The following is a former winner of the Amazing but Incredibly True Story Contest.
Copyright G.E. Reynolds, 1997
It has been years since I was a volunteer Tour Guide at Ashland, the Kentucky home of Henry Clay Lexington, but during the time that I was I had several experiences with the house spirits who reside there. The following are the two most involved of my encounters.
THE GATHERING:
I was often alone in the house, and one foggy, rainy day before Thanksgiving I was the sole Guide scheduled for duty. Since there was only the slimmest chance tourists would visit that day, I took stationery and a good book to keep myself occupied. I began writing a letter and soon decided to warm up with a cup of tea, so started toward the kitchen. No food was kept in the house, but I was suddenly enveloped in the most tantalizing aroma of baking spices. I was certain one of the staff must have forgotten a delicious dessert. The longer I stayed in the kitchen the stronger the mouth watering scents became, so I began searching. Not a crumb was discovered, not even in the garbage can, but the wonderful scent of spices was strong and lingering.
Back at my post I began to write again. In a short time there was a hint of gardenia perfume wafting toward me and an impression of someone reading over my shoulder. The longer it went on the more impatient I became with the snooping presence. Without thinking, I said, "Don't you know it's impolite to read someone else's letters?" It was then I realized I might have been able to communicate with this spirit, since she was obviously as curious about me as I was about her. However, it was too late, the gardenia scent had immediately dissipated.
One of the responsibilities of my position was to walk the first floor two or three times during an eight hour period. The reasoning behind this was to check several of the windows and doors, which had a mysterious tendency to unlock themselves. During that day's inspections, I found myself following a faint trail of the gardenia perfume. I thought I might redeem myself by apologizing, but my attempts to befriend and make her come closer were not rewarded. She eventually disappeared altogether.
Nothing else happened for several hours. I was undisturbed and deeply absorbed in my book. Slowly, I became aware of the winter parlor floor squeaking loudly, directly over my head. Since we would occasionally find that a squirrel or chipmunk had made its way down from the attic, we were supposed to discover what had gotten in, then call for the groundskeeper to remove it. This day the noises didn't sound a bit like tiny critter scampers, so I was a bit worried someone might have broken in through an upper window. There was nothing in the house I would have dared use in my defense, but I told myself I had to see what was going on upstairs, I was just a little jumpy because of the other happenings.
Worried and determined, I quietly managed the first half of the flight, aware that I would soon be able to see what or who was on the second floor, yet still have a chance to escape down the stairs, if necessary. I started across the landing and was assaulted by Essence of Lilac. The redolence was so powerful that I was only capable of managing three steps on the next flight of stairs before it became impossible to breathe. Obviously, no living creature was there. I turned back and started downstairs, seemingly to the delight of a roomful of female spirits...they were giggling. The happy gathering on the second floor went on another hour before the floor finally stopped squeaking.
The Clay family lived at Ashland over several generations, so my only guess as to why there were so many active spirits in the house that day is because of the holiday.
HENRY CLAY:
One of my duties was to ready the house for visitors, which included opening the heavy wood blinds in each of the main floor rooms. Henry Clay used one of the bedrooms on that floor during the latter part of his life; whenever entering that room, I always said, "Good morning, Henry". I never expected him to answer, it just felt like the right thing to do.
I eventually left Ashland to take a paying position. Two years after that my husband and I decided to do some Christmas shopping on a level of Lexington's Civic Center we had never before visited. Without warning, we both began to smell strong spices. It was the same spicy aroma I had smelled that day at Ashland, and it had a strangely powerful impact on me. A semi-non-believer, my husband said he remembered me telling him about the event and wanted to prove that there had to be a logical explanation. We split up to search, agreeing to meet at the top of the escalators once we were finished.
After poking my nose in every shop and restaurant, and finding nothing on my side of the building, I headed back for our meeting. My husband was approaching the site, grinning. From his expression, I was positive he had found the "logical" source. "Which store did you find the smell in," I asked. He grinned harder, and said, "Trust me. Don't say anything, justclose your eyes and let me take you somewhere." And though I felt like an idiot, I did as he asked, with the spicy scent becoming stronger as we walked.
When I was instructed to open my eyes, I was standing in front of a protective wood and glass display case, designed to hold oil paintings. There, smiling face looking down at us, was Henry Clay. My husband said,"I guess he's finally returning all your morning greetings."
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