I grew up in a haunted house. That's not a secret. It's the first thing I tell readers in my author bio.
But it took a great deal of courage to publicly admit. Why?
Not because I'm embarrassed. (I'm not.)
Not because my childhood was filled with otherworldly trauma. (Quite the opposite, actually.)
Not because I fear skeptics will think I'm a nutball. (I'm pretty comfortable flying my freak flag.)
The real reason I don't tell my own personal ghost stories is ... they are rather boring.
A sense of being watched.
A sigh in the dark.
Footsteps on the stairs.
Lights and appliances switched on in the middle of the night. Stuff like that.
It's not boring when you're home alone and it happens to you. But this is no Hollywood ghost story.
No history of murder on the property.
No mysterious blood stains on the walls.
No menacing messages to "get out."
Granny named our ghost Schultzy. Not because she believed our family was haunted by the specter of a person she knew in life as Schultzy. I suspect she just liked the sound of it--a good, solid, German, beer-drinking name. And the name stuck.
If you ask any member of my family ... "Do you know Schultzy?"
You'll get a range of responses, from laughter to terror.
... but every member of my family will understand exactly what you're really asking.
Do you know about the ghost?
Anyone who reacts with terror does not understand Schultzy.
Our ghost is not malicious.
Our ghost has proven to be mostly benign ... bordering on quite benevolent at times.
In fact, I truly believe our Schultzy recently saved my mother's life.
Do you want to know more? www.trishaslay.com