When you think of ghosts, Williamsburg, Virginia, likely conjures images of colonial spirits wandering the streets. But let me share a story that’s a bit more recent and personal—one that still sends chills down my spine.
A New Beginning in Williamsburg
I moved to Williamsburg in 1977, leaving behind the flat plains of Oklahoma. I had visited this historic town as a child and was captivated by its charm and rich history. Little did I know that my new home would come with its own ghostly resident.
I settled into a boarding house on Lafayette Street, owned by an elderly gentleman named Mr. Alexander. The house had a warm, inviting feel, but there was something about it that hinted at stories untold.
The First Encounter
On my first night, I drifted into a deep sleep, only to be jolted awake by an unusual presence. There, standing by the corner window about ten feet from my bed, was an apparition. She was a female figure with a gentle, kindly face, and her dark hair framed her slight build. What struck me most was how she seemed to float just above the floor, glowing softly in the dim light of the room.
I had always imagined that if I ever encountered a ghost, I’d be terrified—probably running for the hills. But as I gazed at this ethereal figure, a wave of calm washed over me. It was as if she was soothing my initial fear, and before I knew it, I was back asleep, feeling oddly comforted.
A Strange Morning
The next morning, I woke up late, my alarm clock completely stopped. Confused, I made my way to breakfast, where I mentioned to Mr. Alexander that I needed to buy a new clock. His reaction surprised me; he chuckled and told me not to bother.
“Why not?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
He then shared a story that sent shivers down my spine. He recounted how he had been with his wife in the hospital when she passed away. Upon returning home, every clock in the house—except for one—had stopped at the exact time of her death. He had bought new clocks, but they too had stopped at that same time on the first night.
The Clocks of Time
Mr. Alexander opened a drawer to reveal a collection of at least ten clocks, all frozen at the same time. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Above the chest of drawers hung an old photograph of a woman. I recognized her immediately; it was the same woman I had seen in my room the night before.
“That’s my wife,” he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia.
He then led me into the living room, pointing to an antique clock hanging over the mantle. “This was her favorite,” he explained. “It’s been in her family for generations. It’s the only clock that didn’t stop the night she died.”
As he spoke, I felt a mix of emotions—sadness for his loss, curiosity about the supernatural, and a strange connection to the woman I had seen. He revealed that the room I was staying in had once been theirs. After his wife’s passing, he had moved to a smaller room to rent out the larger one.
A Week of Reflection
I stayed in Mr. Alexander’s boarding house for another week while searching for a permanent place to live. During that time, I never mentioned my ghostly encounter. It felt too personal, too sacred to share.
When I finally moved into my new home, my alarm clock worked perfectly. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mrs. Alexander was still watching over me, perhaps even guiding me in some way.
The Legacy of Ghost Stories
This experience left a lasting impression on me. It’s fascinating how ghost stories can bridge the gap between the past and present. Williamsburg is known for its colonial ghosts, but this encounter reminded me that the spirits of more recent times can be just as poignant.
Ghost stories often serve as a way to connect with our history and the people who came before us. They remind us that love and loss transcend time. Mr. Alexander’s story, intertwined with my own, is a testament to the enduring bonds we share with those we’ve lost.
Personal Insights
Reflecting on my experience, I can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. Meeting Mrs. Alexander, even in spirit, was a reminder of the love that can linger long after someone has passed. It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it?
I often wonder how many others have had similar experiences in places like Williamsburg. The town is steeped in history, and with that history comes a wealth of stories—some joyful, some tragic, but all deeply human.
Conclusion
So, the next time you think of ghosts in Williamsburg, consider not just the colonial spirits that roam the streets, but also the more recent tales that remind us of the enduring connections we have with those who have passed. Ghosts, after all, are often reflections of love, loss, and the memories that linger long after a person is gone.