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That doesn't mean they sit around playing harps all day and walking streets of gold. These people have other things to do. They are in the process of getting on with life.
Some ghosts are purely theatrical. Others find ways of "getting our ghosts," as it were. Given the chance to do both, they will have fun doing it. Just like some people on the physical side, they like to kid around and cut up, too.
Here is a prime example of what I mean.
When I was a senior in high school, I heard about a ghost who was seen repeatedly at a railroad crossing in Crossett, Arkansas. My mother, a friend of hers named Margaret and I went to investigate.
An uncle, who was about six feet tall, over two hundred pounds and afraid of nothing, had seen this same ghost. He told us he would never go back to that crossing again because the ghost had gotten between him and his car. When he finally decided to give the ghost his car and run for his life, the apparition disappeared.
One fall night months later, the three of us drove up to Crossett and asked directions at a local service station because we had not gotten them from my uncle. Of course, the attendant knew exactly where the ghost had been seen and who he was when alive. When we arrived at the crossing, we parked the car on the south side of the track, got out and waited.
We waited and watched down the track for what seemed an eternity, but it was really only about thirty minutes. Apparently, the ghost was setting the stage. A crowd who had to wait on him would appreciate him more.
I was between Margaret and my mother. Out of nowhere, something appeared about two hundred yards down the track.
When I saw the specter appear, Margaret uttered a sound of pure fright. As quickly as I possibly could, I told her to hush and be still. Even though she was shaking like a leaf, I warned her not to move or say another word.
What we saw was something that shot straight up from the railroad track to the height of about six feet and rolled into a
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