|Immortal Guests (standard:Ghost stories, 1142 words)|
|Author: dcastle||Added: Feb 20 2005||Views/Reads: 2038/1248||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This is a short story about spirits that I have encounterd.|
Immortal guests? I never use to believe in ghosts or spirits but since my father died ten years ago, I am now beginning to wonder if they really do exist. I was doing some work in the shed in my back yard one month after my dad's death. This was in late February. It was freezing cold outside and snowing. I was concentrating on the job at hand when I noticed a very strong scent of Old Spice cologne. My father wore that brand. It lasted about two minutes. Over the last ten years, I have smelled this three more times. I bought this house from an elderly woman who I never met. She was in a nursing home and my neighbor John who lives four houses down signed the documents as he had power of attorney for her. On a winter morning 11 years later, I was in the shed when I got a big whiff of cheap perfume. It was so strong I could almost taste it. Like my dads cologne, the smell was gone within two minutes. I thought it was very strange but didn't give it any more thought. Two hours later, I jumped in the car to run an errand. I noticed John out shoveling his sideway. He motioned for me to stop and told me that the woman I bought the house from had died. I asked when and he said about two hours ago. I asked him if she ever wore cheap perfume. He said he yes and plenty of it. I was also told that she spent a lot of time in the shed when I asked him. Could this be their sole or spirits passing through? A relative of the family has woke up many times in the middle of the night to see a woman staring at him. His parents have seen her many times too. She doesn't do anything, just stares until she slowly vanishes. My brother in law saw his deceased daughter in his bedroom window motioning for him to come with her seconds before he died. He was a mechanic and wasn't well enough to fix my windshield wipers and felt pretty bad about it. They hadn't worked for quite a while. I had to drive my other car on rainy days. The day after he died I got caught in a rainstorm and thought I'd try the wipers even though I knew they wouldn't work. To my surprise, they did and have never failed me since. My brother and I have gone fishing to a remote area on the river with our father for as long as I can remember. Our annual trip is always taken in July. As you know, that is one very hot month. The river is usually quite low which doesn't make for the best fishing. The camp site is all overgrown with weeds and grass as tall as two feet. Firewood is always a problem to find. I remember my dad telling me the bluebird was his favorite bird. A bird I had never seen. I had always wanted to catch a big catfish but had pretty much giving up on that idea. Our father died in February of 1995 and was buried just one mile from where we fish. Although it was very hard, we decided to continue with our annual fishing trip to the river that July. It was nearly a hundred degrees when we left Kansas city. A freak cold front came through that weekend and gave us temperatures in the high 70s for the three days we were there. The grass in the campsite had been cut by someone and a half a cord of firewood was neatly stacked between two maple trees. The river was absolutely perfect. Not to high and not to low. I saw at least 50 bluebirds in those three days. We use trot lines when we fish and it's pretty much a waste of time to run the lines during the day as catfish mostly bite at night. We ate breakfast and cleaned up the campsite Saturday morning and decided to visit the cemetery our dad was buried in. On the way back my son in law said he wanted to check the lines when we got back. I told him it was really a waste of time but I would do it if he really wanted to. At high noon, four hooks out from the bank on the first trot line was the biggest flathead catfish any of us had ever seen. After a five minute fight, we landed the 60 pound fish. Ten more trips over the next ten years have been exactly like the trips before my father death. Very hot and humid, plenty of weeds, no firewood and a low river. No more blue birds and no huge catfish. We still catch a good number of smaller catfish and have a great time but will always remember the special trip in 1995. A fathers parting gift to his sons? We think so. Click here to read the rest of this story (26 more lines)
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