Mirror, Mirror

"I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do, I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do, I do, I do, I do!"

- The Cowardly Lion

The Wizard of Oz

When my Uncle Ralph passed away in November 1993, he left behind little more than a house and a car. His wife, Mary, had died in 1966, and Ralph never remarried. They didn't have any children.

Ralph's birth name was Roman, but everyone called him Ralph, except for my dad, who called him Ray. He responded to all three names. If there were any others, I never heard them.

The responsibility of executor fell to my mother, and so did the task of cleaning the house. Naturally, this meant I would be enlisted to help.

The summer that followed was extremely hot, and the house on Tipperary Hill lacked air conditioning. Sorting through every room in this stifling former home was quite the task. We removed bulky living room furniture from the '40s, rolled up floral rugs, dismantled the mismatched bedroom, and packed up all the small appliances and knick-knacks from the kitchen, all while using as many box fans as we could to at least circulate the air.

In the attic, we discovered even more. It was packed. It's incredible how much people gather over a lifetime.

That's where I discovered the mirror, with its overly painted frame showing cracks from age, and a significant amount of desilvering evident on the front. I found it intriguing and thought it would make an interesting decoration in my home.

I showed it to my mom, and she said, "That's Uncle Ralph's shaving mirror." I took the mirror home and hung it on a wall in my bedroom.

You might be curious about where this story is headed, and I assure you, I will get to the point.

About a year later, an event occurred that made the mirror's presence quite noticeable.

I was fast asleep when I was suddenly jolted awake. Fully alert, I noticed the deep silence, and my cat was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall where the mirror hung. He was leaning forward as if trying to get a better look at something.

I glanced beyond the cat, and there she was, standing in front of the mirror, motionless, just gazing into it. I quickly lay back down and pulled the covers over my head, but when I looked again, she was still there. She wore what seemed like a waitress outfit from the 1940s, featuring a short-sleeved, button-down dress, a lacy handkerchief pinned on the right side near the collar, a white apron tied around her waist, and a frilly cap on her head.

My cat remained on the bed, not daring to move. I hid under the covers, not looking again, and eventually fell asleep until morning. Upon waking, my cat was gone, and so was the lady.

I wondered who she could be. Could Uncle Ralph's wife have been a waitress at some point? No one could provide me with an answer. Was this a restless spirit that followed me home from one of my previous cemetery visits?

That morning I relocated the mirror to a wall near my front door.

I never saw her again. Despite the many times my cat would sit on the bed, tilting his head and leaning to the left to gaze into the darkness of the living room. No, thank you.

A few months later, I took the mirror down and stored it away. I've moved twice since then, and the mirror is still with me. Will I ever hang it again? Mmmmmm...no. I'd prefer to let sleeping spirits rest. Plus, I'm not sure how I'd react if I found Uncle Ralph/Roman/Ray standing in my home with a face full of shaving cream!

What about you? Have you ever had strange experiences with objects you own? Things that gave you an odd feeling? Uninvited guests?

Are you like the Cowardly Lion, believing in spooks?

I am.

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Christine Shephard is a photographer, writer, and avid taphophile. She makes her home in Central New York.

Images captured by Christine Shephard Photographic Design and the written content cannot be utilized in any other format or publication without explicit permission.