The Ghost at My Kitchen Table

by Annette Brownlee
(Longmont, Colorado)

I sat at my kitchen table. The watch, loaned to me by a friend, sat on the table beside my computer. I’d borrowed it for inspiration and motivation. I was working on my second novel and needed all the inspiration I could find.

You see, a good friend worked for the NTSB. She’d recently been to a crash and experienced her first fatality. A young boy was taking a flying lesson. The plane crashed. There were no survivors. My friend, we’ll call her Sarah, found the watch. It belonged to the young boy. It wasn’t an expensive watch. Maybe $30 at the local big box store. It was a digital watch and pretty scratched up.

So there it sat, beside my computer, inspiring me to write my second novel – about an older gentleman who dies in a plane crash and haunts the NTSB agent who finds his watch.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I had two young children at the time but both were down for naps. I turned to see a kid standing behind me.

He had short blonde hair and stood probably around 5’11”. He was larger, big boned, and still had the softness that many teenage boys don’t grow out of until they graduate from high school. He wore a blue polo shirt and jeans.

I could see him as if he were alive and breathing. Except he wasn’t.

Immediately, I knew he was the owner of the watch. He was the dead teenage boy. He didn’t speak but I knew his name - Brian. Heart racing, I acknowledged him with a nod, scooted my chair back, and went for the phone. There was only one person to call.

I called Sarah to ask her what the dead kid looked like.

I described the boy in my kitchen. Shocked by my description she didn't say anything but promised to fax me a copy of the crash report. Minutes later, I received a single page in the report that identified the deceased.

I wasn’t surprised to learn that the boy’s name was Brian. He was the same size as the ghost in my kitchen and he died wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans.

Within seconds I had the watch boxed up and in the mail. I sent it back to Sarah. I never saw the boy again but it made me a believer. He inspired a story and a career as a paranormal author and amateur ghost hunter.