Sometimes, the so-called dead have a hard time moving on. The other day, I worked with a woman who held on to her former place of employment. She was amazing when she worked there, and now she knows that, even though she’s dead, she still can influence others in the body, and I mean positively. But, sometimes, even the well-intentioned forget responsibility.
It was supposed to be a cold day in January, so I wore a cow-neck sweater. The temperature was well into the 60s by mid-morning, and I was beginning to feel overheated. I sat at my desk, working on overdue fines, when I sensed someone walking in the aisles between the bookshelves. I recognized her call number and said her name telepathically, ‘Cheryl.’
“I’m just browsing the juvenile section. It looks like you could use some new arrivals to freshen up the place,” Cheryl said. I agreed with her.
As quickly as she appeared, she disappeared.
Later that morning, the south winds blew and swung the front door open. Another teacher noticed the door stuck in an open position. She looked at me, a little perplexed. I goaded her, “Plenty of ghost stories in the library.”
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