I Kissed a Ghost (and I Liked It)

by Concetta Bertoldi

  Needless to say, not every ghost story is quite so sexy. Most hauntings—whether benign or hostile—are spirits who are attached in some way to a place and are unable to successfully cross to the other side, for whatever reason.

  I’ve talked a lot about my travels with John and our friends, and I know I’ve mentioned our visit to Rothenburg, Germany. Rothenburg is a walled city. Cars are not permitted, so we had to park our rental outside the walls (which are very cool and covered in vines, with fruit trees growing on top of them—there are stairs you can climb to walk around a portion of the wall). We had arrangements to stay at this beautiful bed-and-breakfast that had been remodeled. Our accommodations were so fantastic, it was like stepping back centuries in time. The four-poster bed was very unusual. You climbed down into it, like into a crate, rather than climbing up onto a mattress. The bathroom was enormous; likely it had not originally been a bathroom. It had beautiful, sparkling white tile and a very tiny window. But what a view from that window! You could see a sweeping vista of half the city, all the rooftops and some of the cobblestone streets. Gazing out, I had a strong sense memory that I had lived there before. It felt so familiar.

  But, during the night I woke up to the sound of children laughing and playing, and I heard footsteps outside our room. The next morning I asked the housekeeper how many kids the proprietors had, as I’d heard them the night before. The owners were two gay men, and I was told they didn’t have any children. Nor were there any children presently staying at the B and B. I kept hearing them, however, and one night during our stay, I felt someone tickle my feet! I’d gotten warm in bed, so had put my feet outside the bedcovers, and I felt the gentle, very sweet tickle on my feet, along with more laughter. I have to assume this was kids in spirit, and—given how old the city was, and knowing how in bygone times there was even more likelihood for a person to die very young—I imagine that these kids may have crossed a very long time ago.

  All my life, I’ve known of the existence of spirits side by side with us in the flesh. And all my life I’ve had experiences and encounters, knowing they were there. Mostly I’ve experienced this by hearing. Not until I was an adult did I experience anything physical. It was probably a good thing to not have this kind of experience before I was mature enough to understand. But I always knew the spirits were there. Their hugs and kisses come through.

  When my mother passed away, I was devastated. So many times thereafter I’ve felt her presence walk up to my bed. Or, I should say, “glide” up to my bed, or “fly” up to my bed, and I’ve felt her warm embrace. I’ve felt her hand caress my face. There is no question in my mind that the spirits are very capable of expressing their love physically, through energy like I felt from my mother and many other dear souls.

  So, before you doze off, you may want to put a dab of your favorite perfume behind your ear in case you have a late-night visit from your late husband—or even a former partner from another century! If it’s a love-fest with your loved one, enjoy the reminder that unconditional love is everywhere when you’re in the light, and all you have to do is receive the gift with open arms.

  I was working on this chapter around Halloween week, so everywhere I looked, I was seeing ghosts—not just in my own home, which is pretty much par for the course, but all over the place, in every store window and front yard. Of course these were mostly of the cartoon variety, cardboard cutouts or blow-ups, or bits of cloth hanging from a wire. It made me curious about how many people have actually seen a ghost in real life. I did a little searching on the internet, and it seems that only about 20 percent of people in various polls say they have seen a ghost. But there didn’t seem to be any polls about how many have heard a ghost, or smelled one, or seen things move around due to a spirit’s influence. I would be willing to bet there are a lot of folks who have experienced these types of things who have simply decided that there must be a logical explanation for what they’ve experienced and have simply talked themselves out of what really happened. Even people in my close circle resist the most logical explanation of what their eyes, ears, and other senses are telling them—that they are in the presence of a ghost!

  When my friend Mushy turned sixty, we wanted to make a big deal of her milestone birthday. I said, “Mush, what would you like? Is there something special you want? Would you like a big party, or maybe to do something special?” Mushy replied that she had never in her life been to Europe. She’d been to Mexico with me when I was doing shows there, but her husband didn’t really like to travel, so they hadn’t really gotten around the world as much as John and I had. So she decided she’d like to see Italy. I was totally on board for that. I would go back to Italy any time, for any reason. It’s so beautiful and has so much history—and the food! Mamma mia!

