I bought a home in Eugene, Oregon, a few years ago. I bought the first house I saw because it felt loved. It really did. The man, Charles, died in a boating accident, so the family sold the house and loved on. I had seen Charles several times over the course of 5 years, but never said anything to my daughters for fear of scaring them.

One evening, we were having a party. Sunnie was 16.

I was in the kitchen telling a friend about Charlie when Sunnie came around the corner. She stared at me.

I stared back.

She finally said, “Oh my god, I thought I was the only one who saw him!”

Now, Sunnie and I start talking really fast about him watching us live…no he wasn’t angry…more like sad…or lonely…and my friend blurts out, “Are you guys messing with me?”

No, we weren’t.

Everything Sunnie described was exactly as I had seen it as well. We had our first ghost…and he was really cool. I, personally, think he stayed because he did, indeed, love the house and loved what we had done to it.

Charlie might have been my first ghost, but he wasn’t the last.

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