Ghost Stories

Do believe in ghosts?  If so, you’re in good company.  According to the Gallup General Social Survey, 37% of Americans believe that houses can be haunted.  Strangely, only 32% believe that the spirits of dead people, i.e., ghosts, can come back in certain places.  That leaves one to wonder who or what might be haunting the houses of the 5% who believe in haunted places but not ghosts.  Maybe Sasquatch.  Or space aliens.  Or perhaps the devil—the same poll showed that 42% of Americans believe the devil can sometimes possess people.     

Some Personal Ghost Stories

I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, but I believe in ghost stories.

Most of us can repeat a story we’ve heard about a haunted location.  I grew up in a small town in Eastern Iowa.  A nearby state park featured a system of caves, including one with a flat floor and a massive domed ceiling.  I recall my grandfather calling it the “Indian Council Cave,” and he told me that when he was a boy, he could still hear the native spirits chanting on the night of the fall equinox. 

Another legend involved horse rustlers and the still-present echo of stolen hooves clip-clopping in the cave, so maybe horses haunt this place. I can tell you that late at night, when chill winds rush through the caves, one can imagine hearing a whispered chant or the distant splash of hooves in the stream that runs through the chamber.

My parents told me of depression-era dances with big bands that were held in the Indian Council Cave.  One late summer’s night in the sixties while camping near the Indian Council Cave, one of my buddies was sure he heard the mellow tones of Moonlight Serenade on a distant trombone.  At the time I was positive it had to be an eight-track in another campsite playing a Glenn Miller tape, but now I wonder.

My grandfather grew up in nearby Ozark, Iowa which is now a ghost town with only foundations of the old mill remaining.  On a crisp fall day a few years ago we visited there and found the grave of my namesake, my great-great-grandfather, who perished in an accident in that old mill.  Certainly, seeing a weathered grave from 1854 with my name on it was a haunting experience.  No ghosts whispered in my ear that day, but my ancestor has since visited my dreams.

Historians and Ghost Stories

Did you know that historians sometimes use local ghost stories in their research?  The stories can provide clues to actual events that happened in the past but were never part of an official record.  Legends surrounding prisons or abandoned mental asylums where abuses might have occurred are so familiar they’ve become a trope for scary movies.  Less so are extra-legal violations of justice such as lynchings.  However, some historians see legends about a person wrongly killed as possible evidence of a forgotten—or suppressed—actual event.  In many cases, a deep dive into contemporary diaries, correspondence, or newspaper accounts substantiates the suspicion. 

In fact, there are scholars that study ghost stories.  The ghosts in these tales, like any character in a good story, usually want something.  Most of the time they want to be acknowledged, and they generally fall into one of three categories.  There’s the furious return group, the leave me alone group, and we’re are still here group.  The three groups are familiar to fans of ghost stories, whether folklore or fictional.

The furious return ghosts are out to avenge an intolerable injustice.  These are the victims of lynchings, or tortures in involuntary confinements like insane asylums or prisons, or abusive families.  In the real world, the only memory of their injustice might be a recurring legend.  For example, studying a recurrent legend about a haunted hospital in north Chicago revealed to historians a long-forgotten and actual hospital (and later “poor farm”) that included thousands of unmarked and forgotten graves. 

The leave me alone ghosts find their homes or other sacred places invaded by the modern world.  This might be the spirits of Native Americans who find their sacred places usurped by moder-day tourists, or by depression-era dance bands, or even by nineteenth century horse rustlers.  It might be an ancient burial ground turned into a modern subdivision with tract houses.  Or it might just be a new family invading their home. 

The we’re still here ghosts aren’t malevolent.  Most often, they’re just around.  There’s a local theater in Tulsa in which actors sometimes see, late at night after rehearsals, the ghost of the ballerina who owned the building that now houses the theater.  She wears flowing robes and still dances.  Legend has it that if you listen closely, you can hear the faint sigh of Claire de Lune in the distance.  Sometimes these ghosts are beloved departed relatives, returned to guide their kin or just to provide assurance of their continuing love. Almost everyone has had dreams featuring beloved but departed relatives.  The dreams are real, even if only as dreams.

Why Do We Tell Ghost Stories?

An even more interesting question than “What do the ghosts want?” is “What do we want from the ghosts?”  

Ghost stories arise from and respond to the fears and hopes of the living.  We deplore injustice, fear being a victim, and long for justice.  We want to know our lives touched others, we fear being forgotten, and hope to be remembered.  We miss our departed loved ones, and we fear our own death, and hope for our redemption.  Ghost stories animate our fears, our yearnings, and our hopes. 

Like I said, I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, but I believe in ghost stories.

References

Gallup General Social Survey—paranormal questions.

Maquoketa Caves State Park

Glenn Miller Band playing Moonlight Serenade

Coya Paz Brownrigg’s wonderful TED Talk inspired this essay.

Clair de Lune