I was twelve years old when I had my most significant ghost sighting.
In the early sixties, we lived in Southern California. The weather was warm, the houses and yards big, the neighborhoods friendly, and everyone knew everyone.
That day, a friend and I had been riding our bikes. At dusk (it was safe for kids back then), we stopped at the corner to part ways for the evening. Across the street we saw two little girls. They wore matching dresses and Sunday School shoes. This was unusual because Southern California in the summer was the epitome of casual. Their brown hair was long and curled and tied in pigtails. They were holding hands and walking at a slow, steady pace.
My friend, who was a couple years younger than me, and I were very curious about the girls. Like I said, everyone knew everyone, but we sure didn’t know them and we wanted to. We decided to watch which house they went to so we could go meet them the next day.
They reached the corner and turned to walk in the direction away from us. It was starting to get dark, but the streets were lit by lamp posts. There was no traffic in the neighborhood, but there was one car parked on the street they’d turned down.
They got to the car and were blocked from our view for a few seconds. When they appeared on the other side of the car, they were two old ladies. They wore matching brown coats and orthopedic shoes. Their hair was gray and pinned in matching buns. They were still holding hands. Still walking at a steady, slow pace. And still appearing like two very living people.
My friend was flipping out. He wanted to know if I saw that, what had just happened, where the little girls went. He was coming out of his skin over it. We waited until we couldn’t see them anymore.
I remember that when they reached the corner, I felt electricity in the air and an overwhelming sense of peace and love. I recall looking up and seeing tiny, crystal sparkles in the sky. I knew something amazing had happened, too amazing to put into words.
I told my friend that I didn’t know what happened, but we couldn’t talk about it. Even when the words were coming out of my mouth, I had no idea why I was saying them.
Over the next week or so, my friend continued to ask me about the girls. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk about it and neither could I. He wanted to go knock on doors until we found them. I knew we’d never find them. It was years before I told anyone this story.
Did the little girls get in the car and the old ladies got out and continued down the street? No. There wasn’t enough time and there wasn’t any noise of a door opening or closing. We were too close to have missed that if it were the case. Plus, the old ladies were just like the girls- the way they walked, held hands, matched from head to foot- just sixty or seventy years older.
I don’t doubt, and wouldn’t even if not for my friend, that I saw what I saw. I don’t know what the message was or even if there was one. Maybe life passes us by in an instant? Who knows, but I can now attest that it truly does.