  As we started to plan the trip, our friend Debbie said she wanted to go, too, so the three of us headed off, just us girls.

  In Rome, a city I’ve visited before and could never get tired of, we rented an amazing duplex apartment on the Pantheon square, with bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and a kitchen and living area downstairs; it even had a washer and dryer. It truly doesn’t get any better than that. We took in the Coliseum and the Spanish Steps. And. We. Shopped.

  The most beautiful things in the world are made in Rome—jewelry, pocketbooks, clothes—everywhere you look you see something stylish or artistic. Debbie and I went crazy. What was Mushy interested in? She found a store that sold iPhone covers made in China. Seriously, with everything in the city to choose from, this is what she homed in on? She bought a few of these, but long after we had left that shop, she was still thinking about them. Her granddaughters all have phones, and she kept thinking she should have gotten more iPhone covers for them. Debbie and I thought she was nuts, but, hey, this was her birthday expedition and whatever made her happy, we were game for. After a while obsessing, she decided she wanted to go back to that store, but we couldn’t find it. We walked up and down and around and round, wasting hours of our Roman holiday on a shop with “Made in China” iPhone covers. And the biggest irony was that, once we were back in New Jersey and she put the covers on actual phones, there was something about them that actually prevented the phone from working properly. All that drama for these things that didn’t even work. Debbie and I cracked up.

  But back to our Italian adventure, Mushy wanted to take the double-decker tourist bus around the city, and so we did. It was one of those where you pay for the bus once but can get off or on at various points to get a closer look at the attractions or shops. We kept asking Mushy if she wanted to get off to see various sights, but she never did. She just enjoyed sitting on the top of the bus, viewing everything. She had a great time, and that’s all that mattered to us.

  On Sunday, Debbie and I wanted to go to church, but it was near the end of our stay, and Mushy—being the good German that she is—wanted to tidy up her things before going home. She decided to stay at the apartment and do laundry, which Debbie and I couldn’t help laughing about. I have to digress once more here. We have a wonderful girlfriend group in New Jersey, called the PPP. I can’t say what the initials stand for or the other girls would feed me to the fishes. Once we all decided to go to the Jersey Shore and rent a couple of hotel rooms. The weather wasn’t super-hot, as it was September; summer was over, but it was still nice enough for the beach. We all took the bare minimum, except for Mushy. She made ten trips to her car for bags, chips, groceries, bottles of vodka—she could have stayed for a month and not have had to go shopping. Mushy is always over-prepared and over-the-top. Even when making dinner for friends, she could use the food she’d prepared for a banquet. She always makes enough for two hundred people. We all laugh and bring containers because we know there is going to be food to take home. We make fun of her mercilessly, but we love her to death and she knows it.

  Debbie and I had originally only planned to visit the church, which is just out-and-out gorgeous. But once we got there, we ended
up staying for Mass and wandered around for a while afterward. We got back to the apartment a good bit later than we had planned, and Mushy was waiting for us.

  “Why did you come back and then go back out without asking me if I wanted to go with you?” was the first thing out of her mouth. We had no idea what she was talking about. “I was in the shower while the laundry was running and I heard youse come upstairs—I heard you laughing. But then you left before I got out of the shower.”

  Debbie and I looked at each other and Debbie said, very solemnly, “Cornelia,” (that’s Mushy’s real name), “we never came back till just now. I don’t know what you heard, but I promise you, it wasn’t us.” Mushy was beside herself. She said, “I definitely heard someone come in, come upstairs. And I heard laughing. Someone was in the bedroom, outside the bathroom door. This is totally freaking me out.” She then explained how, when she went to take her shower, she didn’t know how to lock the downstairs door—it had a funny kind of a latch—so she just put the chain on. When she came down from her shower, after hearing someone come in, she saw that the chain was still on the door. She couldn’t figure out how we’d come in and gone out, getting in with the chain on the door, then somehow fastening it again after we left. It seemed impossible, yet she had been sure it was us.

