As a kid, I always sort of dreaded night time. Something about everyone being asleep and me being alone with my overactive imagination has always kind of freaked me out. Plus, for whatever reason my childhood bedroom has never failed to fill me with a sick feeling of unease. This really doesn't make much sense, since the house was being built while we were waiting to move in. Maybe the drywall was haunted?
I've often tried to rationalize my fear. Why is it that I'm able to sleep soundly in the city but get spooked out by the 'burbs? Also, if my bedroom is truly haunted, who's haunting it? My home town used to be vastly populated by Native Americans, perhaps a spirit took up residence in my toybox? From all I've learned about early American history, I of course wouldn't blame the spirit for feeling bitter.
Or could it be all of the Civil War relics my Dad has collected throughout the years? (Union, of course. We're Yankees.) Is it far fetched to believe a disgruntled ghost has shimmied its way into one of those rusty old bayonets?
Of course, I did have an extensive porcelain doll collection daintily perched upon the shelves lining my bedroom. And we all know how terrifying those little doll faces can be.
I sometimes even had trouble sleeping in college, though I don't really blame myself for that since it's pretty much common knowledge that the dorms at the Boston Conservatory are a wee bit haunted. The buildings are ancient old brownstones in Boston's Back Bay, and though they're gorgeous and have rooms boasting fireplaces and built-in bookcases, I always sensed some freaky shit was going on. (If memory serves me right, rumor had it that there was a ballerina ghost hanging out in the basement of one of those buildings, practicing endless pirouttes or something? I always pictured her wearing a pink tutu, though this has never been confirmed.)
On more than one occasion I awoke in a cold sweat and one time even saw the shadowy figure of a boy standing by one of my roommate's beds. At the time I made light of it and even teased that of course it was a male ghost, since this particular roommate was especially skanky slutty friendly with the menfolk.
I tried everything I could think of to de-haunt our otherwise lovely dorm room: I sprinkled sea salt in the four corners, hung rosary beads by the bed, made frantic night time prayers to every Saint I could remember, all to no avail. A classmate's Mom worked for a renowned psychic who eventually put a special blessing on the room. After that things finally seemed to mellow out a bit. (No more guy ghosts trying to get with the skanky roomie.)
But my childhood bedroom, that's another story. To this day I'm still not comfortable sleeping in there alone. Aren't I too old to harbor irrational fears? Shouldn't I have grown out of this years ago?
Towards the end of 2006, my husband confirmed for me that which I've secretly suspected all along: there is indeed a ghost loitering in that bedroom. I've named her Leah.
I remember Hubby waking up in that room once and acting...well, weird. That night he sat upright in bed and loudly said, "What?"
"What's the matter!?!?" I shrilled. Sleep mode can make me unbelievably excitable, and what Hubby went on to utter did not send me peacefully back to my slumber:
"Oh, it's nothing, I just thought I saw someone at the window. I was dreaming, though. Go back to sleep."
Um, what was that again?
On a different occasion Hubby woke up and this time groggily informed me that there was a woman sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. Awesome! Needless to say, I didn't go back to sleep that night either. At the time I desperately hoped it was the drink talking, but who was I kidding.
Later, when we were back in NY, I started musing about how I'd never been able to sleep peacefully as a kid. "I don't blame you," Hubby said, "that room's haunted!"
Now, he may have had a wee bit to drink on this night also, and he may even deny saying it now, but he was serious. And my husband is not really one to believe in ghosts, or spirits, or any of my weird, Tarot card reading mumbo jumbo. On the contrary, he's a very rational lad.
Every hair on my arm immediately stood up and my eyes began to water. Finally, after years of feeling like an irrational chicken shit, my fears had been confirmed! And by my husband, of all people!
But how did I come to believe my ghost was named Leah? (You may be wondering, if you haven't already stopped reading.) On one recent visit home I fell into a deep, booze-enhanced sleep. That evening I dreamed of a girl, a futuristic robot woman who had one eye larger than the other and was made of metal and very sad about her situation.
In the dream, my heart went out to her and I must've decided to cheer her up and her name must've been Leah because all of a sudden a song and dance number invaded the dream.
My dream self did an elaborate dance routine around the room, singing, "Who's the one who cheers us up when we are down? It's Leah!" (The word "Leah" was sung jubilantly, using three syllables instead of two. Lee-ee-aahh! Hubby really wants you to hear the song, but I'm not sure I have the energy to record it for you tonight. Perhaps another time.)
I went on: "Who's always there to lend a helping hand? It's Leah! It's Leah..."
The song went on for quite some time.
The next morning I woke up rested, though still feeling slightly sad about the poor robot girl who had one eye bigger than the other. I went downstairs and told everyone about my dream.
"Leah?"
My Sister decided Leah must be the spirit haunting my childhood bedroom. Now when I go home and stay at my parents house instead of hers, she'll always say, "Have fun! Say hi to Leah for me!"
I know what you're thinking, Reader. You're thinking I'm mental. Perhaps.
But you have to believe me.
It was a really catchy song.
Who's always there to lend a helping hand? It's ME! It's ME...
And stay out of my room!!! Ahh hah haha hhahaha!!!!!!
Posted by: LEAH | October 05, 2007 at 04:11 PM
In Leah's defense, you do have some irrational fears. You chose me at the toy store and then were scared of me ever since. I was just trying to hang out and be groovy.......and murder you in your sleep.....
Posted by: Lester | October 06, 2007 at 05:16 PM
I always enjoyed the letters that you left me under your pillow. I too have discussed it with the other ghosts in your room and decided that your fears are irrational. I never understood how someone so frightened of everything would actually summon a ghost, but I just went with the flow.
PS I enjoy your blog very much. Ralph Waldo Emerson does as well.
Posted by: Louisa May Alcott | October 06, 2007 at 05:19 PM
The Leah song is very, very catchy. I have been singing it all day. Please record it so everyone can hear. Then everyone can make their own judgement about your sanity.
It's Leah.....it's Leah....
Posted by: Sister | October 06, 2007 at 05:24 PM
The Leah song is very, very catchy. I have been singing it all day. Please record it so everyone can hear. Then everyone can make their own judgement about your sanity.
It's Leah.....it's Leah....
Posted by: Sister | October 06, 2007 at 05:25 PM
I think I need to hear the song.
You know to get the whole experience.
Sister is funny!
Luv you Tinky Winky and LaLa
Posted by: Weinerdog | October 09, 2007 at 07:58 PM
Leah, I'm sure I'll see you soon. Lester, I'm sorry you became possessed, but it happens. We had fun while it lasted, though. Lousia May, I agree, I'm not sure how I plucked up the courage to write to you, since I've always been petrified of ghosts. Perhaps I was picturing June Allison?
Sister and Amy, I can't decide which one of you is sicker. It may have to be a tie, since initially I wasn't sure which one of you was Leah...
Weinerdog...Happy Birthday! See you tomorrow. xoxo
Posted by: The Odd Broad | October 12, 2007 at 11:57 PM