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The Water Ghost of #35
by Michelle Porter
Growing up in New England, I am familiar with ghostly tales of haunted houses. Those old family homes still visited by their former occupants, many of who did not leave this world in a manner entirely of their choosing.
Life in old New England was very harsh to those who settled here and perhaps it was hardest on those who built their homes on the coast and made their living by the sea.
At some point in my life, in the early 1990's, I chose to rent a home in the sea-faring port of Gloucester, Massachusetts. I lived on a street that used to be termed "Captain's Row", a short street, lined with 3 story structures all similar in style. These were built at the turn of this century to house the families of the Gloucester fishermen, who mainly rented the dwellings within walking distance of the town's port. Many of those men of the sea never came back, leaving their families to wonder and grieve.
As with all the houses there, they had been converted to units of 2 or 3 apartments by the time I moved in. I was on the middle, second floor of # 35.
I loved that place! Bright and sunny, it had lots of charm. From the carefully chosen wallpaper, original wainscoting in the kitchen and authentic nautical touches placed here and there: A ship's wheel framed the overhead light. An electrified starboard lamp guided my outside steps. A board washed from the sea hung outside indicated the house number.
About 3 months after moving in, I was in the shower one early evening, rinsing the shampoo from my hair, when the bathroom light went out.
"Darn", I fussed aloud, "I've blown a fuse". There was enough light coming through the window so I could see to finish-up and get out of the water. Then I noticed that the kitchen light still shined through the bottom of the bathroom door. Strange, I thought. A fuse would have darkened the entire side of the apartment. Suspecting a friend may have come over and was playing a joke on me, I threw on my robe and opened the bathroom door with a hearty " Ha ha, very funny". But no one answered me except my cat, who prowled her empty food dish, reminding me it was time for dinner.
The light switch to the bath was located outside the bathroom door about 5 feet up from the floor, in the kitchen. The light switch was in the off position. I flicked it up and, voila, on went the bathroom light once again. Then I looked down. There was a puddle of water on the kitchen floor about 2 feet diameter. Nearly perfectly round and not trickling off as it might have given that the kitchen floor had a gentle slope to it. I wondered and mopped up the puddle.
Over the course of the next few months, this happened time and again. Same puddle on the floor in the same location as before. One evening, in early June, this strange phenomena occurred while a friend was in the living room watching TV. I'd told him about my encounters and I think he thought I was just "spinning a yarn". But now he was about to be faced with the indisputable facts.
Reeling from the kitchen, I asked him if he'd seen or heard anything that could account for the water on the floor. He replied that he had heard nothing unusual. "You must have heard something", I almost demanded, slightly annoyed that he'd just sat there while someone was dumping water on my kitchen floor. I looked around, bewildered. Alex Trebek continued reading the answers on "Jeopardy". The cat was curled up on the sofa. Everything was "normal". Except for the fact that I'd experienced another bathroom black-out and the unexplained appearance of water that followed.
My friend was as baffled as I was as we stared down at the puddle of water on the floor. "Smell it", he suggested. I kneeled down and put my face close to the puddle, "smells kinda salty", I said. He reached down, stuck his finger in the water and put it to his mouth. "This is sea water!", he exclaimed, jumping back a bit, perhaps getting a little spooked. I did the same, and it was, indeed, salt water.
My "salt water ghost" paid me a visit on two occasions after that and then abruptly stopped. I remained at # 35 for four more years before moving again. I must say though, that despite the inconvenience of a wet floor, I missed the presence and often wonder what was meant by it. Was it the spirit of some young man lost at sea? Did he come back to his home on "Captains Row" disturbed to find that it was now hacked into apartments and had indoor plumbing? Had his hands once gripped the wheel that now adorned my living room, in effort to navigate his vessel through rough New England seas? I would never have my answer.
I said goodbye to my water-spirit when I realized it was gone, wishing it a bon-voyage and clear sail through the realm of the other world.
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