I know of two gruesome events where my path had crossed. My college town Fraternity House was supposedly haunted by a Clinton County Coroner who committed suicide. In my home town, A Boy Scout leader whom I knew was stabbed to death by two men he had abused when they were boys. Another is a railroad worker ghost with a lantern in Hacketstown, NJ that is documented in one of the Weird NJ publications. I suspect this last one is a phenomenon – one I did see, but that is very likely an optical illusion. The first two are real stories.
I don’t necessarily believe in ghosts, but I strongly believe that humans are sensitive and can feel something that happened at some place at some time in history. Pearl Harbor and Gettysburg are two most famous – and several in Europe attributed to WWI and WWII.
On a less Gothic note, when I visited Stuttgart, Zurich, London and Devon in the UK, I could feel that my ancestors had been there. No apparitions, just this sensitivity of something spiritual I suppose. These were very good feelings, almost like my ancestors appreciated that I thought of them and made a concerted effort to seek out their “old haunts”. And I guess just getting the good vibes is all that really matters.
There is a room At the top of the stairs A dining room table With High Back Chairs Its in a house That no longer exists Bulldozed down In a dreary mist 87 Susquehanna Lock Haven, PA Fraternity Home Phi Mu Delta Days The entire town Has a haunting chill That runs through the river And up through the hills Nothing there Lasts very long All of its businesses Seem to have come and gone One fateful night The farmhouse owner Shot himself He was a Coroner He had an affair With an under aged girl The things made of legend That make your blood curl Filled with such shame And tortured remorse Out in his work shed His shotgun blast force Shot in the head A terrible scene Gruesome sad story Now its serene Since that occurrence That farmhouse did reek A vinegary smell When the floors creaked The house is no longer On that sad hill A new parking lot Seemingly still But late at night Once a year A shot rings out That's heard loud and clear The students who park there Assume its back fire Engine trouble Maybe a tire But those of us Know this sad Columberia Of Leo the Coroner Mors Volunteria