I remember the first time I ever saw or spoke to a ghost. I was six years old. My Mother caught me right in the act of speaking to him while I was standing at the top of the stairs waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. I was always afraid to take that long journey down the hall alone for fear of seeing one. This night was no different except for the fact that this one seemed non threatening and clearly wanted to know information about me. When she approached me to ask who I was talking to, our conversation stopped. He didn't leave, but rather stood midway on the stairs and listened. I could tell it was ok to share with her what we had been talking about because the look on his face seemed to be pleading in some sense. It was almost as though he wanted her to know who he was and what he was asking me because it was important. I proceeded to tell her he used to live in our home. He had actually built it with his son. It was important for her to know that he died in the bathroom after having an argument with his son. They both started hitting and pushing one another. His son at one point pushed him so hard he fell back in the tub and hit his head against the back of it. This resulted in his death. I will never forget the look on my Mothers face that evening. It was one of sheer horror. After many moments of silent and sleepiness, she in turn said "that is nice dear, but I think we better go back to bed." I will never forget that first experience. I saw him a lot over the course of the next few years. He was non-threatening. He was just there. I felt a sense of comfort knowing he was around because I sensed there were others that were not of a positive nature.
Years later as an adult, my mother and I were having a conversation about the spirit world over a cup of coffee. Having been raised in a Protestant religion, it was unheard of to speak of such things. They were more or less associated with the devil's work. As her and I both got older, it became less taboo and this is what she shared that confirmed so much for me.
Her inquiring mind on some level needed to find out whether what I was experiencing was in her case real, or was because I needed to be placed in a mental institution. The first was the case. The woman my parents had purchased the home from stayed in touch over the years. She indeed confirmed that they had purchased the home for barely any money because it had been on the market for quite some time. After having purchased it, she too found out that the reason it stayed on the market for as long as it did was because people would not purchase that home because someone died violently in it. She confirmed he had built it with his son as well. This time it was I who sat with the look of sheer horror on my face, yet feeling a sense of relief in knowing what I experienced was true.