Our first cold front has arrived, pumpkin patches are open and Spirit Halloween stores are everywhere. What better time to share a ghost story?
The case can be argued for and against spirits, and many people have claimed to have encountered them throughout history. I’m not here to convince readers one way or the other — but I am not ashamed to say that I’ve seen some unexplainable things that make me a believer.
One such instance was in the summer of 2020, not too long after the threat of COVID-19 made work-from-home a necessity rather than a luxury. I found myself living alone in an old rental home on the outskirts of Tampa’s Seminole Heights neighborhood.
Around noon one afternoon, as I was transporting my lunch into the dining room/ temporary office, I saw something that made me backtrack.
As I passed a doorway leading to the living room, I saw a short, dark-skinned woman standing against the wall, pressed against it as if she were hiding. It was a passing glance, but I recognized the look on her face as either one of anger or of fear. Her eyes were open wide, exposing an alarmingly large portion of the whites of her eyes contrasting with her dark skin.
Her stance indicated she was prepared for an unpleasant encounter.
Startled, but still balancing my plated lunch in my left hand, I took a step back to get a better look. Despite the goosebumps on my flesh telling me that something strange had happened, no one was there. A quick glance at my two dogs sleeping comfortably under the table confirmed nothing was amiss, and I told myself that my imagination was in overdrive.
I had all but removed the encounter from my mind by that following weekend, when a close friend came to visit. As he sat in the living room that connected to the kitchen, I offered him a drink.
When I turned toward two tumblers that were a permanent fixture on the kitchen countertop near the backsplash, one shotoff the table, hit the floor and shattered. I jumped, then froze, trying to process what I had just seen. I then realized I was standing in the very spot where I had seen the unidentified woman pressed against the wall just a few days earlier.
My concerned friend asked me what happened and I claimed clumsy responsibility, an easier explanation than what was unfolding in my head. Was this unknown woman I had seen just days earlier reacting negatively to us drinking alcohol? Perhaps she had been in an abusive relationship fueled by alcoholism.
I was curious yet still skeptical that anything like this could happen outside of a Hollywood movie. It wasn’t until very early one morning that I finally became convinced that something else was residing in this old home with me.
I recall waking early and lying in bed. I glanced toward the doorway and standing there I saw a girl, likely no older than seven. She was blurry, probably because my glasses were still on the nightstand, and she was gone before I had the wherewithal to put them on and look more closely.
She reappeared a few days later and this time I saw her more clearly. She was in a white dress or nightgown, holding a doll of some kind and speaking, although she made no sound. Again, she vanished before I could get any details to what I had seen. Incredibly, I wasn’t frightened, just curious.
Since I do a narrative podcast focused on the paranormal, I was fortunate to find myself on a video call with a psychic for one of my episodes. After we recorded, I told her about the experience I had in this house and asked for some advice. She told me I had no reason to be fearful and informed me I had more control over the situation than I may have realized.
Because the world was so quiet and more people were in their homes, more reports of supernatural activity were happening, she told me. Since I talked openly about haunted locations, spirits were more likely to see me as an adequate person to whom they could show themselves. It was up to me, she added, to decide just how far I wanted to open that door into their world.
I was willing, to an extent. But the first thing I did was research the home’s history. I learned it was built in 1915 and was home to many Cuban immigrant families who worked in Ybor City. Finding official documentation of who resided there was challenging, since most records were lost to history and physically looking for documents in a library was impossible in the COVID era.
I regret I didn’t learn the identities of whoever or whatever paid me a visit, but I know I didn’t feel threatened. Instead, I welcomed whatever it was residing with me, even talking out loud to them, letting them know they were welcome, as long as they remained respectful.
The year I lived there is full of pleasant memories, and there are parts of me that miss that old house. Five years later, I’ve moved on, but I still think about those encounters. Are they still there, waiting to meet the current residents?
I may never know.
Steve Blanchard is the former editor of Watermark Out News. He works in public relations and explores historic and haunted locations through his podcast, “Phantom History.” Learn more at PhantomHistory.com.
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