It’s been more than a decade since I left my post at the newspaper. While there, I kept an ongoing journal in my work computer. When I left my job, I printed a copy of these random ramblings, tucked them into a folder and stuck it in my file cabinet.
Last week, while searching for some old Halloween art, I came across the forgotten folder. Inside, a ghostly tale which I had recently shared from memory with friends. But the one thing about memory, sometimes it becomes cobwebby and we forget the important details. And you know that old saying, the ghosts are in the details. (Okay. I made that up.)
Anyhow, after reading my printed ramblings, I realized I had left out parts of the story.
So, grab a cup of hot cider, dim the lights, and read this ghostly tale by the glow of your computer screen….
It was November and the weather was gloomy when my sister and I arrived in Germany to visit her daughter serving in the U.S. Army. We stayed at a hotel in Giessen which is about an hour and a half drive from Frankfurt. The hotel was actually a transition house for incoming and outgoing American soldiers and their families. But originally, during W.W. II it had been occupied by German soldiers. There were tunnels beneath the hotel boarded by thick, steel doors.
Before I go on… keep in mind I knew nothing of the building’s history prior to what I’m about to tell you.
Within minutes of checking into our room, I opened the window and door, then began to burn sage to rid the small, cramped room of any negative energy (I had learned about smudging at a Native American retreat.). If some moody/cranky person (the living) previously occupied the room, I didn’t want their negative vibes to spoil our visit.
My sister and niece laughed at my quirkiness. Then my niece returned to her army base across the street while my sister and I decided to catch a cat nap before dinner. Jet lag.
That’s when I had the most peculiar dream, a dream that seemed so vivid and real. I found myself wandering along the long corridor which led to our room. There, sitting on the floor, in the small alcove in front of our door, was a young soldier dressed in a drab, green uniform and wearing military black boots. He had reddish hair and his face was solemn, almost expressionless.
I hesitated then slipped past him, making my way into the room. I shut the door, but wasn’t quick enough. The soldier pushed from the opposite side of the door as I threw all of my weight against the door from the inside. He repeatedly said, Billy. Hungry. Billy. As I struggled to keep him out, I glanced over my shoulder and saw my sister dead asleep on the twin bed. I called out for help, but it was as though she couldn’t hear my pleas. At last, just as I managed to shut the door completely and twisted the old-fahioned lock, I awoke to a sharp rap. It was my niece.
I let her in and shook off the strange dream.
Before leaving for dinner, we stopped at a pay phone in the lobby. I called my husband to let him know where we were staying in case of an emergency. When I asked my sister for the name of the hotel, she darted outside to check a sign post she had seen hidden by overgrown shrubs.
The name of the hotel….Transient Billets.
During our stay we visited places like Nuremburg and Paris. We had a great time. The morning before leaving for home, we packed our suitcases. We were joking around when all of a sudden I noticed the antique doorknob slowly moving back and forth, back and forth.
Click. Click. Click.
“Oh, someone’s here,” I said, thinking it was my niece again.
I flung the door wide ready to greet her. No one. Hmm. I looked down the long hallway and didn’t see anyone. (We were the only guests staying in that part of the building on the second floor). I found it odd since the old, wooden floorboards creaked and groaned whenever we walked across them. So, why didn’t I hear anyone coming or going?
Then, my sister fessed up. She had witnessed the doorknob jiggling back and forth several times during our stay. And each time she opened the door, no one was there.
“Remember my dream,” I reminded her. “The soldier trying to force his way into our room?”
“I don’t believe in those things,” she said as she continued to pack her suitcase.
And I dropped the subject.
Is it possible that when I opened the door and window then cleansed the room with the blessed sage that I shoved the earthbound soldier out of his space? The hungry earthbound spirit whose name I thought was Billy?
A few years later, I learned that billet is another german word for room. Billy… billets? Coincidence? Maybe. And maybe the wandering soldier just wanted to take back what belonged to him…his room.
I suppose in this ghostly encounter, my sister and I were the intruders.
Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever had a ghostly experience you’d like to share?