Ghost Story

By Dafna Steinberg

When you died, I stopped believing in ghosts.

I told Mama this and she told me it was ok. Let the ghosts fend for themselves, she said.

Growing up I always loved stories about the supernatural. Whenever I would read books filled with banshees and witches, you would make fun of me. You would raise your arms up in front of you, walk across the room like Frankenstein and say “ooooo spoooooookkkkyyyy!” in an attempted Transylvanian accent. It didn’t seem to matter to you that you were combining so many stories that had nothing to do with each other. You just loved that it made me laugh. Later, when I had finished one book, you would happily buy me another. You were a man of reason and I was a child filled with imagination.  You encouraged me to trust in things that I felt even though you didn’t share the same beliefs.

List of Supernatural Events That I Have Experienced

Terezin, Czech Republic: I stood in the empty grass fields, feeling a weight in the center of my chest that I could not explain. It pushed me down to the earth.

Jerusalem, Israel: At the Wailing Wall. I remember closing my eyes and touching the stone brick with my forehead. It felt like the world was spinning and I went somewhere else. When I opened my eyes again, it was fear that made me walk away backwards.

Truth or Consequences, New Mexico: A shadow of a man woke me in the middle of the night. He stood in the doorway of my locked bedroom. I couldn’t see his face but I knew he was staring at me. A few days later, the woman I was staying with told me about her alcoholic neighbor who died when his trailer burned down a few months earlier.

Warrenton, Virginia: In the Old Jail Museum, I stopped dead in my tracks and couldn’t move into the room where prisoners had been kept. A hateful masculine presence filled the air. I thought if I walked any closer to the prison cells, someone would grab me through the metal bars. As I exited out through the gift store, I asked the manager if there were any ghosts in the maximum security wing. She nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah,” she said. “And he’s a MEAN one.”

Dreams In Which The Dead Have Visited Me

Savta: She sat on the edge of my bed. She whispered stories to me and called me by my pet name. She looked so radiant.  The dreams (there were multiple) never lasted long but when I would wake up, I would feel like I knew her a little bit better. She hasn’t visited me in a long time.

Robert: My photo professor and college mentor was next to me, smoking a cigarette and wearing his uniform of a white button down over a black t-shirt and black pants. I talked about what I was doing with my work. I told him how he had changed my life. He smiled the half smile he always gave when something pleased him.

It would be a long time before you visited me. When you finally did, it was just an image of your face that then disappeared. Where did you go?

Moments When I Knew Things Before They Happened

The Party: I dreamt of being with friends, strolling down a path. Up ahead there was a building that was large with so many windows, all of which were lit against a dark night sky. We couldn’t find a way in. Then a voice in my ear screamed WAKE UP. I jumped up from bed, certain someone was in my room with me. But I was alone. Later I met up with friends to go to a party. When we arrived at the address, I looked up and saw we were walking into the building from my dream.

The Street Corner: I was talking to my friend Ken on the corner of 14th and U in DC. It was late and the bar where we had been drinking just closed.  A wave of panic took hold of me. I looked around. There wasn’t anyone on the street aside from the two of us. But something didn’t feel right. I made some excuse about needing to leave and went home at a pace between speed walking and jogging. The feeling went away the moment I locked the door to my apartment. I knew I was being ridiculous. The next morning, Ken sent me a text asking me if I had a sixth sense followed by a link to a news article. Two blocks away from where we had been standing and at the exact moment that I felt the panic, a man stabbed a couple in an alleyway.

This was years ago, when the world was still a place worth living in.  It was a world where you still existed. My extrasensory perceptions helped me so many times. Why couldn’t they help you?

I always referred to it simply as intuition or “knowing things.” My grandmother knew things. I used to think I knew things too. But you died and I stopped believing.

Looking at you, lying cold on the bathroom floor, I saw your eyes. There was no light in them. No sparkle. There was nothing beyond the blank stare into emptiness. Where did you go?

From that day on, the only thing that haunted me was your absence.

And yet…

One morning, when I still lived in the house on Lady Bird Drive, someone came into my room and looked over me while I slept, the way a parent does when they want to take in their children during a moment of peace. I sensed the figure standing close to me, like they were reaching out to touch my hair. All I felt was love floating down and wrapping around me like the blanket on the bed. Even through my sleep-drenched brain, I knew Mama was checking up on me. She always did when I was sad or not feeling well.  At breakfast, I told her I knew she came to make sure I was sleeping and I teased her for treating me like a child. She stared back at me, surprised.

“I didn’t come into your room this morning,” she said. “You got up before I did.”