The Ghost That Followed

March 1, 2025

by Odessa

We had just moved into a small rental house while waiting to sell it. It was an old place, one of those homes where the walls seemed to hold onto memories. The air always felt heavy, like something unseen was watching.

One evening, I was sitting alone on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, watching TV. The house was quiet except for the occasional sound of cars passing outside. My wife was in the kitchen, humming softly as she washed dishes. Our little dog sat by her feet, too far away for this to be a trick of the mind.

Then it happened.

I felt it—something cold, like a fingertip, brushing just under my left eye. The touch moved slowly across the bridge of my nose, then under my right eye, a deliberate stroke before it vanished.

I shot up, my heart hammering. My hands had been under the blanket the whole time. There was no one near me.

I turned toward the kitchen. My wife hadn’t moved, and the dog was still sitting quietly by her.

I wasn’t scared, just stunned. The touch had been real. Not a draft, not my imagination—something had touched me.

I thought about it all night. Could it have been my mother? A spirit just passing through? Or something that had been here all along, watching from the corners, waiting for the right moment?

But that wasn’t the only time.

A few days later, I decided to start writing down the strange things that happened in this house. I bought a small notebook, sat at my wife’s desk, and opened to the first page. I wrote in big letters: “My Visitors”.

The moment my pen left the paper, the air changed. A pressure settled over my shoulder, like someone leaning in close to read what I had written.

A wave of static ran down my back. My skin prickled. I didn’t dare move.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the feeling was gone.

I threw the notebook away that night.

Some spirits, it seems, don’t like to be recorded.

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