'OUR GHOST'

Now, I grew up down in Lower Alabama, where ghost stories are a dime-a-dozen; what with every other house or building or place you come to havin’ some kind of ghost tale attached to it. When I was ‘bout 12-years-old, my Papaw, who was a book salesman, gave me what became one of my most favorite books, a signed-copy of “13 ALABAMA GHOSTS & JEFFERY” by Ms. Kathryn Tucker Windham.

Now, seein’ how one of the stories in her book was about the Face in the Courthouse Window, over to Carrollton, in Pickens County, and my Daddy had taken me to see it plenty of times; I just knew that EVERYTHING in that book was nothin’ but the God’s-honest-truth. So, to say I was a 'believer' would prob'ly be a bit of an understatement.

Pickens County, Alabama Courthouse

At that time, we lived down in Sumter County, not far from the Alabama-Mississippi state line. My Daddy was the Minister of Music and Youth at the First Baptist Church there in the li’l town of York. The preacher there had gone and built himself a house of his own, so the church allowed us to live in the pastorium; a nice 3-bedroom house, located off Highway 17 just north of town. Now, the pastorium wasn’t too old, but it tweren’t that new, neither. It’d been home to several of the past preachers and their families, but was still a very nice place.

Now, not long after we’d moved in, my Daddy and Momma were awaken in the middle of the night to the unmistakable sound of footsteps goin’ up the hall, stoppin’ at their bedroom doorway, and then goin’ back down the hall towards the kitchen and livingroom. My Daddy immediately got out of bed to check on us boys. All three of us were in our beds where we were supposed to be, sound asleep. He searched the house from top-to-bottom, looked under beds, in closets, and made sure all of the doors and windows were still locked tight. He found no one else in the house, and finally returned to bed. This same scenario repeated itself, not every night, but often enough still. Sometimes the footsteps were heard only once a night, other times they were heard off and on throughout the night.



First Baptist Church, York, Alabama

During one of the annual Homecoming celebrations at church, several of the former pastors’ wives were sittin’ ‘round a table at lunch, when one of ‘em asked my Momma if our family had experienced anything strange since movin’ into the pastorium. To her affirmative reply, they all began recounting their experiences while livin’ there. Besides the footsteps that all had experienced, there was also the sudden, strong smell of pipe smoke inside the house, even though no one in their households smoked; as well as, a host of other unexplainable things. Everybody just kind of laughed it all off, but it was obvious that everyone at the table seemed a bit relieved to know that they hadn’t been the only ones to experience the strange happenings.

Not long after that, I ‘met’ what our whole family now referred to as our ‘ghost’, happenin’ while my grandparents were visitin’. Mamaw and Papaw always got my younger brother Terry’s and my bedroom, so I slept on the livingroom couch and Terry got the one in the den. The livingroom was on the front of the house, and the den was on the backside, with both couches against the wall between the two rooms.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I awoke to the sound of footsteps. Footsteps that traveled the length of the hall, paused for a minute or two, then came back down the hallway. I heard the footsteps cross the kitchen linoleum, enter the den, and then the groan of springs and the methodical squeak of the swivel base as someone/something sat down in the easy chair beside the couch, where my bother lay sleepin’.



601 Oswalt Avenue, York, Alabama

I lay in my ‘bed’ frozen with fear, listenin’ to the old chair squeak as someone/something continued to rock in it. After what seemed like an eternity, there finally came the groan of the springs as the someone/something rose from the chair; the footsteps crossed the kitchen floor, and then continued back up the hallway.

Scared near to death, I craned my neck to look through the doorway goin’ from the livingroom to the kitchen and hallway, and what did I see? Nothin’! Absolutely nothin’! I could see down the entire length of the hallway as it was vaguely lit by a small night-light, yet there was no one there! Nothin’ to see that is. A momentary pause, and the footsteps descended back down the hall, crossed the kitchen, and then again came the groan of springs as someone/something sat down and the methodical squeak of the old easy chair in the den began once more. This scenario played itself out a third time, as I lay in bed, terrified, my heart poundin’.



Suddenly, I made my decision. It was time to GO! The footsteps made their way back down the hall the last time; they crossed the kitchen, and then came the groan of the chair springs. With the first squeaks of the chair rockin’, I leapt from my bed and flew down the hallway. At the doorway to my Momma and Daddy’s bedroom, I left the floor in a dive, landin’ in the middle of their bed, terrified and gasping for breath. Surprisingly, my parents believed me, especially after Daddy did his usual check of the house, findin’ that no one was up or in the house. I spent the remainder of the night on a pallet beside their bed.

Unknown man with old timey string-type necktie

My Momma was next as far as ‘ghostly’ encounters went; only she actually got to see our ‘ghost’, and to this day, she still gets goose bumps thinking about it. It was in the wee hours of the mornin’, some while after my encounter, when she suddenly woke, an overpowering feelin’ of bein’ watched had come over her. She opened her eyes to find a bewhiskered older gentleman wearing an old string-type necktie, leanin’ over her lookin’ at her. She immediately screamed, at which point, he vanished. Again, Daddy did a thorough search of the house, to no avail. Needless to say, Momma didn’t go back to sleep that night.

The next mornin’, at the Sumter County Nursing Home, where Momma worked in the office, she informed one of her coworkers of what had happened during the previous night, leavin’ out the description of the man she saw. Momma had just about convinced herself that it just a very vivid nightmare.

Later that day, though, three elderly residents of the nursin’ home came to see ‘Miss Charlotte’ (my Momma). They informed her that they’d heard about her ‘visitor’. Momma tried to laugh it off, callin’ it just a bad dream, but the three ladies wouldn’t hear of it. They went on to describe, in great detail, the man that my Momma had seen. Their description was perfect, and they could tell by the shock on my Momma’s face.

Accordin’ to the ladies, my momma had seen the ghost of ‘Mr. Huggins’, a man who had once owned the property where the church pastorium now sits. Supposedly, it was one of his favorite places. Every Saturday evenin’, Mr. Huggins, dressed in a suit coat and a string necktie, would walk to town, and accordin’ to them, Mr. Huggins had died on one such Saturday evenin’. Also, they added…he enjoyed smokin’ his pipe.

The colored lady of the three then informed ‘Miss Charlotte’ that if we’d get and keep a black cat around the house, that we’d hear no more from Mr. Huggins’ ghost. Before the week was out, we had a black kitten, and that dear old lady was right. We never heard from Mr. Huggins again...THANK GOODNESS!