Once again, I am just sitting here writing, and I feel a cold draft hitting me in the face. There is no open windows, no papers moving, just my face being hit.
I got up to check the doors to see if they were open a crack, and I felt my hand being pulled towards the door. I opened it up and felt something push past me. and then a giggle.
So I closed the door and went back to writing. About 30 minutes later there is a slight rap at the door again, I went into the kitchen and opened the door. I hear "Thanks"
and that feeling someone had passed by me.
I am thinking that Jacob just wanted out to play or what ever. :)
Just in Case someone doesn't know. Jacob is a 12 year old ghost boy that had died in 1920 to T.B. He has taken to my wife and I like a foster parents, and he resides here with us in this turn of the century house.