Yes, I do believe in ghosts, and in other spirits, due to both personal experiences and experiences related to me by my parents.
My parents have told me stories of their old home, which was very actively haunted. When they were first married, during the 1970's, they lived in an antebellum house on the edge of the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. The address was 1213 White Avenue, right on the edge of the campus. My parents couldn't believe they were able to rent such a beautiful home in such a prime location for so little! The reason the owner gave was that his daughter and two of her friends, all of whom were undergraduate students, would be sharing the house with my parents, and my parents were expected to keep an eye on them. Mom and Dad soon discovered that was not the only reason, however.
My father worked with a surveying crew that specialized in rural and wilderness areas. (They even mapped a cave or two.) Because of this my father often had to be away for days at a time, while my mother, who was finishing her architectural degree, would remain at the house. The three girls lived upstairs, while my parents had the lower lever- which had been renovated to include a bedroom- to themselves. My mother, therefore, was largely alone when my father was absent. So, as you might imagine, she was surprised to wake up one night and find she was not alone.
What had disturbed her, as she told me, was the peculiar feeling one gets when being watched- a lingering visage of old survival instincts. She peeked from under her eyelids and saw one of the girls from upstairs, dressed in what appeared to be one of the "baby doll" dresses which were popular at the time and wearing her long, blond hair loose. My mother thought this was a little odd as this particular girl preferred jeans and usually pulled at least part of her hair back, but then, Mom reasoned, the young woman <i>had</i> gone out on a date, so perhaps she'd wanted to look special.
Mom had been up late doing homework, and had to be at her job by eight the next morning, so she pretended to be asleep and hoped the girl would go away. After a few minutes, however, guilt and responsibility- she was supposed to be a house parent after all- prompted her to get up and go in search of her charge. When she reached the bedroom door, however, she stopped, a cold feeling creeping down her spine into her stomach. The door was locked.
Telling herself that she must have forgotten to lock to door to the old servant's stairway- her bedroom had once been a parlor- she unlocked her door and walked to the main stairwell. Two pale faced looked down on her from above.
"M-M-Miss Donna?" one of the faces asked in a familiar voice. "Is that you?"
"It's me. Where's Ellen?"
The two undergrad girls above her gasped.
"Was she in you're room, too?"
<i>Something must really be bothering her,</i> my mother thought. <i>I should have gotten up immediately so she wouldn't have needed to disturb everyone else.</i> "Yes, she was. Let's go find her and see what-"
"No, you don't understand," one of the girls said. "Both of my doors were locked!"
They discussed this for several minutes, my mother asking the girl if she was absolutely certain both doors her bolted- old locks can be a little tricky sometimes- until they were disturbed by a noise at the front door. Ellen tiptoed in, carrying her shoes and wearing a denim skirt. When questioned, she claimed she had not been in all night. She had stayed over with her boyfriend.
When my father returned home, my mother told him what had happened, but he possessed a very scientific and skeptical mind, and didn't believe in things like ghosts.
"The girls were probably playing a trick on you," he said.
My father believes in ghosts now, however. Three years living at 1213 White Avenue made a believer out of him. Things would go missing and reappear in odd places, voices would be heard when no one was around, objects would move, and, on rare occasions, the lady in the nightgown would reappear. The residents of the house were also troubled by the shadowy apparition of a man. In the end the disturbances became so bad that my parents and all three girls moved into apartments. A family moved in, but they must not have fared much better, as they soon gave up the lease. In the end, the owner sold the property. I'm not totally certain, but I believe the house is still there.
As for my own experiences, I've had a couple, though nothing so notable as my parent's experience. The most remarkable actually happened earlier this year. The was the house felt changed, and made me feel a little squirmy and uncomfortable when I was alone. Then things began moving. My friend, who lives with me, complained that she was hearing noises from the kitchen- not the usual sounds of the refridgerator and settling house, but rustling and thumping noises as if someone was stirring around looking for something. In the morning we would find odd miscelaneous objects on the counter or floor, which we had not put there and which often were from high places or drawers which our cats and dogs couldn't have accessed. I finally agreed to stay with my friend in her room one night, which is adjacent to the kitchen. When I heard the noises myself I went to investigate, but as soon as I entered the room, everything stopped. The air was too silent and too still- almost ringing with anticipation. In the middle of the floor was a cat toy which had been securely tied to the side of a wicker shelf for the cats to play with. The string on which it hung had been had been wound several times through the wicker lattice, and tied in a tight double knot. It was not broken, nor was the wicker, and I could think of no way any of the animals could have gotten it down. I knew it wasn't my friend, however. She'd been in the room with me!
I looked around to satisfy myself that there was no one in sight, and then decided to try to speak to our visiting specter.
"I know you're trying to communicate something, but a cat toy really doesn't tell me very much. Can you try to be a clearer about what you want to say?"
I didn't really expect anything, but to my shock a male voice answer very nearby- almost speaking in my ear. I couldn't understand what was said- it was as if he was speaking underwater- but I definitely know I heard a man say three syllables.
I'm ashamed to say walked quickly back into my friends room- the closest escape- and shut the door. I felt bad later- whoever was haunting us had only been trying to communicate after all- and I tried to speak to the ghost again, but heard nothing. Shortly afterward my friend, frightened by the nightly noises, burned sage in the house- an old method for chasing away spirits. It must have worked, because we've seen and heard nothing of our otherworldly visitor since.
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