Story Time!
During Covid times, I was recently divorced and scrounged around for the absolute cheapest apartment I could find. My credit wasn’t great at the time due to school loans and medical bills, so a friend of a friend vouched for me, and I landed myself in a cute but poorly insulated 1960s ski camp at the bottom of a ski mountain in rural Vermont.
Ski Camp Quirks & Spiritual Growth
The man who built the house, Howard, and his family were the only ones to ever own the property. Though he had passed away decades earlier, his energy was still very much there. Every part of the house had been customized to his liking, and I delighted in finding hidden hooks exactly where I needed them, holes drilled into shelves for stereo wires (I assume), and 1960s Christmas wrapping paper that had fallen behind a closet wall panel.
Here are some pictures of my time there, including what it looked like before I moved in, when it had green carpet and a woodstove! Both were removed before my move-in date due to the potential fire hazard.
It wasn’t much, but I never had an apartment of my own, let alone one on a brook with front porch access to hiking trails and a fire pit. My daughter and I squealed with delight the first time I was able to make my own campfire, remembering how my father had done it on camping trips when I was a little girl. The nearby views were breathtaking too:
The start of my spiritual awakening had happened years prior when I became pregnant with my daughter, in 2011. At the ski camp, about 10 years later, I finally was getting some time to truly connect with my spirituality due to more alone time, independence, and instant access to wilderness.
I started journaling. This is one of my first journal pages that looks kind of like the pages I make now!
Living With Wild Things
I moved in during the Spring, and soon Summer was upon me, and the wilderness became much closer to me. In fact, it moved right in. The poorly insulated cabin walls let in a menagerie of forest creatures including but not limited to: mice, moles, wasps, and spiders.
I did my best to use all-natural repellants and have-a-heart traps, releasing the friendlier visitors back into the wild. The wasps were scary, and I swiftly killed them with an electric flyswatter.
To be honest, I was terrified of the mice and moles at first. The first night I saw a mouse, I ran straight to the gas station, bought a 6-pack of Switchback (a Vermont staple beer), and sat on the porch sipping a few before I had enough liquid courage to go back inside and come up with a plan for keeping them out of my home.
But, within a few months of living mostly alone in the woods, I found comfort in their occasional presence. I even put out water and a cracker for one of the baby mice one night when it came out of hiding and sat beside my chair as I was reading. It sipped the water, nibbled the cracker, and gathered a few crumbs to bring back through a hole in the floor, down to the basement.
A mole once got into my recycle bin. Moles can’t see well, so he was absolutely terrified of the loud, clanging cans and plastics as he searched for an escape. I put on some rubber gloves and carefully removed all of the recyclables until I found the little guy shaking in the bottom of the bin. I tipped the bin on its side, added a small dish of water, and coaxed him out with some calm words. He had a few drinks, and I used a broom to gently guide him out the front door.
We had bears, too, but I managed to avoid them except for this one that seemed eager to visit occasionally.
Setting Boundaries With a Spirit
I had ghostly experiences as a kid. There were only a few that I could, without a doubt, call truly paranormal experiences (objects moving on their own, clear disembodied voices in an empty house, and two separate sightings of a full-body apparition).
Most other mysterious happenings during my lifetime so far, I have chalked up to strange-but-explainable. I’m a dreamy Aquarius-sun, but I’m a logical Virgo-rising too.
As such, when I first arrived at the cabin, I explained away some of the weirder happenings. At night, when I was sleeping in the living room alcove, I heard what sounded like someone walking down the hallway from the front door, into the living room. It felt masculine, and I assumed it was Howard, the builder and previous owner, but it also could have just been a creaky, old house.
On the off-chance that it was a spirit, I started calling him “Howie,” but I didn’t interact much. Here’s a photo I found of him when he was on the ski patrol team at the nearby mountain. He’s the one on the left:
I don’t like to build a strong connection with a spirit unless I feel it needs me. I think it’s healthy to lead our separate lives and respect boundaries. I don’t push for communication, because I believe that something negative could intervene or take advantage of my openness to communicate.
One day, I went out to the brook, and I left the door unlocked but brought my key. (It was a deadbolt that could only be locked from the inside or from the outside with a key.) Being out in the woods, I never locked my door if I was on the property. The key didn’t work well; the lock was hard to turn, and it would be near impossible for a person to approach the cabin without me noticing. Also, if a bear came to visit, I wanted to be able to duck inside quickly.