  I had to bite my tongue. Mushy was already upset. I didn’t want to put gasoline on the fire by suggesting there had been some dead people watching her shower!

  On a trip to Ireland, John and I visited Blarney Castle—yes, the one with the stone that is supposed to give anyone kissing it the gift of gab. I have a fear of heights, so there was no frickin’ way that I was going to climb up there, bend over backward, and kiss that stone. And, frankly, I’m pretty sure that nobody would suggest that I needed to kiss that stone. I think I’m already notorious for my gift of gab. But John wanted to go up and tour the castle, so I said this was fine and I’d just keep my feet on the ground and wander around the gardens.

  I must tell you that the gardens at Blarney Castle were as green as green could be. I know Ireland is notorious for being green, but this was truly much more vivid than anywhere I’d been in my life. What stood out for me were the hydrangea bushes. They seemed to flourish there in that climate. In the mountains in New Jersey, where I live, I have planted hydrangeas, but they are so temperamental. They never seem to do well, and I only ever get a couple of flowers on them. I’m actually thinking of just taking them out because they always disappoint me. But in the castle gardens, the hydrangeas were covered in lush blooms. And such an unusual color, they almost looked “antique” to me. They weren’t a bright blue or bright pink but a more muted combination of both blue and pink, really the most beautiful color.

  As I walked, I could not help admiring the castle, even if I was only taking in its exterior. But at one point I saw someone waving to me from a second-floor window and, while I could not actually see the person, I assumed it was John and waved back.

  After a while, John rejoined me outside. Just to confirm my assumption, I said, “So, was that you waving to me from the second floor?”

  He said, “No, I wasn’t on the second floor. I didn’t wave to you.”

  I said, “Huh. I wonder who that was? I saw someone waving to me while I was walking in the garden.”

  John said, “Well, it couldn’t have been someone on the second floor, because that floor is closed.”

  I said, “It was definitely the second floor,” and John said, “Well, I don’t see how. I just took the tour, and that part of the castle is closed. You can’t go in.”

  Needless to say, I found this strange, so when we saw a tour guide, I asked him, “My husband said that the second floor of the castle is closed. Can you tell me why that is?”

  He said, rather strangely, “I don’t have an answer that I can give you.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. I said, “Well, I saw someone on that floor—they waved to me.” He just smiled.

  John and I have taken a number of cruises together over the years, but we took a different sort of cruise in England with another couple—a two-week tour on a canal boat. That is, a haunted canal boat.

  These boats are very small, with a little galley, a little salon, two bedrooms that are meant to sleep two people in a large “twin” bed, and a small bunk area that is meant for a child to sleep in. The two-adults-in-a-large twin was not working out at all for me, so I was using the kid’s bunk to sleep in, leaving the slightly larger bed to John. The small child’s area had a shelf opposite the bed, and I stowed my luggage and clothes there. When they talk about “ship shape” meaning neat, you soon understand why it’s necessary. There just isn’t any room for a mess!

  Even though the quarters were tight, I felt very comfortable in this little bunk. And very cared for, too. Each night when I’d turn in, I could feel someone pull the covers up around me, tucking me in. With my background, this wasn’t something I found upsetting—really, it was just sweet and comforting to me.

  The canal we were traveling was a narrow waterway with woods on both sides. From time to time, the boat would dock and we’d get off to explore one of the towns along the way. At Stratford, for instance, we walked up a little path from the canal onto the cobbled streets to visit tiny shops. There was also an outdoor market selling fruits and vegetables and lots of local handmade things, like dresses and sweaters, potholders, and doilies. All these towns also seemed to have phenomenal bakeries. My favorite treat was meringue. It’s virtually all egg white and sugar, but at different places they would make it in different shapes and all different sizes. Terrible for me, but I love it.

