Meeting the Thurber Ghost
When I first moved into the attic apartment at Thurber House, I had heard that there was a ghost living in the house. However, I dismissed the rumors. Pshaw! (Does anyone really say "pshaw"?)
During my interview, Pat Shannon had asked, "are you scared of ghosts?" I told her no, and I'm not--having been introduced to a really nice one when I was a child . . .
Then one night in Thurber House my computer went haywire . . .
Was it the ghost or was it me?
During the ensuing days (and nights) I would hear noises. Footsteps. Things rattling about. Creaking. The voice of Anderson Cooper on CNN. So I decided to Nancy-Drew-it. As I searched for clues, I unearthed mementos that past Thurber Writers-in-Residence had left behind.
None of the things were too scary, except for the pink medicine that was waaaay expired. However, there was a typewritten missive, hidden under a "Things to Do in Columbus" brochure, that caused me to "eeeeek!!!"
I too had seen the reflection of a man on a picture . . .
As the days floated past, strange things started happening. The radio would suddenly change channels. My Frosted Cinnamon PopTarts would burn. Peepy began to smell like pickles . . .
One day, some invisible person pushed me while I was running. But worst of all, at night I would write lovely words, strung into brilliant sentences--sentences worthy of a Newbery-Pulitzer-Nobel-Peace-Prize. Yet in the morning when I would review my work, it was as if someone, or SOME GHOST, had rewritten everything so that it resembled dreck.
There was only one reason why all this would happen.
I became a believer, and the ghost and I learned to live in harmony.
When the ghost changed my radio stations, I would just laugh and say, "Okay, you've had your fun. Now I gotta get back to work. Want some chips?" The rewriting of my novel continued to flummox me every morning (obviously this is a literary ghost who thinks this sort of thing is funny), but at least my PopTarts stopped burning.
I know there are skeptics out there. So I took it upon myself to provide photographic proof that the ghost does indeed exist at Thurber House.
(Above: The ghost admires a Thurber drawing.)
(Above: It is my theory that there is more than one ghost.)
What do you think?
During my interview, Pat Shannon had asked, "are you scared of ghosts?" I told her no, and I'm not--having been introduced to a really nice one when I was a child . . .
Then one night in Thurber House my computer went haywire . . .
Was it the ghost or was it me?
During the ensuing days (and nights) I would hear noises. Footsteps. Things rattling about. Creaking. The voice of Anderson Cooper on CNN. So I decided to Nancy-Drew-it. As I searched for clues, I unearthed mementos that past Thurber Writers-in-Residence had left behind.
None of the things were too scary, except for the pink medicine that was waaaay expired. However, there was a typewritten missive, hidden under a "Things to Do in Columbus" brochure, that caused me to "eeeeek!!!"
I too had seen the reflection of a man on a picture . . .
As the days floated past, strange things started happening. The radio would suddenly change channels. My Frosted Cinnamon PopTarts would burn. Peepy began to smell like pickles . . .
One day, some invisible person pushed me while I was running. But worst of all, at night I would write lovely words, strung into brilliant sentences--sentences worthy of a Newbery-Pulitzer-Nobel-Peace-Prize. Yet in the morning when I would review my work, it was as if someone, or SOME GHOST, had rewritten everything so that it resembled dreck.
There was only one reason why all this would happen.
I became a believer, and the ghost and I learned to live in harmony.
When the ghost changed my radio stations, I would just laugh and say, "Okay, you've had your fun. Now I gotta get back to work. Want some chips?" The rewriting of my novel continued to flummox me every morning (obviously this is a literary ghost who thinks this sort of thing is funny), but at least my PopTarts stopped burning.
I know there are skeptics out there. So I took it upon myself to provide photographic proof that the ghost does indeed exist at Thurber House.
(Above: The ghost admires a Thurber drawing.)
(Above: It is my theory that there is more than one ghost.)
What do you think?
