My father was an avid reader and gave me my love for reading, but it was my mother who told me ghost stories.
She came from a family and a culture that believed wholeheartedly in ghosts, so she believed in ghosts too.
That weird creak from the stairs? Must be a ghost.
The strange shadow on the wall when nothing is near? Definitely a ghost.
The noise in the middle of the night that almost sounds like someone calling your name? Don’t answer because it is most assuredly a ghost!
I will always treasure the memories of me and my mother watching horror movies together on TV. She was of a time that didn’t believe in childhood trauma, so she had no problem letting her five-year-old watch the scariest programs.
I will also treasure every ghost story that she told me. All of them were true, she said, and some were so frightening they made my hair stand.
I myself am mostly skeptical, but I continue to love ghost stories, so much so that I’m now writing my own.
