Erin Louis writes for OnlySky on the deeper and truer meaning of ghost stories:
Ghosts meant that there was a chance that my grandmother would be waiting for me when I close my eyes for good. Maybe even the greatest cat that ever lived, my departed Charlie, would be waiting for me too.
Shattering that illusion is a tough pill to swallow if you grew up believing it. It was for me. At least for a little while.
But once I came to accept that this is very likely the only life I will have, I noticed that I was able to appreciate it that much more. I began to savor the little moments where I found happiness. The look of sheer bliss on my son’s face as he rolled his Thomas the Tank Engine around its track singing the song. The warm breeze kissing my cheek on a beach in Kauai. Or the deliciously naughty taste of a cream-filled éclair.
I found a new meaning in ghost stories themselves.