  One day we were docked and were on shore, checking out the attractions and shops. After a meal, we returned to the boat to sleep. As I mentioned, I had all my clothes stowed on the small shelves across from the bed, but when I got to my little area, I saw my nightgown on the bed, folded perfectly. But even better was what happened the next morning. After I woke up, I got dressed and went out to the galley to have breakfast with John and our friends. When I came in, John said off-handedly, “Why’d you get out of bed with me last night?”

  I asked, “What do you mean?”

  He said, “Well, you were in bed with me and then at one point, you got up and left.”

  I said, “No I didn’t, John. I was sleeping where I was before, in the kid’s bed.”

  He was adamant, saying, “Come on, Concetta. I know you were in bed with me at first. I felt you next to me. I could feel you spooning me.”

  I said, “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I was not in bed with you. I think that must have been a ghost.”

  John has come a long way over the years with me, from skeptic to “almost believer,” but this was too much for him. He got all flustered and said, “Oh okay, I guess I must have been dreaming.” I had to laugh.

  You may never have experienced anything as dramatic as these stories, but sometimes the dead folks are literally just passing through. Recently I was in Florida, sleeping in a hotel. In the middle of the night, I felt someone on top of me, with pressure on my shoulder as if someone was trying to get me to turn over. I was alone in bed, so I knew it was a spirit. This was at an ordinary beach hotel, not especially haunted, but then, a spirit can be anywhere they have some connection to. The feeling did not last long before they were on their way. I said a prayer, “Be with God,” both to benefit this soul and to protect myself.

  In all honesty, I don’t know why certain spirits opt to visit in this way. Is it karmic? Is it simply opportunity? My best guess is that the loving spirits are ones we have known and who care for us, even if we were not in an exclusive loving relationship with them on this side. Maybe in a past lifetime we were. The times we need to be able to protect ourselves are whenever we encounter a heavy, dark, negative-energy spirit. If you ever have this type of experience, just remember that God said, “He who asks in my name shall receive.
” So, if you need help getting rid of an unwanted visitor, you need to give God a shout.

  I have one more story to tell about being kissed by a ghost, and this one is very important to me. Shortly before I was to do my first-ever public show, my father crossed to the other side. Of course I missed him terribly, but he came to me right away to let me know that he was with my brother Harold, so I knew all was well with him. He kissed me very gently on the lips. For me the feeling was simply miraculous, and I am so grateful to have had this experience.

  Then, just a few weeks after that, at my first show, I could feel my father’s presence so strongly. I can barely describe just how strongly his presence permeated the room. It was overwhelming. I could feel all the love he had for me just enveloping me in the embrace of his energy.

  But later, in the car going home, it was Mushy who turned to me and said, “Concetta. Pop was there. Did you feel him?” She was simply beaming. Mushy has been my longest-term and best friend, since we were little girls. I’ve always been able to confide in her regarding my spiritual experiences. But she herself has never been at all spiritually oriented. Just not her thing. It was amazing to me to see her so spiritually lifted, enlightened, and touched that way. The light was all around her; she was just touched with joy. I want everyone to know that this kind of experience is truly possible for anyone, whether they believe they are spiritual or not. The love and grace from the other side touches us all.

  Chapter 11

  Believe It or Not

  Very surprisingly, there are still skeptics in this world when it comes to psychic ability. Shocking, right? Well, God love ’em. My own husband was one, and I love him dearly, so I’ve had long practice being at peace about this. I always say that I don’t mind anyone having their doubts, but I appreciate it when a doubting Thomas will at least keep an open mind. I’ve changed many minds in the time I’ve been doing this work. I stand by my ability and I promise you 100 percent that, if I tell you I’ve heard something, seen something, smelled something, or felt something, then I’ve heard it, seen it, smelled, or felt it. I’m not reading anyone’s mind; it’s the spirits showing me everything. Without them, I wouldn’t have a clue.