When I lived in Asheville, there was a ghost in my house. I was young, probably about seven. There was a hallway that loop from our living room to kitchen that all the bedrooms connected to. I remember very distinctly a middle aged woman in a blue floral dress, a white sun hat, and she was holding a small purse. Every once in a while I would see her appear at one end of the hall walk all the way down to the other end and then disappear. She didn’t bother anyone; she was just there. I’ve never been afraid of ghost because of this woman, whoever she was. Someday I’d like to go back to that apartment and see if she is still around.