I was visiting family in Missouri years ago, when I was still a teenager. Finding things to do for the majority of your extended family can prove burdensome, so a lot of us were happy to go to the Titanic Exhibit. It was in town at the time, so my aunts, mom, and cousins headed in that direction.
After paying for our tickets, everyone received a card with a name on it. Each name was an actual passenger on the Titanic. A nearby wall listed basic information about each passenger, so you could compare it to the name on your card if you desired.
We were walking through a hallway to get to the artifacts, and I was behind everyone. I suddenly felt a soft tug at the back of my t-shirt. I turned around to see who the culprit was, but the hallway was absolutely empty. I quickly faced forward to catch a potential trickster, but no one was sneaking away and everyone in front of me was far ahead.
I continued through the exhibit without mentioning it. When I later told my mom about it, she seemed intrigued. She told me that others have reported strange things at the same exhibit.
The Titanic Exhibit is now in my town, but I have yet to attend it once more.
I found a pretty interesting online article about the Titanic exhibit being haunted. The one in the article was in a different state, but it is a traveling exhibit: http://www.ghosteyes.com/ghosts-titanic
Perhaps any object can be associated with unexplainable events.
For example, I had this toy pig when I was a kid. I thought it was pretty awesome because its nose moved robotically with each oink, it walked forward, and it even had a leash attached to its shirt. It was something I forgot about, rediscovered, and wanted to play with again.
I tried to make it move and oink, but it didn't work. I ran to my mom for help. She simply changed the batteries, and I watched eagerly as she switched it on.
Nothing happened.
My mom broke the news that the piggy wouldn't be working anymore.
My tiny heart had cracked, and I ran to my room in tears.
I remember crying really hard, just devastated that my pig was "broken."
I was interrupted by a familiar oink, an oink that was seemingly close to my room. Rubbing my tears, I looked up and saw the pig approach my room door.
I sprinted toward the hallway, expecting to see my mom smiling.
No one was there.
I continued down the hall until I found my mom on the other side of the house. She denied even touching my pig, and I have no idea how she could have snuck toward my door and reached the other side of the house in seconds. At the time, I was just happy my toy worked once more.
Rachel
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