Tuesday, June 11, 2019

Why Does My Bedroom Smell Like An Old Lady? (and other questions you never want to ask yourself)

That's not a rhetorical question, by the way. 

Is HP Mallory's house haunted or is it time she retired her perfume?


It wasn't my perfume. Seriously.  

So is HP Mallory's house haunted or...


Short answer is: I don't know but I'm thinking probably not.

OK if it wasn't a ghost, then what was it? Start 'splainin', Lucy!


I'm not saying "it" wasn't a ghost but I'm not sure what it was. And, yes, an explanation right about now would be good... 

(Sound drum roll, thunder and lightning, maybe some distant wailing, the ominous bleating of Stevie Nicks' voice, and the thud of heavy footsteps)

OK now I'm ready... 
So, you'd think a paranormal romance writer such as myself would have had a bazillion experiences with ghosts, haunted houses, the undead, possession and the occasional DIY exorcism, right?

Um...I guess.

Yeah, not so much. In fact, I've only ever had one experience I still can't explain.

It happened about twelve years ago when I was living in beautiful Ventura, California, a few houses from the beach. I was married at the time and, no, the old lady smell wasn't my ex-husband.


Exey and I were living in a quaint, beach house that was built in the 1980s. Not exactly the playground for spiritual activity, or so you'd think. (The only activity I ever experienced was of the homeless rifling through my trashcans variety).

The not so haunted house

Anyhow, I'd never experienced any sort of ghostly phenomenon. No heavy footsteps, clanking chains, no whimpering dog staring at the wall, no children disappearing into the static of the TV...

Until the day my neighbor's kid did disappear into the Vizio...

Say What?!

Just kidding. No missing children here! I'll stop doing that now, promise.

So Exey was traveling on business and I was alone in the house.

There I was, keeping myself occupied by reading on my bed. When all of a sudden, the scent of tea-rose perfume was so strong, it smelled like the Golden Girls were having a reunion right there in my bedroom.

And the smell didn't just fade away either. It was like that Cranberries song and lingered.

I put my book down and looked around the room, trying to figure out how Judge Judy got into my room... and undetected.

My mental checklist:

*Did I leave a window open? In which case, the portal to old lady hell might have just opened and belched up a whiff of the ever-after? (Because, seriously, there's no way old lady heaven smells like tea-rose, right?)

I checked the windows but they were all closed.

*Is this early onset of Alzheimer's that's caused me to light a candle and then to promptly forget about it?

But no candles were lit. And, furthermore, I didn't possess anything that smelled like roses. I didn't even own a doily and I had zero cats!

That was the extent of my mental checklist.

So I just shrugged and started reading Outlander again, figuring this was one mystery that would forever occupy the annals of the unsolved.

I never did have another ghostly encounter...

Well, this one time I thought I was seeing floating orbs everywhere but that just ended up being a migraine.

Do you think I was visited by a ghost? I'd love to know your thoughts! Please comment below.


Do you have a ghost story I could feature on my blog? If so, I'd love to hear from you! Please just email me and let me know!

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