My neighbor had a friend visit her. He eventually moved into her guest house. He had worked for the FBI; I'm not certain in what capacity, but was retired, albeit at an early age. My neighbor and I were very close friends, and had dinner together usually about twice a week. In this manner I also became friends with Pete, who developed a crush on me. The crush seemed to progress into an obsession. His feelings were not reciprocated on my part, although I basically enjoyed his company, and liked having him for a friend, and enjoyed him as a dinner guest. He was a good man, there was simply no ideation of romance, for my part.
The situation became uncomfortable for me
after a while, because he was right across the street, commented on my comings
and goings, guests, and would "happen" to be outside
every time I was due home according to my routine, and things of that nature. He stayed in my girlfriends home for about six months, and this situation progressed in terms of his attempting to seek me out, and my (sometimes) trying to avoid him. However, there were never any harsh words between us, and we maintained an amicable friendship. He asked, I refused, and life went on.
Then he died unexpectedly. During surgery. My neighbor called about 6 a.m. to tell me about his death, and that the night before his surgery, he spoke about a record album in his bed room, with a particular song on it. He instructed her to give it to me in the event something should go wrong during the operation, and requested that I listen to this particular song. It was about unrequited love.
In the southeast, where I live, we
typically have a funeral the third day following someone's death. The
incidences I will describe occurred before the funeral. Probably between 24 and
48 hours following his passing. I was home alone. It was mid-morning. I was
not drinking, nor do I use drugs. Although I was saddened by Pete's death, I
was not in a terrible state of alarming-emotional-bereavement as I was upon my
This is what happened: At the end of my hallway, there is a small table with a mirror hanging over it. On the table, a silver bowl containing potpourri, and a lamp. Underneath those objects, there was a linen table cloth. It was very heavy. It was for a much larger table, and I had folded it three times to get it to the size I wanted it. Again, it was heavy linen. As I walked down the hall, I saw that the linen, which draped down the sides of the table, was up on top of and covering the silver bowl. Like someone had lifted it up, and draped it over the bowl. I was shocked. I had not done this, nor was there anyone else in the house. There are no windows in my hallway, or fans, or any source of wind.
I restored the table cover to it's usual position, and went into one of the rooms off the hall, for maybe about three minutes. When I re-entered the hall, the table cloth was again in the same position, lying over the silver bowl. This caused my heart to pound, and I wondered what was going on. My mind did not work in a way which would suggest anything supernatural. But it did cross my mind for a brief moment that it was him. I again returned the table cloth to it's proper place. I left the hall again, going into another room, and staying there for several more minutes, returned again to the hall. The cloth, again, to my amazement, was up over the silver bowl. By this time, I was getting upset, feeling that something very, very strange was happening.
Again, it flashed through my mind "Pete is
doing this". My mind is inherently very analytical, and there was really no
other explanation, and nothing else, honestly, I could think of, that would
account for such a thing to happen. Also, for what it's worth, I think he
wanted me to know it was him. But, again, I put the table cloth down. Then I
hid. I stood behind a door off the hall and watched. I wanted to see the table
cloth defeat gravity, and swirl up on the bowl by itself in a ghostly way. It
didn't happen. I waited and watched. It didn't move, and didn't move ever
That same day, but about 10:00 p.m. , I sat on my couch in the den to watch the evening news. It was summer and I was wearing a sleeveless top. I had more or less put the events of the day concerning the table cloth behind me, not knowing what happened, and consequently thinking I should just forget about it. Essentially, I had already written if off as something inexplicable.
Then, I felt someone blow on my upper arm. It was someone's breath, there was pressure, and I knew exactly what it was. I sat upright, rubbing my arm where the breath had been. And I knew. I said out loud "Pete, are you here?" Then one more. He blew on my arm again. In a different place, this time on my fore arm. It was playful. My sense is that it was playful. I was a little freaked out, but not frightened. It didn't happen again. Nothing happened again. Later I attended his funeral, then about one week following that, I returned to the cemetery, and talked to him, apologizing for the situation, asking for his understanding. I told him I felt he had been in my house the day after he died, and if he wanted to come see me again he could, but please not to frighten me. To my knowledge, he has never returned.