I love other people’s ghost stories.
My husband saw a long-haired ghost in our Bellevue house three times. I never did. The first time, he came upon the specter in our basement. He said the spirit had long blond hair and was draped in white. Did it have feet? He doesn’t know, so it might have ended in Casper’s wispy curlicue. The second time, the ghost was looking in through the dining room window while Rich fed Duncan dinner. Did Duncan see the ghost? No, because he was strapped into the high chair. And the last time, the most dubious time, Rich was working in the yard when an ice cream truck came careening down the road. He swears that the driver beeped and waved, long white-blond hair blowing in the breeze. I was willing to believe the first two sightings, but the last has always been a stretch for me.