This is the one ghostly encounter I've had, aside from weird feelings I've gotten in certain places.
It happened when I was about six or seven. My sister and I still shared a room, and we had bunk beds. I was in the bottom bunk.
Anyway, I woke up in the middle of the night one time, and was suprised to see someone tucking me in again. I couldn't see their face, even when I looked for it. There were just hands the part of a torso. The fingernails in the hands were short and worn, like those of someone who had done hard labor all their life. Not really thinking of it, I went back to sleep.
When I eventually got around to telling my mother of it, I described the hands in detail. She looked a bit struck my it. She said, "That sounds just like Mommy's hands. She never kept them well groomed from working all the time." Her mother had died two years before I was born.
If this was my only encounter of such a nature, I'm satisfied. I believe, as does my mother, that it was really her mother. This is the kind of ghost story I've always liked. A loving one.
