Lucia’s ghost followed us to Connellsville. “I see a ghost,” she’d say, just like she does here in Brooklyn. “I see a ghost coming through,” she said once, looking at the stairway. When she and my mom went down to the basement, Lucia asked often if there was a ghost. When I put her down for a nap one afternoon, she lay down then raised her head and said, “Ghost?”
Ghosts may have been on her mind because one of her favorite books of last week, Patrick Goes to Bed, had Patrick worried that a ghost would come through his open window; but it was only the wind. Still, though.
And today, I was washing Lucia’s hands in the bathroom, and when we came back to the hallway, she said, “I heard a ghost! I heard a ghost coming through!” She then stared down the hall to her nursery and began saying, “Bye bye, ghost!” Then she turned to me and said, “I saying goodbye to the ghost.” Again to the nursery doorway—“Bye bye, ghost!” When I asked her where the ghost was going, she said it was going to Gra’s (Grandma’s) house.