My mother's tale of a relative's home in East Texas was a remarkable story to hear on one of those rare occasions when the family was gathered around the fireplace or snuggled under blankets on the sofa and in the mood for such talk. As I remember, it was usually around the Halloween holiday. The relative's home was apparently haunted -- to some respect -- as one particular bedroom was subject to strange sounds in the night -- the un-nerving sound of an oncoming train, whistle blowing at a distance at first, then ever nearer until the sound passed right over the bed!
My mother's aunt (as I recall) wasn't bothered by the recurring incidents, or had somehow adjusted to the odd occurences. But guests were never offered the room, except for visiting relatives who stayed in the bedroom to experience the unlikely story. Mom said they never spent a second night in the bedroom!
But I suppose the best family ghost story came from my father, who as a youth traveled with his father to various rural locations to conduct agricultural business. A farmer by trade, my grandfather apparently partnered with nearby relatives from time to time, requiring occasional visits.
On one such journey, when my father was apparently around 12 years old, they disembarked a train headed to Texarkana, Arkansas, at a small stop on the backroads of east Texas. There was no hotel in the small burg, but the rail attendant told my grandfather there was a deserted house just a short way down the road that people occasionally used when caught in a similar predicament. The next train through that was headed in the right direction didn't roll around until just before dawn the next morning, so my grandfather inquired about directions to the abandoned home. My father reported my grandfather didn't seem at all surprised when the attendant told him the empty house was haunted.
It was just about dark when they arrived at the house, which my father described as large and run down. In addition to its emptiness, dust covered the floor. Carefully entering through the partially-open front door, my grandfather picked a spot not too far inside the first large room behind the door. Clearing a place of dust and spreading a blanket, the two figures stretched out and watched the dying rays of daylight through the glassless windows.
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