We moved in as a large family - two parents, three grandparents, four children, one foster child, and a great assortment of pets. The twenty-room house was exactly what we needed. There was plenty of space for everyone.

Before long the two grandmothers, who had always been friendly, began to argue. Each insisted she saw a lady in the living room, the music room, a hallway, or a sitting room. Both were upset because each thought the other had a guest visiting and didn't want to share the friendship. Grandfather Hoffman just assumed it was a neighbor who wandered in. One day Beth, our daughter, ran upstairs to give Grandmother Parkinson a library book. Returning to the first floor, she asked me if the lady by the window at the head of the stairs was the one her grandmothers argued about. I hastened upstairs, but could not find a visitor anywhere in the hall, in any bedroom or sitting room. Beth's description of stiff-backed lady in a long dress matched that which the grandmothers gave.

Lloyd, our six-year old, began to sleep with a pillow over his head. "A lady comes and looks at me! I don't like her" he insisted when questioned. After suggesting and having rejected all sorts of possibilities that might create the illusion of a woman's figure, we told him to ask the strange woman what she wanted. A few evenings later, when I checked on him before I retired, his head was on top of the pillow. In the morning when waking Lloyd for school, I asked him what caused the change. He explained that, gathering his courage, he talked to the lady who told him she liked boys and would watch over him. So my son talked to imaginary old ladies!

We all became aware of a strange sound that occurred everywhere in the house. The most frequent places were the bookcase corner of the living room, and in the upstairs hall by the first window. It sounded like someone gasping and gulping for breath, like a person with asthma. We couldn't detect any logical explanation for it. Sometimes it would go on for three or four minutes. On other occasions, it was just a moment or two. At first we blamed the children for creating the noise but could find no proof. When we heard it in the same room we were in, we had a very uneasy feeling. Eventually even the youngsters were disconcerted by it.

Something else began to annoy them too. Except for six-year-old Lloyd, each child was scheduled a time to use the music room for practice. The sliding doors were to be closed for both privacy and quiet. However, each youngster in turn complained that the room was cold, even though the thermometer registered 74 degrees, and there was a fire burning in the hearth. They also said they felt someone was watching them. Terry, our middle son, was practicing his mellophone one day when the platform rocker began to move. No one was in it that he could see. That practice session ended fast!

Several times visitors started to sit in that chair then rose quickly before they were quite seated. "I felt as though I were sitting on someone's lap" one guest said while selecting a different seat. Another friend saw a lady rocking and suggested we not go in the room and bother her. On a damp November Sunday, two friends visited who lived in Puerto Rico. They were staying with their family in New Jersey and came to spend an afternoon with me. As it began to darken outside, I invited them to stay for supper. Dorothy remained in the living room while Shirley went to the kitchen and dining room with me. I should note that by now Grandfather Hoffman had died; Grandmother Hoffman was in a nursing home; and on this weekend, Grandmother Parkinson was visiting my brother 400 miles away. When we were almost ready to sit down to eat, Dorothy entered the dining room and counted places. Seeing a questioning look on her face, I asked her what was wrong.

"There aren't enough places," she replied. "I counted children, guests, family, and you're one short."

"I don't think so," I answered then named someone for each seat.

"Well, isn't your mother coming?"

"My mother! Why do you ask?"

"Isn't your mother coming to the table or do you take her a tray? If so, I can do that for you." Dorothy answered.

"Where is she now?" I asked trying to sound casual. I realized Dorothy really thought she saw my mother - or at least an older woman.

"She's sitting in the rocking chair beside the organ in the room beyond the hall."

I hurried to the music room. The chair was rocking slowly, but I saw no one. I told Dorothy that Mother didn't want to eat yet - she would have something later. I knew if I told Dorothy she had seen a "ghost" lady she would have returned to New Jersey so fast we couldn't have caught her.