Whether it's legit ghosty or not, we all have things in our life that make us sleep with the lights on.
Most people, whether they actively believe in ghosts or not, can point to something in their family -- a story, a weird happening, an evil doll -- that gives them pause.
I have my great grandfather's clock.
The clock is this 150+ year old marble clock that sits above my parents' fireplace. It's beautiful really, a piece of history -- gray-green marble, mother of pearl inlay, delicate little gold plated hands, and the sweet tintinnabulation of it's chimes.
Except if you open up the back of the clock, it's guts -- springs, coils, gears -- look as if someone has taken a hammer to it, all snapped, broken and bent. It's really just a remembrance of my family's former societal stature in Hong Kong. It hasn't kept time in over 30 years.
The clock has no business chiming.
However, once in a while, it does indeed chime. My mom keeps a log of every time the clock comes to life, and -- I swear I'm not making this up -- the dates tend to coincide with major life events in our family.
My grandmother, my great grandfather's daughter was buried. TING! TING! BONG!
Our beloved family dog, Jessie, died. TING! TING! BONG!
I went home to Texas to get married. TING! TING! BONG!
My mom once took it to a clock maker in Dallas to see if we were all just salivating at a good ghost story and it was really just an old clock dying a slow, boring death.
The clock maker told my mom that the clock does not work, should not work, and the mechanism for the chimes was missing pieces. To fix Great Grandfather Kotewall's clock would cost more than the piece was worth. So mom just went back home, put the clock on the mantle with her little "Chime Log" and pencil next to it, and instated the rule that "NOBODY TOUCHES THE CLOCK."
Nothing is quite so horror-movie style unnerving as walking across the living room in the middle of the night, and hearing the clock come to life, as if to say, "Hi, Louise. Nice of you to come home once in a while." Even the clock is disapproving.
Now, I know what you're thinking, "It's small tremors setting off the clock. You have heavy, stomping feet, Louise, and you're shaking the clock awake. The clock guy didn't know shit and it does work, OR he was fucking around with your mom." I'm open to all of that, because contrary to popular belief I am NOT an antique clock expert, and I don't know quite how these things work.
But what if?
If nothing else, the clock makes for a good fright, and I love it.
So, welcome to "Louise's Creepy Corner" (I really need to come up with a better title don't I?). Where I invite you to share your spooky stories and chat about all the good things that go bump in the night.
This week, tell us about those scary stories that are passed down and around in your family.
Do you or your family have specific items that may or may not be "haunted"? Are there family keepsakes, antiques, heirlooms that you JUST DON'T WANT because of the heebie jeebie factor? What about where you grew up gives you goosebumps? What are your family's best scary stories?