The Colorless Soldier With A Bedroll

I was sitting with a group of friends from New Hampshire, and they were talking about ghosts.

Actually, they were talking about their personal ghosts.  “My ghost follows me down the hallway, and I can feel a cold breath on the back of my neck”.  “My ghost makes a lot of clanging sounds”.  “My ghost is female and she lives in a trunk in the dining room.  Whenever she gets too annoying, I tell her to go back in her trunk and things settle down”.

My friends were certain that ghosts exist.

I am willing to believe that ghosts exist because I saw one in Alabama in 1968.

Mary Ann Smith was coming down from Michigan with her boyfriend to spend the weekend with her widowed mother in Grand Bay, in southwest Alabama.  I was in the Army at the time, stationed in Dothan, in southeast Alabama.  I hitchhiked across the state, met Mary Ann and her boyfriend in Mobile, and we traveled together to Mrs. Smith’s house.

I slept on the sofa.

In the middle of the Alabama night, I woke up to see an early 19^th-Century soldier standing in the center of Mrs. Smith’s living room.   He was tall and colorless.  He held a rifle, with a thin bayonet fixed.   On his back was a small knapsack with a bedroll on top of it.

He faded away when I screamed.

I immediately regretted that I had screamed.  Here I was, a guest in the house of someone I had never met before, and I woke everybody up with my scream.

“Are you OK”?  I quickly decided not to reveal what I saw.  Instead, my answer was a bland “Yes, I’m fine.  Everyone please go back to sleep”.

In the morning, I did not tell anyone about the early 19^th-Century soldier.  So, I did not find out if Mrs. Smith had ever seen the soldier.  I did not find out if he was Mrs. Smith’s resident ghost.

More likely, the soldier appeared to me because I was also a soldier.  He was dressed for the War of 1812; I was dressed for Vietnam.  The soldier probably was from the north, sent south by the US Army --- just like me.  He probably struggled with the Alabama climate --- just like me.  He probably counted the days until he could leave ---just like me.

Maybe he wasn’t Mrs. Smith’s ghost.  Maybe he was my personal ghost. 

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com