"I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do, I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do, I do, I do, I do!"
- The Cowardly Lion
The Wizard of Oz
When my Uncle Ralph died in November of 1993, he didn't leave much behind except a house and car. His wife, Mary, had passed away in 1966 and Ralph never remarried. They did not have any children.
Ralph's given name was Roman, but everyone called him Ralph. Except for my dad, who called him Ray. He answered to all three. If there were any more names, I never heard them.
The executorship fell to my mother, and so did the cleaning of the house. Of course, that meant I would be recruited to lend a hand.
It was really hot the summer that followed and the house on Tipperary Hill had no air conditioning. Going through all of the rooms in this stuffy former residence was quite the chore. We removed bulky living room furniture from the '40s, rolled up flowery rugs, dismantled the mismatched bedroom, and packed up all the small appliances and knick-knacks in the kitchen. All the while using as many box fans as we had to at least move the air around.
Up in the attic, we found even more. It was stuffed. It's amazing how much people accumulate in a lifetime.
That's where I saw the mirror, with its overly painted frame cracked with age, and a healthy dose of desilvering leaving its mark on the front. I thought it was fascinating and would make an interesting decoration in my house.
I showed mom and she said, "That's Uncle Ralph's shaving mirror." Since it was in the attic I was pretty sure that Ralph had long ago adopted something else to look in as he removed hair from his face. I took the mirror home and placed it on a wall in my bedroom.
Now, you might be wondering where this story is going, and I can assure you that I will deliver.
A year or so later, an incident occurred where that mirror decided to make its presence known.
I was sound asleep when suddenly was startled awake. Wide awake. It was silent, and my cat was sitting on the bed staring toward the wall where the mirror hung. He was pushing his head and neck forward as if to get a better look at something.
I looked up and beyond the cat, and there she was. Standing in front of the mirror, not moving, just staring into it. I quickly laid back down and pulled the covers over my head, but, when I looked again, she was still there. Dressed in what looked like a waitress outfit from the 1940s, with a short-sleeved, button-down dress, a lacy handkerchief pinned on the right side near the collar, a white apron tied around her waist, and a frilly cap on her head.
My cat was still on the bed, daring not to move. I hid under the covers, not looking again, eventually falling asleep until morning. Upon waking, my cat was not there, and neither was the lady.
I wondered who she was. Could Uncle Ralph's wife been a waitress at one time? No one could give me an answer. Was this a restless spirit that followed me home from one of my previous cemetery adventures?
I moved the mirror to a wall near my front door.
I never saw her again. Even with the many times my cat would sit on the bed, craning his neck and shifting his body to the left to stare into the darkness of the living room. No thank you.
A few months later, I took the mirror down and stored it. I've moved twice since then, and the mirror is still with me. Will I ever hang it again? Mmmmmm...no. I'd rather let sleeping spirits lie. And, I don't know how I'd feel if I found Uncle Ralph/Roman/Ray standing in my home with a face full of shaving lather!
How about you? Have you had any strange experiences with objects in your possession? Things that made you feel funny? Uninvited guests?
Are you like the Cowardly Lion, believing in spooks?
I am.
@ 2022 Christine Shephard Photography
No portion of this article or copyrighted photos may be used without express written consent from Christine Shephard Photography.
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