Most Times, a Ghost is a Wish

When I was a little girl, someone bought me a music box. It wasn't a typical music box, and I'm not sure what to call it - but it was made of wood, it had a handle that you held, and the box was at the end of the handle. The front of it was glass, so you could see the inner workings. When you moved the crank, it would spin the inner parts of the box and create music. 

I LOVED this device. I would spend hours spinning the crank, watching the little intricacies inside. Metal hitting metal, and all this working together to create a haunting melody.

I had no idea how this was an actual possibility, and I remember thinking that this wasn't just some ordinary toy... it was a MAGIC toy. I've always felt deeply connected to music; and I think that, if there was a way for me to believe something had magical properties, it would probably be something that produced some sort of sound.

I found out much later in life that this was a gift given to me by my Aunt Ann. Which, after I'm done recounting this story, will make sense. But for now I'm leaving that part a mystery.

Aunt Ann was actually my great Aunt. My father's side of the family has, until very recently, been sadly lacking in people. When my grandmother came to this country at 9 years old, she came with her mother, her big sister, and her father had already been here, stationed somewhere in the country. The rest of the family stayed in Austria. The rest of the family died in Austria, some time around 1940 - to my knowledge, there are no survivors of our family after Hitler's regime came marching through.

Aunt Ann was my grandmother's sister, and she died when I was very young. I think I was maybe 6 or 7 when she passed. I was so young, that the only thing I remembered from her were her knees. I've always had a hard time explaining that to people. My memories of her are very specific - they're like pockets of frozen bubbles way in the back of my mind. But if I look through one of those bubbles, I see her from the knees down. She wore a long dress that came just above her knees And she always had on sensible slippers. Not the slippers you wear when you're sitting on the couch. The kind of slippers a person wears when they need comfortable shoes to be busy in. She was busy person, constantly moving, constantly doing. But my memories of her are limited to what I remember, which is her knees, her dress, and her slippers. I also remember Hershey's Bars and oranges. I remember that every time I would come see her, she'd give me a Hershey's bar and an orange and she'd talk about the lack of Hershey's in Austria in 1920 and how all she ever wanted as a kid was a chocolate bar and an orange.

The blog prompt for tonight was to recount something that's happened to me that was so strange that when I tell the story, nobody believes me. I think I've told maybe 5 people this story - one of them was my big brother, and he believes me, because he always believes me. I told my mom and dad, and they didn't say much, actually. They just kind of looked at each other. But I do remember telling my best friend in elementary school - some time around 2nd grade. I'm pretty sure her name was Bianca. I remember telling her about it, and her looking at my like I was absolutely insane - and I never told anyone else, ever again.

I've grown up with the instruction (thanks go multiple generation religious and cultural persecution) that there are some things about ourselves and our experiences that we keep locked inside. This was one of them. So, if you're reading this, congratulations, I guess? Not many people are privy to this story.

There have been times in my life where I've felt like I wasn't alone - maybe once or twice I've seen some things that make me question that there's nothing after we die. But this was the only time I think I've ever seen, felt, heard, and had a complete sensory experience that I honestly have no other explanation for other than the possibility that my Aunt just wanted to say hello.

How do you even prelude into a ghost story? It was a dark and stormy night, on the mountain tops in Carpathia, and all that could be heard was the loud thundercrash of lightning... woooooo. Except that's not what happened at all. It was a brilliantly bright morning. In North Miami Beach, and I was playing in my room. It was the type of morning that only happens in South Florida, with the warm breeze that blows through the palms, and allows the opportunity to keep the windows open for that short sweet-spot period before South Florida becomes too hot and an air conditioner is needed.

At some point, I grabbed the music box that my Aunt had given me and watched with the childlike amazement that only comes from not understanding how things work, but loving them anyway, as the little pieces of metal clinked against each other to create a beautiful melody. I remember the curtains moving, because of the breeze, and I remember, in that moment, that I smelled chocolate and oranges. I felt the breeze blow through my hair, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I saw my Aunt's knees in front of me. Like I was looking at her with the same eyes I did when I was 5. This was maybe a year or two after she passed, so I was very young still -but not as young as I was when I was so little i never really looked past what was right in front of me. Same knees, same slippers, same long dress that came just above her knees.

I'm not sure how long this lasted - but most likely less than a minute - probably less than 30 seconds. But it was enough for me to run out of my room and tell my parents. Not because I was scared, but because I was SO EXCITED to see my Aunt again. I had, in my little mind, the idea that she was going to share her oranges and Hershey's bars with me and tell me stories from the old country like she used to. I tugged at my mom's legs, trying to physically pull her into my room, and when she finally agreed and we bounded through the door together, I remember shouting "SEE?!" but there was nobody there. 

I was actually quite heartbroken. I remember that I cried, and my mom sat me down and explained that sometimes when we really miss someone, it can seem like they're in the room with us sometimes - even if they aren't. She didn't understand that I had actually SEEN her, that I had a full sensory experience that included seeing her, feeling the breeze from the air go through my hair, hearing the rustling of her dress, and smelling that familiar scent of chocolate and orange.

For years after this happened, I would sit in front of my window with my music box, desperately trying to get just one more moment with Aunt Ann. After multiple failed attempts at using the music box to conjure her back up, I would add one more piece to the puzzle. I'd make sure it was at the same time of the day, I'd make sure the window was open, at one point I even convinced my mom to buy me an orange and a Hershey's bar so I could put that out as a potential motivation for Aunt Ann to show back up - but she never did. 

I've grown up with the belief that there is something after life, not that I know what that something is - but that there is SOMETHING. I do think that Steven and Oliva Crain in The Haunting of Hill House offered the perspective that makes the most sense to me. That when we die - we become the stories that people tell about us. That after we die, we're stories. And that ghosts can be a lot of things; ghosts can be guilt, they can be a secret, or a regret - but most of the time, a ghost is a wish.