Edna

I live in a beautiful big townhouse with two other girls. The townhouse used to be owned by a very elderly lady with alzheimers. She passed away in the house. Her daughter is our landlord, who is so happy that we bring so much 'joy to these walls her mother loved so much.' My bedroom was her old bedroom. The loft above my room was her book den. Her name was Edna, and we sometimes refer to her as our fourth roommate.

I have never seen Edna. I have never heard Edna. I technically don't even believe in ghosts. So what the heck is it that, as I'm turning all the lights off downstairs before heading to bed, makes me race up the darkened staircase as if someone is chasing me? Why do I sleep with the covers pulled up to my eyeballs? Why, when I can't get to the bed fast enough, do I whisper sweetly, "Goodnight Edna?"

Secretly, I think I just like to freak myself the hell out sometimes. Not to the point where I'll be joining Jinxy on the range, but I definitely let the creative juices flow. Keeps the heart in good condition.

I shouldn't have watched Ghostbusters as such an impressionable young lass.