Dear readers, I admit, when the woman from the Downtown Presbyterian church said, “We never have crying babies on Sunday morning,” it was out of my mouth before I could stop it, “Do y’all have any babies in church on Sunday morning?”
Luckily, she thought that was funny.
To look at it, you would assume that the Downtown Presbyterian Church, if haunted at all, is haunted by the Civil War soldiers who died in it when it was used as a hospital.
But no, instead, it is haunted by an old man they affectionately call ‘Granddad’, with a kind of shambling way of walking, who is often seen sitting in the pew on Sunday morning or walking down the center aisle after the service, leaning over the ends of pews, as if picking up the bulletins and attendance pads left behind.
Some folks thought he wasn’t really a ghost, just a memory of an old usher that replays over and over, not able to interact with folks.
But one morning, a young mother was sitting in her pew, her baby in the carrier beside her on her right. The baby, as babies often do, began to fuss. The mother turned to her left to dig through her bag to get a pacifier when she heard the faint, but unmistakable sound of keys jingling.
And then, the baby laughed.
Of course, she assumed it was one of the other congregants, entertaining the baby, but when she turned to thank them, there was no one there.
Tiny Cat Pants 