i Hope it’s a Ghost

An Origin Story

For most of my childhood, my sisters and I shared a basement bedroom.

My parents invested in a bunk bed with a double bed on the bottom and a single on top. Older sister slept in the top bunk, and younger sister and I shared the bottom.

As traumatizing as this might sound to some, the arrangement didn’t bother me much. Bedtime became a nightly slumber party, especially on the rare nights my parents went out for dinner.

When presented with a parent-free evening (under our grandfather’s minimal supervision) the three of us absolutely took advantage. Lights out happened on schedule, but that didn’t mean we would go to sleep.

The three of us would share secrets, tell dumb jokes, and laugh until our stomachs hurt. This, of course, was exactly what we were doing this particularly warm summer evening.

To stay cool, we kept our bedroom door cracked open with a fan directed toward the gap.

Why not leave the door open, you ask?

If you’ve ever slept in a basement, you’ll know that it’s dark. I mean, it’s the kind of dark that acts as the perfect breeding ground for every single one of your worst childhood nightmares.

Being around seven years old at the time, I also definitely knew about ghosts. I had read Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark from cover to cover. I believed, wholeheartedly, that ghosts existed, a fact that both fascinated and terrified me.

So, when, in mid-conversation with my sisters, that fan turned off by itself, we all fell silent.

“Did the power go out?” youngest sister asked.

I rolled over to look at our clock. The numbers seared into my vision. “No,” I replied.

“Is it a ghost?” older sister asked. Her words, full of excitement turned my insides into knots. My younger sister and I looked at each other. In one, simultaneous motion, we pulled the covers over our heads.

Older sister clearly wasn’t fazed. “Oh, boy!” she whispered. “I hope it’s a ghost!”

The light switched back on. My parents burst out laughing.

Arriving home from their dinner date, they decided to mess with us. It worked, but while I laughed along with them, part of me felt disappointed.

After all, I thought. Who wouldn’t want to meet a ghost?

Do You Believe?

According to The Atlantic, a Harris poll indicated that 42% of Americans believe in ghosts. Another recent U.K. poll suggests that 52% of participants also believe in ghosts or spirits.

It’s clear from these stats that ghost stories fascinate us, even in the 21st century (despite science, and sometimes, even our better judgment). Our mortal brains love that dopamine kick, and the adrenaline rush that follows, whenever we hear a chilling tale. Of course, a satisfying catharsis helps to make the trip worthwhile.

Tales of terror delight us because they make us remember that we’re still alive. We can step away from the story after it’s finished because we know our reality is (relatively) safe.

One Writer’s Obsession with the Supernatural

I know, I know. The story you just read wasn’t a ghost story in the traditional sense, but that exact moment kickstarted a lifetime of curiosity about the supernatural. I mean, it has a lot to do with why I write dark fantasy fiction for a living.

Yet, even before that night, my young mind had started to wonder and ask questions.

Why do we love a good ghost story? What makes someone believe what they’re seeing is real? Where do these stories come from, and how do they change over time?

These are questions I feel are worth exploring.

So, join me in my journey. Dare to believe. Or not.

Welcome to, i hope it’s a Ghost.

Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody . . . Next week’s ghost story features the myth, the legend, the spirit herself in, Lights, Mirror, Action!