Your
True Tales
April 2005 – Page
20
Grandfather's
Ghost
by Erica
It was about 1976 or '77. Our family moved into a run-down house in the very rural town of Boulevard, California. The house's nearest neighbor was about two miles away. The house was owned by my grandfather's mom and her husband. I think their last name was Fisher. So I believe we lived there rent free. The house was very old and decrepit. It had dirt floors in the bedrooms when we first moved there, because Mexicans had used the house for a number of years as a half-way point to San Diego.
I was about six or seven. I woke up in the night thirsty. This being an old house and having old house noises, I was afraid to go to the kitchen alone in the dark, so I woke up my sister Tiffany and she got up and walked with me to through my other two sisters' room and into the dining room, which led to the very spacious kitchen. On my way into the kitchen, I noticed a man sitting on our sofa, sewing something. I went over to him and talked with him. I don't remember what was said, but I remember when I sat down next to him I wasn't afraid, because my step-dad occasionally had friends stay with us. I also remember the man's bag having letters on it: USPS. I remember that very clearly because I was just learning to read.
A few weeks or months passed and we found a shoe box of pictures stashed in one of the railroad cars that were on the property. Right on the very top of the box was a picture of the man I had seen. Being naive, I spoke up: "Daddy, what's a picture of your friend doing in this box?" And my mom said, "What friend?" "The one that stayed the night a few weeks ago." And I told them my story. It wasn't until we saw my step-great-grandfather (who owned this house). My mom had given him the box of pictures and pointed out the top one of the "friend." He said, "Oh, that's my dad. See, he was a mailman."
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