Ghost at the Door Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! Better than a dullahan watching EBEs: I need a ghost picture. Click for a different ghost story. The following narrative is extracted from a note to a friend; it turns out we both had weird moments in our days within an exceptionally short period. † A couple hours ago, a ghost knocked on my door. Which really is thrilling because I haven't chased ghosts in decades, but even in the context of our nineteen year-old selves scaring the hell out of ourselves and knowing it, it's also true I never did get one of these. The real explanation likely has something to do with the door hinges, but the thing is I've never heard that sound out of them before, and can't reproduce it. Not that I spent much time trying. But: Bedroom door is swung closed but simply against the jamb. Open window tends to move the door a little; the bit where it taps against the jamb is a familiar, even necessary sound in my life. No, really, it's amazing how accustomed I am to house sounds in general, such that the world seems awry if everything is just that quiet. Nobody else is home. Hollow-core interior door, standard size. It's the sound of light but focused impact on the door. How long are your fingernails? Three times. Tap-tap-tap. Like one long fingernail straight against the door. Sitting at my desk right now, the door is visible in my right-side peripheral vision. The door moved with each tap. That's the thing that got me. I actually thought someone was standing outside my door; I would have guessed maybe my mother, but she doesn't knock with her fingernail, and I didn't hear her enter the house. But there's nobody at the door, so I figure maybe the cat, who sometimes just scratches a nail on the door, or sometimes pushes it open, instead of hollering for me. Still, it's nothing like the normal sound that makes. And from nobody at the door to the cat is asleep on the couch required maybe a second and a half. Lastly, I'm familiar with the way certain sounds bounce around my room. When I'm in bed, and have both window panes ajar, the sound of rain from my left will reach my right ear while lying in bed as if it is falling on my right. This ... this wasn't subtle, and the door moved in apparent coincidence with each tap. I cannot conceive of an environmental concussion (A) moving the air like that while (B) reaching my ear like that. Most likely, a very slight drop in air pressure compelled the door to swing inward, but in the end was insufficient to create smooth motion, resulting in the door repeatedly exceeding a certain threshold, overcoming friction and thus allowing it to move slightly, resulting in a rare sound from the hinges that resonates slightly through the door. I mean, that's the explanation I'm going with, but scientifically, I can't tell you how it works―I only know it's possible. But, yeah, it's kind of ironic. Not only is it temporally close to your much more entertainingly curious experience, but also I enjoy the irony of never once, when I cared about such things enough to spend nights out with friends chasing ghosts, having an experience requiring me to dig for an answer like that. We did, actually, solve a couple folklore mysteries; the bloody sink at the church, for instance―the rust stains, a leaking faucet, and yeah, in the right moonlight it looked absolutely terrifying. That was about as tough as it got, though. A ghost knocking on my door? My nineteen year-old self would be ecstatic.