From Haunting to Understanding

Months had passed while we worked diligently on our new home. The portrait of Mary was proudly hung on the wall in the dining room between the two north-facing windows. One evening my middle child was heading up the stairs in a flurry for some homework that she had forgotten in her room. Halfway up the stairs she was pushed against the railing by a cold wisp and was suddenly face to face with an old, scary woman with wild hair. The woman was dressed in a white nightgown and framed in swirling mist. Teary-eyed and shocked Michelle came to me and attempted to describe what had happened. I held her close trying to figure out what to do. Frantically Michelle (with a skill for drawing since the age of three) grabbed a pencil and paper and drew what she could still see in her terror-stricken mind's eye.

All of the emotion was there; both Michelle's and the poor woman, whose soul obviously had not moved on. We decided that it must have been Mary, the original owner of the home. We had a long talk about lost souls and about how we shouldn't fear them. I explained how souls sometimes attached themselves to things and when those things were being disturbed it could wake up the memories attached to them. Not that I was an expert in the field by any stretch. I had only read a few books and been to a couple of psychics. Because of previous odd experiences, I had already been forming my own opinions about how to deal with this type of situation.

Thankfully, the conversation with my three children was a mere continuance of other conversations we had had in the past. This one; however, I had to subdue into something much less than it was for the sake of the whole family or none of our five children was going to rest easy in the house.

It wasn't too long before Mary made another appearance. With Mark's tossing and turning, there was no sleep to be had in the same bed, I had decided to sleep on the futon in the attic. It was just after midnight when Mark heard a sound at the bedroom door. Suddenly the door opened and shut quickly. From the darkness, he heard someone say, That was weird.

Ian? He said groggily, What's up?

I saw something, Ian explained while Mark clicked his night table lamp on.

Ian began to describe what he had seen. A white, wispy, old-fashioned lady with a flowing dress was drifting on the stairs. There was no doubt in his voice that he had just seen a ghost. Mark opened the bedroom door and looked at the wide-open staircase. There was nothing left to be seen. Ian was terrified so Mark went up to the attic to get me. He explained that Ian was awake (and why) and that I needed to speak with him.

Mark (the disbeliever) went off to bed and I went downstairs to Ian. I could feel his fear squeeze my heart, sending waves of startling goosebumps crawling over my flesh. I asked him what he saw. With his head bent down to the floor, he mumbled that he had to get up to go to the bathroom. When he opened his door and started down the hallway he saw a scary lady floating on the stairs in a white cloud. He added that she had scary white hair that was blowing. He shivered and I hugged him hard.

Let's go to your room, I told him, and I tucked him back into the comforts of his warm bed. We talked some more about what he had seen. Alex; my stepson, shared the same room and thankfully remained sleeping. I checked and double-checked to make sure there was nothing on the stairs anymore. Satisfied, Ian agreed to try and go to sleep. I told him that we could keep the door closed and that way Mary would know not to come into his private space. I stayed with Ian until he fell back asleep. I decided I would try and fix this the next day with the confidence that only a sunlit morning would bring.

Once back in bed, I laid awake thinking for the rest of the early morning darkness. I had read many articles over the years that said to ask the lost soul to move toward the light. Others talked about protection and clearings with sage smudges. I didn't like the sound of that. What would the kids think? What would Mark think? He would think I had lost my mind completely - that's what he would think. Clearly, something had to be done. We could not continue to have scary events happening in the house. Then I remembered what my good friend Eileen had told me over a Reiki session after Michelle's' experience.

Just ask the ghost not to scare the kid's, or anyone else for that matter. You don't need your customers running away from the tearoom.

I decided I would try that. Happy with my decision, I rested and waited for morning.

Morning came with the sun blasting through the stained glass window in the stairwell. After Mark had gone downstairs to put the kettle on I stood at the top looking out at the space where the Italian milk glass light fixture hung. I wasn't sure what to do to be heard so I simply put my hands out, palms up, and said Mary, I don't mind you living here; it is your house after all, but please no more scary faces. Please don't scare the kids.

The stairwell remained silent. I stood staring out at the sun-splashed walls, marvelled at the intensity of the pale, stained glass image spread out over the painted yellow plaster. As the sun slowly progressed, small rainbows were cast in every direction, magnified by the bevelled squares and diamonds that were locked in the round, street-facing window. The scene was peaceful and warm. It was like the feeling I got while standing in the centre of a small, ancient church.

The sound of sizzling bacon soon brought me down the stairs. I felt absolutely confident as I made my way to the kitchen that Mary was not a malicious ghost. She was just letting us know that she still lived in the house.

Years have passed since then and all remains quite peaceful. Mary's picture hangs in the parlour looking proud and quite dignified - as she should. Hers is an amazing and beautiful home with its tasteful stained glass, original fireplace and thick oak trim surrounding every door and window frame. My hope is that her picture will remain in the home for as long as it stands. Mary is, most certainly, the Lady of the House.