But, when I returned, the door was locked. The deadbolt was clearly engaged. I panicked and started to pat my pockets to make sure I had brought the key. Thankfully, I had. As noted, the key stuck, and it was difficult to unlock, but I was able to turn it and go back inside.
Now I was angry. There was no doubt in my mind that 1) I was alone on that property, 2) I had not locked the door, and 3) the lock did not fall into place itself. I could only assume that Howie was protecting his space but at my expense.
I stepped inside and gauged the energy of the hallway. The air felt heavy, and I took some deep breaths to calm myself. I tried to imagine what it must have been like for Howie, who built this entire cabin with his bare hands and lived in it during the prime of his life (and possibly afterlife), to suddenly have to “share” it with a woman in her late 30s who usually didn’t pick up after herself and sometimes cried herself to sleep at night.
I laughed at that thought then said out loud in the hallway, “Listen, I think I know who you are. I think your name is Howie, and I know you built this home. I’m Gretchen. This cabin is now being used for apartments, and I’m renting it. I don’t mean to intrude on your space, and you’re welcome to be here. Just, please don’t lock me out of the apartment. It’s not safe. There are bears around, and my daughter and I may need to come in quickly.”
I swear I felt the heaviness lift. Also, while talking to him, I noticed an old nail that had been hammered between two of the wood panels in the hallway and a slight color change in the wood where a picture likely hung for some time. The hallway also had a handmade stained-glass lamp. The bulb had burned out, though. I felt called to replace it and did so. The glass colors looked familiar to me, too, like I had seen that color scheme somewhere before.
Months later, I stumbled upon this vintage poster in a Vermont gift shop, framed it, and hung it in the hallway. I can’t help but wonder if a similar one hung there when Howie owned the home. The colors matched the lamp perfectly.
The night I hung the poster, I heard the footsteps again. This time, they didn’t come into the living room. They stopped about halfway down the hallway, about where I had hung the print. When I later moved, I left it there for Howie.
After that interaction, I seldom heard from Howie anymore, but I continued to find signs of his old life. He had a dog, and under a piece of furniture that had been left in the apartment, I found a perfect dog print in dust. I swept around it.
Also, when things broke around the apartment, I would ask for Howie’s help, and I would either find his handwritten instructions for maintenance (like when the water filter needed to be replaced), or I would suddenly understand the inner workings of something and know how to fix it (like a box fan). I’m still using that fan.
Even years later, I credit Howie for my confidence to fix household problems on my own.
Of Mice and (Ghost) Men
So, at this point in the story, your heroine (that’s me… just go with it) was, for certain, living with mice and likely living with a (ghost) man. Howie’s energy felt respectful, fatherly, supportive.
I decided to add two more men to my life. That’s when Aristotle (Ari, my orange-and-white) and Creedence (or Hooch, my all-orange) came along. Kitten picture for attention:
I learned some very valuable lessons about paranormal activity during this time in my life:
First, ghosts like Howie (and ones I’ve encountered in the past) don’t typically spend their time harassing the living. Sure, there are ghosts that do that, but in my experience, they’re rare. I tend to think of these more docile, pattern-driven spirits like bumblebees. Sometimes our paths cross, we acknowledge each other, and then we both go about our own lives, chores, patterns, etc.
However, do you know which creatures do harass humans and get an insane amount of joy out of waking them up in the middle of the night?
Cats and mice. The first time I saw a mouse climb a wall, I nearly fainted like a Victorian lady in a too-tight corset. Almost any wall with the slightest amount of texture, a mouse can climb.
I learned so much about the nocturnal habits of mice during my two years living in that cabin that I cannot watch any paranormal program without assuming that 95% of the evidence they capture can be blamed on mice.
* Clawing in the walls? Probably mice.
* Knocking on the walls? Likely mice moving things in the walls.
* Objects moving on their own? Mice.
* Lose your key and find it on a shelf you can’t reach? I’ve seen this. It’s mice.
* Hear all your knickknacks clanking together in the night? Seen that too. Mice.
* A growling sound? Did you know that cats sometimes growl at mice?
In fact, I stumbled upon a paranormal investigation TV show one evening where the investigators swore they captured a “gray orb” moving across the floor in a room. Upon zooming in on it, I could clearly see the legs and tail… it was a mouse.
