Visits from Dad

From: Michael K. (kocherm@bah.com)
Story type: Ghost
Location: Pennsylvania
Source: Form Submission

After reading some of the stories posted to this page, I feel a little more at ease in sharing my personal experience with a ghost. Not just any ghost; my father.

My dad died when I was only two years old. He died in our house of a massive heart attack while preparing to take a bath. He was buried on Christmas Eve, 1971. Becuase I was so young at the time of his death, I did not remember him at all; his voice, his face; nothing at all. I had to rely on stories from my mom and pictures that she had. I was still pretty young - say around six or seven - when I started having these dreams. My dad would walk out of the closet in my room and sit on my bed. He would place his cold hand on my body and gently wake me. The cold radiated from his skin, penetrating my blankets and startling me awake. I would open my eyes, about to yell, until I saw him motion with a finger to his lips. "Shhh!" He then would smile.

I can remember having in-depth conversations with him. He apologized for being a bad father (My mom told me later that he really didn"t want another child so late in life, and had a bad temper) and asked how his other children, my step-brothers and sisters, were doing. I began to enjoy these visits and one morning I told my mom. She just sighed and smiled, patronizing me. "That"s nice honey." She told me later she just figured I was wishful thinking all these visits because I wanted my dad around. She didn"t see any need for alarm until....

One morning I came down to breakfast and sat at the kitchen table looking a bit confused. Upon seeing the look on my face,my mom asked if there was something wrong. I explained that I had had another "visit" from dad and that he was upset because he couldn"t find Howard. When I asked him who Howard was, he became even more annoyed.

"Your brother, Howard!" he strained, "I know he left here, but he didn"t come to where I am!"

After telling this story to my mom, I asked her if I even had a brother named Howard. My mother"s jaw almost dropped to the floor. It turns out Howard, or "Corny" as I knew him was indeed one of my step-brothers and had recently died of a heart attack. Since most every sibling on my father"s side of the family has a nickname, I didn"t know their real names at that early age. There was Soot, Pee-Wee, Anna-mea, Pie, Corny, and Tommy (the only one who used his real name).

From that point on, my mom knew it was more than a dream. There was no way I could"ve known Corny"s real name - we weren"t that close to begin with.

During his next few visists, my dad played scrabble with me; and when I"d awake in the morning, the game would still be out of the box and there"d be words spelled on the board. Names of relatives, "I LOVE YOU", "THE RUGS" (we never figured out what that meant). I started having trouble staying awake during the day and I was actually starting to become frightened. It clicked in my mind, "Hey, this guy is DEAD!"

I tried to tell him to leave me alone which only served to anger him. He stopped talking when he"d come and would just sit in a chair in the corner of my room glaring at me. I became terrified and started sleeping in my mom"s bed for security. It wasn"t long before she started complaining that I was fidgeting too much and shaking the bed. I kept insisting it wasn"t me. Finally, one night my mom was awakened - partly by hearing me crying-partly because her bed was quivering; shaking as if someone were nudging it with their knee at one end.

I was in the hallway, terrified into paralysis. I had gotten up to go to the bathroom and was walking, sleepy-eyed through the hall. After doing my "job", I exited the bathroom. I had just turned out the bathroom light and was "blind" while my eyes tried to adjust to the darkness again. As I blinked my eyes, I bumped into something; it felt like a cold, damp wall although I knew there was no wall there. I backed up and fell to the side; right in front of my bedroom door. As I looked up, I realized it was my father that I had bumped into. He was standing over me, breathing labored and heavy, with a look of intense anger on his face. His right arm was extended out in front of him and his finger was pointing to my bedroom door. I tried to scream but no sound came out. I couldn"t move and was afraid to look away.

It was around this time that my mother, at the other end of the hallway, came stumbling out of her room. She tells me that she could see me huddled on the floor by bedroom door looking up. She described a dark cloud or shadow around/ over me, made evident by the light from her bedroom.

"Michael!" she screamed.

I looked past him to my mother and that quickly he was gone. My mom tells me that the shadow shrunk into itself and flowed into the bathroom.

That very morning my mother had a minister and deacons of church come to the house and pray over me. They hung a cross in the hallway and said prayers in my room. Two of the men commented that they felt sadness in the room and even went so far as to suggest we move.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I never saw my dad again. I do however have this stong sense that he is very sorry for losing his temper and scaring me. Everytime I look at his picture in the hall, it seems somehow sadder.

As far as the bed shaking: yeah, my mom still feels it from time to time. I have since moved out of that house and live in Maryland. My mom, diehard that she is, still lives there to this day. If you think my story is incredible, don"t feel bad, I have a hard time believing and telling it to this day. My brother on my mother"s side also knows of my father"s presence - every time he attempts to go into the basement, the lights will flicker and the furnace will make a strange humming noise. My brother, a 300 pound Marine Corp Vet. will not set foot in that basement to this day.

Of course my friends and I have witnessed vacuum cleaners coming on by themselves, doors slamming upstairs, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs in the middle of the night. Needless to say, I didn"t have too many sleepovers.

The cellar door is still found wide open some days when my mom gets home from work. That"s strange enough, but add a latch lock that is always latched and it gets really wierd.

I go for short visits, but I still get the creeps when I stay over night there. I often asked my mom why she puts up with it. I told her she should move. She shut me up good one day though......

"I wasn"t afraid of him when he was alive, and I ain"t afraid of him now that he"s dead. This house is all he left when he died and I ain"t giving it up now!" she said.