor below.  I waited with bated breath until at last the footsteps rounded the end of my bed, then I peered out once more.  If I could have willed there to be something before me I would have and yet there was nothing.  Dizziness washed over me as a cold chill settled across my body and I nearly fainted from the shock of it all, but then I felt what clearly was an icy kiss placed upon my cheek as if a mother was gently kissing her child goodnight.  The footsteps sounded once more, receding from me, back in the direction from whence they came, but I was not elated or overjoyed.  For some imperceptive reason I felt abandoned. 

When my brothers arrived the following week I debated whether to share my experience with them until at last I felt that I must.  The reaction was the one I had anticipated – laughter.  My brothers assumed their role of razzing me about it.  None the less they began to work on the floors, sanding them with loud noisy machines that seemed to rock the foundation of the old house.  “Why do you want to fix this old dump up anyway?  This place is a dive.” My one brother stated with disgust.  “You’ve got to be nuts to put this much effort into this place.”  Again they laughed, “What have you got?  Some “thing” for this ghost?”  Gales of laughter filled the air and I almost regretted having told them. 

At the end of the day my brothers took up residence in the guestroom – the bedroom next to the front stairs.  I followed my usual routine and locked the back door, washed in the bathroom and then plodded to the bed in the middle of the living room and crawled beneath the cool sheets.   My eyes closed and I fell into sleep without difficulty.  In the middle of the night my heart jumped into my throat as a loud crash woke me from my slumber.  My eyes flew wide open and I gazed at my brother grasping the doorframe from across the room.  “What’s the matter?” I gasped as I leapt from the bed and rushed to his side. 

“It…it…it tried to choke me,” came is strangled reply.  I glanced in the room and my other brother was seated in the middle of the floor, his hand rubbing his neck and his eyes as big as saucers. 

“Me, too.” He croaked. 

“What are you talking about?” I said, completely baffled in my sleep-riddled state.

“The ghost!” they exclaimed in unison.  

I ran to the kitchen and poured us each a stiff drink, then raced back and handed them each a glass.  They downed the drink as if it was water then leaned back against the wall, closed their eyes tight and opened them again.  Hours later I finally learned the whole story. 

While we were sleeping my brothers had heard the footsteps, as clearly as I had described.  They heard their door open and in a moment icy hands had clamped around their neck, choking the very breath from them.  They clutched at their throats and felt an icy chill but there was nothing there.   One of them stumbled to the doorway to get my attention while the other was forced to the floor.  When I awoke the sensation left them as if it had never happened. 

We pondered the episode for many days afterward.  I’m not sure at what point we came to the conclusion, but our analysis was this – I had poured love and energy into restoring the old house, laboring to return the old place to the majestic dwelling it had once been.  My brothers, on the other hand, had mocked me and declared the house a dump.  Had the old woman, who had lived there, grown fond of my doting patience and care for her beloved house?  And had she reacted with anger to the harsh words of my brothers from the afterlife?  To this day we shall never know, but one fact remains.  The house was prominently placed just across the street from the cemetery in which the old woman was buried – a cemetery known for haunted sightings.

This is my story as I have told it.  Just be careful of what you say – you never know who might be listening.