Now, I’m not saying that ALL paranormal activity can be blamed on these little mischief-makers. I’m just saying that my skepticism grew three-fold while living in the forest.
The contents of these shelves in particular were used as a mouse amusement park after I got into bed and turned out the lights each night. Eventually, the cats got big enough to scare the mice away.
Ok, so the whole point of this rambling story is to illustrate two points about me: 1) I’m very cautious to jump to the conclusion that a ghost is in my house when it could be mice, and 2) I understand the typical “vibe” of most common house ghosts having lived in old New England houses for most of my life.
So What Came Into My Kitchen on Saturday Night?
Fast-forward to May of 2026. I’ve worked hard to upgrade my living situation, on one income, to a bigger apartment in an old Victorian house. This one was built in the 1830s, or at least that’s the earliest map I could find it on. Some pictures from move-in week in Fall 2025:
It has a rich history but, most notably, it was one of the town’s original fire houses when firemen still used horse-drawn carriages. I often feel the vibe of strong, capable, hard-working men here. Like with Howie, I feel they help me with household repairs and protect me. One energy feels a little more stand-offish, but I haven’t given him much attention.
Last year, when I moved in, I caught a glimpse of a little boy in worn clothing hiding in my bathroom. When I made eye contact with him, he disappeared. After some research, I found that these two boys lived on an adjacent property, and I suspect they visit from time to time, especially the 9-year-old, Arthur. He seems shy but curious:
I walk my upstairs neighbors’ dog (Elphie) most afternoons, and we enjoy exploring the cemetery. Lucy is her favorite (photo on right). Obviously, other dogs visit her too (see pee stains), which might be the draw for Elphie, but I was drawn to her story: like my great-grandmother, she was a young mother who died during childbirth in 1832.
Again, all this to say that… life with ghosts is pretty routine around here. I cherish the curious, kind, and helpful ones, and wish them well. Elphie and I visited Lucy on May 10th and wished her a Happy Mother’s Day. I instantly felt a warmth on my back and goosebumps climb up my left arm to my shoulder (a common spirit interaction for me). Elphie and I happily played in the cemetery.
Who Do We Have Here?
So, I was really taken aback a few nights ago when I encountered a type of energy I’ve never experienced before. It was about 11:00 at night, and I was distracted by a good true crime show. I suddenly remembered I had left the door to the back porch open. The screen door was closed, but I didn’t want to attract bugs. The old screen door has some holes in it.
I went into the kitchen, and a lovely, cool breeze was coming in. When I looked toward the screen door, I clearly saw a dark shadow of someone taller than me. I stepped back, at first afraid someone had gotten inside until I remembered that the screen door was locked. I stepped closer, and the shadow evaporated.
But the feeling did not. I didn’t feel alone in my kitchen. I closed the door with an intuitive knowing that, whatever I saw, was now in the kitchen with me. I immediately thought about how I would shoo a mouse out the back door and realized that I had no idea how to do the same with a ghost… aside from saging?
With all doors closed, I convinced myself that it was my imagination and stepped back into the middle of the kitchen, assessing the energy around me.
I can’t explain it, but I felt like I was in a stand-off with something… not negative necessarily. Maybe afraid? This old house can be drafty, but with all windows and doors now closed, I was shocked to suddenly feel air brush by my right arm. Then, only a second later, a bottle of seltzer fell off my kitchen counter.
When I bent down to pick up the seltzer, the pantry door creaked open. It doesn’t open easily on its own. In fact, I leave it a few inches ajar so the cats can get in, and it never opens more than that on its own.
I stepped backward away from the pantry door and put my hands on my hips waiting for its next move.
That’s when I felt a warm hand gently touch my arm.
“Can I help you?” I asked, more an utterance of annoyance than a serious question.
I felt the energy shift behind me. Then, what felt like a finger poked the right side of my waist. I jumped.
“No touching,” I said.
I did not like that boundary being crossed. I’ve never been touched like that by an invisible entity. This didn’t even feel like a ghost as I’ve experienced them. It felt like a “visitor” to a foreign land who was curious but acted with a sense of entitlement. A “new” spirit, perhaps?
I would love to know your thoughts! I went to my altar, asked for protection from Goddess and my ancestors, and I smudged the apartment. It’s been quiet since.
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