I don’t like Halloween. I don’t celebrate it, and find it tacky and commercialised. But I have decided to re-post this personal-and true-ghost story, in the spirit of the season. Many of you will have read it before, so this is for the new followers and readers only.
Now that Halloween has passed, I can publish this tale of a personal experience, something that happened to me in the late 1980s. If I had posted it on this blog yesterday, it would surely have been regarded as little more than a seasonal spoof. I can assure you that it is not.
I have never really believed in the supernatural. Ghosts, apparitions, reincarnation, life after death, and all things associated with these. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to, it just didn’t seem plausible. Psychics can often appear to be very accurate. They claim to know things about you, even to be communicating with a family member, long since dead. Unfortunately, their ‘gifts’ are very easily debunked, and like most of these things, it has to come down to simple belief. And I don’t believe it.
My paternal grandmother was a great character. She had a very dark complexion…
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