I'm not sure whether this exactly qualifies as a ghost story, but it's something that I have never been able to explain, and takes place in an area which does have more than its share of paranormal experiences.
I'm a Navy wife of going on 30 years, and have spent a number of years, on and off, in Hawaii. The last time we were there, we lived in one of the historic homes on base, which was built, I believe, in 1913. The neighbourhood was right across from the shipyard, and had its share of dings from the attack on Pearl Harbor. While others I knew in the same neighbourhood had experienced what they claimed were pretty dramatic and sometimes scary stories, I always took them with a grain of salt, and our house had always seemed almost incredibly serene. Maybe it was just the setting and the gracious feel of it, but I'd never had any feelings of discomfort there.
We were soon-to-be empty nesters at the time we lived there. My youngest son was heading to college on the mainland a few weeks before we moved, and my husband had actually gone ahead of me by about 6 weeks, so I was alone in the house for the last month or so that we were there. I'm not typically much for socializing either, so while I did go out with a friend a couple of times, no one else actually came to the house during that whole time.
Our furniture and household goods had already been packed up and were en route back to the mainland, so all I had was a few pieces of loaner "Aloha furniture" and enough personal belongings which I'd be able to fit in a couple of suitcases when I left.
During the year, I like to save up spare change which I trade in for a gift certificate from a Coin Star machine before Christmas, and a did have a gallon size Ziploc baggie fairly full of change which I planned on trading in just before my move. Because I was bored, I'd counted it one night a week or so before moving, so I knew there was nothing out of the ordinary in there... Just the normal quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies... And after counting it, I zipped it all back up in the baggie and stashed it in the back of one of the drawers in the loaner chest in the bedroom. Even if someone HAD come to the house, which they didn't, they would have to go all the way to the back bedroom, which was in sort of an addition to the main house, only accessible through a couple of doors, then decide to open the chest of drawers before they found it. There's no way that anyone would have done that without my noticing.
Anyway, the day before the move, I retrieved my bag of change from the drawer and took it down to the grocery store to the Coin Star, and began dumping change into the tray as I did so, suddenly a larger coin, different than any of the others, caught my eye. I grabbed it before it slid down the chute to see what it might be.
It was silver Liberty Half Dollar. From 1942.