The ghost across the street

Well, there’s never a lack of drama in this neighborhood. Sit on down, and let me tell you a new tale: the story of the ghost who lives across the street.

A few weeks ago, just before Bryan and I went on vacation to France, we noticed a new neighbor moving in across the street. She was young and blonde, and had a handsome bearded boyfriend helping her move furniture inside. When I saw them lifting a vintage floral couch similar to mine, I said to Bryan, “I think that new girl is living my life!”

Flash forward to this past Thursday. It was around 9:00 in the evening, and Bryan and I had just settled in the living room to rewatch Game of Thrones for the 175th time. Suddenly, through the fabric of our living room curtains, we saw the flashing lights of a police car speed down the street and stop just in front of the new girl’s house.

Immediately, I scooted to the floor and slid to the window to spy on the situation through the curtains. That’s what neighbors do, after all.

I watched the police get out of their vehicle, and then I saw the girl run across the street from my next door neighbor’s yard to meet them. What? What was she doing in that neighbor’s yard? Another police car pulled up, and two more cops joined the group. They motioned for the woman to wait where she was, and then the four cops pulled out their flashlights and began searching around her house.

“Bryan!” I exclaimed. “I think someone might have tried to break into her house?”

I watched as the beams of their lights bobbed all around – through the yard, in the trees, around the carport. After few minutes, the policemen returned to the homeowner, appearing to have found nothing suspicious. They motioned to her house, and the woman led the four officers into her home.

“They’re going into her house! All of them!”

I continued spying through our picture window and could see their figures through her kitchen window. After a few minutes, one of the policemen exited the house to get a box from the trunk of his car, then carried it back inside.

“He just got a box!” I said. “What was that? A first aid kit? Is someone hurt?”

But no ambulance ever came, and no one seemed to be in too big of a rush. Around 9:45, the girl’s bearded boyfriend pulled up to the house and went inside. Around 10:00 p.m., a third police vehicle arrived, and one of the cops from inside the house came outside to talk to the officers in the car.

“I need to know what’s going on over there,” I said, “but I also need to go to bed. I wish they would hurry up!”

“Should we just go over there and see what’s up?” Bryan suggested.

So, we put on our shoes and trotted across the street, approaching the police car. “Um, excuse me,” I said. “Hi. Um, I don’t mean to be nosy, but I live across the street, just over there, and well, I’m wondering if you can tell me anything about what’s going on here? Should I be concerned for my safety?”

The officer standing next to the car chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said. “Of course, if you see anyone suspicious in the neighborhood, or anyone who doesn’t belong, you should give us a call immediately. But I wouldn’t be too concerned at this time.”

“Ok?” I replied. “But is my neighbor ok?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said an officer in the car. “She’s fine. Honestly? Well, honestly it’s probably just a ghost.” I started to laugh, but the officer looked at me seriously.

“…a ghost?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am. The homeowner, she just moved in a few weeks ago. She gave us a call tonight complaining of hearing pounding on an interior door of her home. She got a little spooked and asked us to come over and take a look.”

“An interior door?” I wondered aloud to myself.

“But take a look at this,” the third officer said. “When you walked up, we were just looking at past calls that came in from residents of this house,” he turned the computer on the dashboard to face me, revealing a screen full of police reports, “and look. It’s full. There are calls on here from numerous previous residents, all calling in from this address, reporting hearing pounding on interior and exterior doors of the home.”

“What?” I said, my eyes widening.

“Yes,” the three officers said. “Pretty strange, right?”

“I made the mistake of joking with her, saying ‘It’s probably just a ghost’,” said the officer standing outside the car. “And you know what she said? She said, ‘I just moved out of a haunted house.'”

“Whoa,” I said. Are they serious? Are they even allowed to tell me things like this? “Well, ok, so you’re telling me we don’t have any reason to be concerned tonight?”

“No, ma’am,” they assured me. “Nothing to worry about here.”

I thanked them, and Bryan and I returned home to go to sleep.

The next morning, I arose early and sat on the living room couch to drink a cup of coffee. I opened the curtains and looked across the street at the house. The cops were gone, and so were the girl’s car and her boyfriend’s. Her kitchen light was still on, illuminating just a bit of the house’s interior. I’ll bet she spent the night at his house, I thought to myself. There’s no way I’d stay there either. And just as I finished that thought:

The kitchen light turned off.