As mentioned earlier, last night I went on a ghost tour at the Merchant's House Museum in the East Village, called "Manhattan's most haunted" by Time Magazine.
It was pretty interesting, especially because I had a ghostly encounter of my own.
Seriously.
While in the first room of the tour (the room where Gertrude Tredwell, the house's most famous and active ghost, was born; also, the room where she died), something touched me on the side of the head. It wasn't a light cobweb or a small insect or anything very faint, I felt my hairs move apart and something poked me.
I knew it wasn't Sarah, since she was standing in front of me, so I turned around. Now I highly doubt it was the usherette or one of the few guests standing there, and since this wasn't one of those ghost tours where people dress up in costumes and scare you, I'm willing to believe it was Gertrude.
Later on in the tour, they mentioned how last year, during a chorale concert in the house, one singer felt himself get poked in the ribs three times. And this coincided with several guests witnessing an elderly woman arrive, sit in one of the old chairs, and watch the concert.
So maybe Gertrude likes to poke people, I dunno.
True story, but weird.
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