Chapter 1

Have you ever seen a ghost? Personally, I've never believed in them, but lately I'm not feeling quite so confident. At least I've had to rethink what the term ghost actually means to me (more about that later). People like me who have a sound, science-based education generally aren't inclined to give any more credence to such beliefs and superstitions than recognizing them as a part of our cultural heritage. But the philosopher Joseph Campbell demonstrated through his research and writings that most myths weren't created out of thin air, they were very likely born of actual events, and then inflated to fantastical proportions through the ages with thousands of retellings. Those of you who are familiar with the rumor game know how that works.

We humans have always had a strong propensity for following the path of least resistance when it comes to belief systems, religious, social or political. Sages, profits and oracles of old knew that very well, and they used it to sway the masses to their own advantage. Politicians count on that weakness for their very political survival, and many religious leaders are masters at that kind of manipulation. Even now, practically every newscast tells stories of how large blocs of people, sometimes entire nations are willing to rise up and go to war, to carry out mass slaughter in defense of a belief that the people next door can't accept because they were taught something else as they were growing up.

When tales crop up from time to time about events that are unexplainable within our current level of scientific knowledge, things that many religions are inclined to classify as miracles or the work of the devil, I'm inclined to go along with Einstein's view that it's just a matter of time before a rational scientific explanation is uncovered.

But then Albert never completely bought into some the principles of quantum mechanics, even though his work helped set the stage for it. We know that quantum physics is often irrational in many respects, but it works. You wouldn't be reading this story on a computer screen if it didn't. Well, we can't be right all the time, can we?

The reason I bring up the question of ghosts is that I recently experienced (and am still experiencing) some things that make absolutely no logical sense. I haven't given up on a scientific explanation yet, but so far, my theories aren't any more provable than claims of the existence of spirits and poltergeists.

Well, enough of this rambling. Here's my ghost story:

I'll start by telling you a little about myself. If you were to ask some stranger on the street to take a quick look at me and pigeonhole me into some general category, they'd probably go with something like nerd or geek or dweeb. I readily admit that I look the part. According to my younger sister, my general appearance is so stereotypically nerdy that I might even be considered world-class. I don't go out of my way to look nerdy, but then I don't go out of my way to look like something else either. It's just that I'm a very plain-looking guy with the fashion sense of a fire hydrant, and for whatever reason, not being a slave to fashion has never caused me any social anxiety. Ergo, I feel no compulsion to expend a lot of cash and energy trying to impress others.

Try to picture it: I'm twenty-nine years old, I'm five feet eleven inches tall, I weigh one hundred sixty-six pounds, I have mouse-brown hair, I wear wire-rimmed glasses, and while my facial features aren't grotesque in any way that I'm aware of, I'm hardly what you would describe as handsome. Women aren't inclined to give me much more than a passing glance. I suppose the only things that aren't nerdy about my outward appearance are that I don't even own a pocket protector and my socks match.

I believe I can say with some confidence that my looks don't excite erotic thoughts in the minds of women or men. I'm straight by the way, but that doesn't mean gay people are lesser creatures in my eyes. It's just the way my genes are arranged, and I do know more than a little about that subject.

If I were gay, I might have enjoyed a much more active sex life since gay men are more inclined to respond to hormonal surges by actively seeking out readily available or even anonymous sex. I didn't learn that through personal experimentation, but that's what I've read and heard, and I have no reason to think otherwise since certain STD's are more prevalent among gay males than exclusively hetero males and females. The math kind of tells the story.

Not that I grew to adulthood as a total virgin, mind you. At the age of fifteen, I found myself in the clutches of my best friend's stepmother one day when I dropped by his house and he wasn't home. I guess the lady must have been very needy because her efforts to seduce me were incredibly clumsy. But however crude and artless they were, they were good enough, and I managed to actually get my dick inside her (just) before I went off. I think it was a disappointing experience for both of us. Since then I've had the occasional encounter, but I don't need all my fingers and toes to enumerate them. No womanizer, I.

I'm sure I have as much sexual drive as the next guy, and just like any young male with circulating testosterone, I'm adept at cruising the porn sites looking for stimulation. It's just that satisfaction of my needs is nearly always through self-manipulation. In layman's terms, I whack off a lot.

Anyway, I'm drifting away from the story. The only reason I mention all this stuff is to show that I'm unaccustomed to the attentions of beautiful women, and that's what initiated the events I'm about to describe.

A little over a year ago, I landed a fairly lucrative position with a research laboratory. I hold a doctorate in genetics, a specialty in high demand nowadays and the salaries are commensurate. The accompanying big boost in bucks allowed me to consider buying a house of my own, so I began searching newspaper ads and cruising neighborhoods looking for FOR SALE signs. The areas of town I was most interested in were the older, often run-down ones.

I didn't really have my heart set on moving to the slums, but those older neighborhoods were where I was most likely to find the kind of house I wanted. I have a thing for old architecture, and in particular, I like the old two and three story Victorian homes that were popular in the late 1800's. Most of them have long since been torn down and replaced with parking lots and strip malls, but there are still some isolated places near the downtown area where a few of them survive. Almost all of them are in the "fixer-upper" category, meaning they're about to be condemned.

After searching for over a month, I finally found a house that looked promising. It was a three-story Victorian with a widow's walk. At first glance, it appeared to be in remarkably good condition considering the neighborhood and the likelihood that it was probably more than a hundred years old. There was an eight-foot cast-iron fence surrounding the large corner lot and a carriage house in the rear.

I squeezed my thin body through the chained gate across the driveway and walked around the place peeping into a couple of windows from the L-shaped porch. I couldn't see much through the dirty windows, but it seemed to be furnished with old pieces from the period. Judging from the thick layer of dust and dirt on the porch and windowsills, it probably hadn't been occupied for several years. As I turned away from the window, I thought I saw some movement inside, but when I looked again, there was nothing. I decided it had to be a reflection of the light coming through the branches of the huge elm that filled up the front yard.

I copied down the phone number from the FOR SALE sign on the gate, and I was just about to get into my car and head back to the lab when I saw an old black lady slowly making her way down the front steps across the street. She must have been in her nineties, and she had to negotiate the steps very carefully using the handrail and her cane for support. I walked across the street and asked if she could tell me anything about the property.