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.
For those who want to make fantastic meals, but do not have the skills to cook like an Iron Chef. And, for sharing my life with a ghost.
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