It's Christmas, 1991, in Buffalo NY. Family from all different states are celebrating the holiday at my parents' house, which I will mention is the same house my mother grew up in. I go upstairs to get my pajamas on and something catches the corner of my eye. I look in front of my bathroom door and see a man. He only appears from the chest and up; he isn't solid but isn't transparent either. He is wearing a leather aviator jacket, glasses, and a wool cap with the ear flaps pulled down. He is old. Being only eleven years old, I bolt down the stairs and don't mention anything, nor do I explain why I am going to sleep at 8:00 PM when my four year old cousin was told to go to bed (she shared my room during her visit).
Flash-forward to sometime over Christmas break that same year: I am looking at old family photos with my brother, and I come across a photo of the same man I saw a week earlier in my room! I ask my Mom who he is, she tells me he is my Great Grandfather. I ask where he lives, she tells me that he passed away a few days after I was born.
I don't know why he popped in, and now I feel a bit bad for running away from him (hey, I was eleven years old!). But it makes sense now: all the family is together in "the old house," he had been there when he was alive. I suppose he was just checking in on me! He was the first ghost I saw, but not the last.
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