Friday, January 31, 2014


I grew up with a ghost in my childhood home.  We called him Bob.  Bob was noisy and loved to bring attention to himself.  Like clockwork the second my parents would leave me alone in the house (especially at night) Bob would start his usual antics.  He'd march up and down the upstairs hallway, bang pots and pans around in the kitchen, open and close doors, and would even laugh loudly next to my face as I sat downstairs watching the Real World or Daria on MTV.

My sisters and I insisted that Bob existed.  He never made noise when my parents were home so they didn't really believe us.  My older sister had clothes move around her bedroom and heard noises.  My little sister's toys wreaked havoc in her room and created fear within her.  I don't remember ever being afraid.  I just remember knowing when he was around and knew he wouldn't hurt me.  If anything, I was just curious about his existence.

There were two instances where I can remember Bob actually touching me. Oddly enough they were both in the shower.  I don't really know what to make of that but I never felt like there was a pervy edge to him.  The first time was when I was upset and crying in the shower.  I remember shampooing my hair and turning around so I could rinse my hair out.  As I turned my back to the water I hit an invisible wall.  I felt someone's body pressed up against mine in a comforting way.  I froze, held my breath, and waited for him to go away.  Within ten seconds he was gone.  The second time he came was when I slipped and fell backwards in the shower.  As I fell I remember thinking "this is it.  I'm going to bust my head open."  My head was going straight towards the faucet.  Before I knew it I felt two large hands grab my shoulders and shove me upright.  No one was in the bathroom with me.  I knew it was Bob.  I thanked him for helping me and finished my shower with shaky hands.

After moving out and having a family of my own I found myself occasionally wondering about Bob.  I knew he was still in that house.  Luckily I had the pleasure of spending the summer in that house this year and Bob was in full swing.  The second my mom and step-dad left the house he'd be back to stomping and opening and closing doors.  I even got to hear his laugh once again.

I never saw Bob.  I never spoke with him psychically or tried to really communicate.  For some reason he never revealed himself to me, and that's ok.   I look at Bob as a sort of enigma; this presence within my childhood home that protected and loved my sisters and me.  I don't know if he will ever move on or if he has any intention to.  I find it comforting that even after all this time some things never change, especially the ghost man that hangs out in my childhood home.

Thank you for reading my blog.

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