When I worked at Pittsburgh airport, another gate agent told us that his family had inherited a ghost, one that followed them from one house to another. This was a matter-of-fact sort of guy, the kind that would scoff at any perceived hyperbole, so it caught me by surprise. At first his ghost had been a commonplace poltergeist, moving objects and slamming doors. When the family moved to a new house, they assumed the pranks would end. Instead, things took a turn for the worst. The pranks intensified and centered on the two youngest children. The gate agent described watching scratches form on the skin of his kids’ arms, etched by invisible fingers. There were cold places now in their home, and no one felt safe. He told this all while eating his dinner in the breakroom. Then he went to work a flight.