[stextbox id=”info”]This is part of my series about my own ghostly encounters. I invite you to share your own stories as a guest blogger or in comments! [/stextbox]
The street seemed strangely quiet on that summer night. I sat on the front steps of someone’s house, in the oldest part of that town. It was one of those parties that my parents dragged me to; the presence of teens my age somehow obligated my presence. Since I did not fit with the clique present and absolutely did not trust any of them, I managed to get myself out on the porch, alone, with some soft drink or another in my hand. The noise of the party seemed muted against the huge trees that arched over that part of Main Street, and only a few cars buzzed through.
I relaxed, feeling somewhat safer far away from the people inside and whatever the hell it was they did for social maneuverings. I had made a game effort, still wasn’t included, and felt glad of it because it meant I didn’t have to nod and look interested while stabbing a fork in my leg to relieve the boredom.
Across the street a movement caught my eye. I leaned forward, passively interested. A woman with a parasol open above her bustled along the sidewalk on a suited gentleman’s arm. I blinked, but saw it again. As I watched, they took a few steps forward and then disappeared as though merely walking through a door.
By then I had learned never to tell my family members about the things I saw. At least it made going to the party, if not worthwhile, then at least somewhat more interesting.