I have no wish to scare you. I really haven’t. But there are some things that simply defy explanation. Some things that cannot be anything other than what they appear to be.

I write this on Halloween.  That is not significant in any way other than it reminded me of the story.  It’s about my son, Harry … and a ghost. It is true.

Harry is a professional entertainer.  When he was a young man, learning his craft, he was working on contract for a large entertainments company in England. He lived in a hotel.

Now, before I carry on, there’s something you should know about Harry.  He is not a fantasist.  He is very level-headed.  Not prone to exaggeration. And, until this mind-altering experience, not particularly interested in the supernatural.  Even now, 10+ years on, he is very measured when he tells the story.  It has never changed.  Never been embellished with telling. Just a factual account of an unbelievable experience.

He was on stage that night.  In his hotel room he was showering before the show.  As he stepped out of the shower he noticed, written in the condensation on the bathroom mirror, the words ‘The White Lady’.  Nice try, he thought.  Obviously one of his friends was having a joke.  It’s easy to draw a greasy finger across a glass, leaving no trace until the steam from the shower condenses.  He ignored it.  Went into the bedroom and dressed for the evening.

But then he went back to the bathroom.  Things had changed. Now, the writing was scratched through as if unseen fingers had drawn through the words. How could that happen? There was nobody else there.  Or was there?  He glanced away.  When he looked back, above the writing, again written in the condensation, was a single word: Harry.            

If it was his friends having a laugh, they were doing a good job.  But none were there.  They were all at the theatre preparing for the show.  How could it be?  When he returned, late that same evening, he was shocked at what he saw.  The room was trashed: his suitcase emptied, chairs knocked over, the bed unmade.  Nobody else had a key, other than the housekeeping staff and they had all left for the evening before he had.  His friends had been with him on stage all night.

He called a friend from another room.  He was equally incredulous.  Who would have done this?  They decided to find out. Turning out all the lights, they took a photo of the room interior.  Then they saw her.  As clear as day.  Sitting at the desk, a young woman, dressed in a white uniform, with stains on the front of her clothing.  As they looked, not believing what they saw, the figure in white faded from the photograph.  The image now, completely black. 

Harry slept in the room that night.  Remember, I said he was a level-headed chap.  Not easily spooked.  The following morning, Harry spoke to the receptionist.  Maybe it was just his imagination.  It had been a long day.  Perhaps someone had been playing a trick on him after all.

“Oh yes!” said the receptionist.  “You saw her too. The White Lady.”  Turned out, other guests had reported similarly unexplainable stories over many years.  She was a regular visitor.  Who was she? 

The part of the hotel that Harry was staying in was quite new, but the original building, attached, was much older.  Before being converted into a hotel, the old wing had been a hospital.  The ghostly vision, with her white uniform, was a nurse.  And the stains … were blood.   

I believe Harry, of course I do.  Why would he lie?  His story has remained unchanged, strong, throughout the years.  He can’t explain it, but he knows what he saw.  I don’t think I believe in ghosts.  But, until that extraordinary night, neither did Harry.