Last night was GNO--girls night out--and we had a great time at Cafe 4 celebrating the season. After a bottle of wine, the late night conversation took an interesting twist when nearly all the women at the table confessed to having seen a ghost at one point or another during their lifetimes.
Now. I have never seen a ghost, so I had little to contribute but raised eyebrows. But I love ghost stories; they're so . . . chilling. Like the one my friend H. very believably told me about her ancestors appearing one night at the foot of her bed during her troublesome pregnancy with twins. Her ancestors looked like lights, she said, and they blessed her, telling her everything would be all right. Or the one my friend A. told me about walking downstairs late one night and inexplicably seeing a woman holding a child. Or the one my friend D. told me about strange apparitions in a cemetery photograph her family took on the Day of the Dead. These stories fascinate me.
Despite this fascination, though, I'm a committed skeptic. I mean, why do ghosts only appear at night? When people are alone? Why are sightings not reliably documented in film, photo, or by other means? And given the number of dead people, why aren't there more ghosts?
But these stories come from bright, engaged, clearly sane women, so then again, who's to say?
And besides, it sure is fun to think about.