 Amy Tudor Dugdale |
A Ghost Story |
 Amy Plokhooy Ralph Hein |
by: Randy D. Ralph
Do you believe in ghosts? I'm still undecided, myself. But I think I
have seen one.
When I was 15 years old my family lived in a tidy colonial in New
Shrewsbury, NJ. The house stood directly across the street from the
Tinton Falls Volunteer Fire Company. My bedroom was on the second floor
facing the front of the house. The windows were at almost exactly the
same height from the street as the siren tower. The first time the alarm
went off at night it nearly scared me half to death. It began with a low
guttural purr that rose to a roar and ended in an ear-shattering banshee
howl. It was more of an invasion than a sound, really. It was so intense
you actually felt the sound in your chest. For the first month or
so it woke me up every time it went off. By degrees, though, I got used
to it and pretty soon I was sleeping right through it. Since then not
much in the way of noise can wake me up unless it's something very
unusual. I guess you could say I was, and am, a sound sleeper.
I woke one night in the fall from a deep sleep. I was instantly wide
awake. That is not characteristic for a person who needs at least 20
minutes in the morning to figure out by degrees what planet he's on, what
year it is, and what species he is, know what I mean? Anyway, I was
wide awake and intensely conscious that something was watching me,
that there was another presence in the room with me. It was
terrifying. The hairs stood up at the back of my neck and I
started to sweat. Every muscle was set and I seemed to be paralyzed
except that I still seemed to be able to move my eyes. How wonderful!
I looked around the room. There was a full moon so I could see everything
fairly well, except what was at the foot of the bed. There seemed to be
there not so much a dark place as a void. The darkness was deeper than a
meer absence of light. There was literally nothing there... and... it
was watching me! I knew it was watching me. Don't ask me how. I
just knew it.
My attention was riveted on that dark spot. The place from which nothing
was watching me - but it was. After what seemed a very long time my
vision began to shimmer like it always does when you've looked at
something intently too long. The dark began to shimmer, too. It began
to look almost like a figure in a white gown. The harder I looked the
more certain I became that I was looking at a figure and that it was
looking back at me.
It stood, or rather, hovered, motionless at the foot of my bed taking on
a more and more human aspect. I realized by degrees that I wasn't
frightened of it any more. A great calm - a sense of perfect safety - an
almost pure love - seemed to emanate from the figure.
It raised its hand slowly and extended it toward me. I was surrounded by
a warmth and comfort I have never experienced to the same degree since.
Its face took shape and I realized with a shock that I was looking at my
great grandmother Amy Tudor Dugdale. I remember feeling tears stream
down my face and into the pillow.
As soon as I had recognized her, the figure began slowly to move around
the end of the bed and past me to my open bedroom door. It had taken on,
once again, the appearance of a dark void, but now I knew what it was
and I was completely unafraid as it passed me and moved out of the room
and into the hallway beyond my door.
It floated down the hallway and through the door to my parents' bedroom.
As I watched it go I became more and more tired - weary - exhausted. By
the time it had disappeared through my parents' bedroom door at the end
of the hall I could no longer keep my eyes open. I must have drifted off
back to sleep then. I don't remember going back to sleep at all but I
must have.
I woke the next morning feeling wonderful. Humming around my room feeling
uncharacteristically happy for the somewhat morose 15-year-old that I was
then, I got ready for school. Shaking my head, I remembered what I
thought must have been just a very vivid dream and laughed out loud.
I could smell bacon and pancakes cooking from downstairs in the kitchen.
I clumped downstairs and found my mother in the kitchen singing to
herself and dishing up a monster breakfast - bacon, sausage, pancakes,
eggs, waffles. She must have been busy at this for an hour or two.
I walked over to her and gave her a huge hug. "Hi, ma, what's the
occasion?" I wanted to know.
"Oh, nothing. Just in a great mood this morning," she hugged me back and
gave me a big kiss. She looked at me quizically, eyes sparkling, and
said, "You know, I had the strangest dream last night. I thought
I saw Gram Dugdale!"
I'll leave the conversation that followed to your imagination. We have
never spoken of it again, my mother and I. Sort of by mutual unspoken
consent. And I haven't given it much thought either. Ever since then,
though, I've felt that I have a guardian angel. Listening to K. D.
Lang's Calling all Angels for the first time the other evening
brought it all back to me and I felt that angel's presence again.
I'll tell you the story:
