I live in an old colonial house in a historic district in Northern New Hampshire. This house has belonged to my family for six generations. When a possession is held close to the heart it tends to take on a personality, yet we think that there is no consequence for these thoughts. My experience argues otherwise.
At the age of 17 I first moved to our old family home. My Grandmother was dying of cancer and did not wish to leave the house in favour of a hospital. My family understood this and arranged for home health care and packed our things, moving two towns away to the old house.
It was my first night there, sleeping in what was always to be "my room." My parents were already in bed and my grandmother was asleep downstairs. I shut off the light and began to pull the covers over me when I heard a man's voice say "Goodnight." When I heard the voice I immediately turned on the light to see what my father was doing up, but found no one there and the doors to my room still closed. I was curious, of course, and went to my parents room to find both fast asleep. I then went downstairs to see if my grandma was up. It made sense that it may have been her because her room was right below mine.
When I got to her door, she was fast asleep too. My wandering caused enough noise to wake her. I told my Grandma of the voice I heard. Her only explanation for me was that many members of my family had died in that house over the years, and that it was most likely one of them. She went on to explain some of the experience to me over the month long period we lived there. Now she, too, may be wishing me goodnight as she passed away in that very house six weeks later.