Hi I am a new Writer/Author of a paranormal memoir book called "A Ghost In My Closet And Other Personal Tales Of The Paranormal." here is a sample of my writing. Part One A Ghost In My Closet And Other Childhood Memories
Chapter One Mrs. Parson I've been told that , for most of us childhood memories begin around the age of four or five. But most of our earliest memories are usually a bit fuzzy by the time we become adults. I can't say that's the case for me. My earliest encounter with a ghost was at the age of four and it's as clear as the day it happened. We lived in a small suburban community just outside of Houston Texas, with a population of about 2,500 in the late 1960's and early 1970's. My mother cleaned people's houses for a living to help supplement the family income and that is where my first story begins. Mr. and Mrs. Parson lived in a large, two-story house dating back to turn of the 20th century when the area was a small cotton farming town. My mother would usually spend one day every couple of weeks at the Parson house doing major cleaning for the elderly couple. While my mother was busy cleaning upstairs, I made myself busy with my toys in the living room downstairs. Mrs. Parson then walked in to the parlor area and sat down at her small baby grand piano and began to play. She would often play songs to keep me occupied while my mother was focused on her chores. Mr. Parson had been in the back yard working in his garden when he heard the music as well. As soon as he entered the house, the music abruptly stopped. He looked around the room, with a puzzled look on his face, asked me who had been playing the piano. I told him it was Mrs. Parson, of course. The puzzled look quickly transformed into a frown and he then went to look for my mother. Several weeks passed and I once again accompanied my mother to the Parson house. Again we went through the same routine where I played in the living room while my mother cleaned. After a few minutes I became engrossed with playing and hadn't seen Mrs. Parson enter the room to sit at her piano. I looked up and froze in horror. The keys on the piano were dancing to the music of Mrs. Parson's favorite piece. Chills went up and down my spine when I realized there was no one sitting at the piano playing it. I bolted to the kitchen but it was empty as well. I ran through the house screaming and finally darted out the back door where I found my mother and Mr. Parson hanging laundry on the clothesline. It was then that my mother sat me down and patiently explained that Mrs. Parson had passed away more than a month earlier and couldn't have been playing her piano.