All that ghost talk preposterous — isn't it?

We don't believe in ghosts — do we? There's no way a spirit can possibly get back here from there, wherever there might be. It's simply impossible. The very idea defies rational thought, scientific evidence and an accurate perception of reality. Or do we simply claim such as a cavalier mechanism to protect our own doubts about the matter?

I'm just asking. But who among us is capable of bedding down alone in one of these ancient houses we have around here and not just ... wonder a little, particularly following the unexpected creak or disturbance of some sort?

Oh, please, you say. What utterly ridiculous, preposterous, superstitious humbug. And I'm sure that's entirely correct. And, of course, you could sleep just as peacefully in the middle of a graveyard by yourself as anywhere else. Certainly you could, as the great horned owls serenade away the hours, while the moonlight cutting through boughs of Spanish moss flickers eerily across the landscape.

I introduce this topic because some perfectly intelligent and "normal" people swear to have had ghostly encounters right here in the Holy City. People with whom many of you probably are mutually friendly.

Take, for example, a lady I know who is the epitome of the no-nonsense, curmudgeonly grande dame, who does not suffer fools gladly or tolerate undue foolishness, yet who can describe in vivid detail at least three ghostly encounters.

The first was when she moved into the family manse. It was late at night and she was up taking care of paperwork and other administrative duties pertaining to the recent move, when out of the drawing room came the sound of swishing dresses and the murmur of voices.

Intrigued, she ventured across the hallway, opened the door, and immediately sensed a mysterious "presence," a cool waft of air, and perhaps the strain of chamber music. But it was a calming presence, and the lady interpreted the event as a welcoming sign from ancestral lineage that had paid a ghostly yet hospitable visitation upon the house. Unalarmed, she retired to bed and slept soundly.

A few years later, while downstairs on the ground floor, she was going through her semiannual ritual of changing pocketbooks, in this case from winter style to spring. Standing beside a four-poster, she dumped the contents of the winter pocketbook onto the mattress, turned and went to the closet to retrieve the desired replacement. While transferring her belongings, she noticed that the wallet was missing.

But this was impossible. It was right there! She had just seen it, right after pouring it onto the bed. What in the world could have happened? She frantically searched high and low, but nothing turned up. So she concluded with a sigh that it was simply "lost," that what she thought she had seen wasn't the wallet, that it must have somehow been misplaced, perhaps during the morning's errands.

My lady friend interviewed the cook and grandchildren, but nothing came of it, and efforts to retrace her whereabouts were fruitless. The wallet was gone and that was that, meaning the hassle of getting a new driver's license, canceling out and replacing credit cards and so forth.

About a decade later, this same lady was on the ground floor, going through the semiannual ritual of changing pocketbooks, again from winter style to spring. Standing beside the same four-poster, she shook out the contents and turned to find something appropriate for the season. When she came back to the bedside, there, right on the mattress, were two wallets instead of one.

What? This couldn't be! She knew only one wallet was in the winter pocketbook. There was no way she could have gone an entire season and not noticed a second wallet. She was absolutely and unequivocally certain of it.

Upon inspection, it was a shock to realize that the other wallet was her old one, the same that had mysteriously disappeared 10 years previously. Everything was absolutely intact, including cash contents, driver's license and credit cards. (I'm not making this up!) This lady is now convinced that a poltergeist absconded with her wallet, only to return it after a suitably confounding period of time.

"But don't you think this was just a strange coincidence, that somehow the wallet was there all along?" I asked.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" she huffed. "I'm perfectly aware of my surroundings and am not senile!"

Strange. Very strange, indeed. Surely there are conventional explanations for both of these events. And oddly enough, the third tale is even more baffling than the others, but, alas, space limitations preclude my telling it.

But we needn't waste our time on such matters. It's all a lot of baloney. But, of course, it is.

Isn't it?

Edward M. Gilbreth is a Charleston physician. Reach him at edwardgilbreth@comcast.net.