When we moved the Chronicle from our bedroom to a little house in Lexington, we were in for a surprise.

The house was just right for a start-up newspaper ... and it was haunted. Our ghost we affectionately named Mr.

Our ghost we affectionately named Mr. Quincy for the man who built the house/

Quincy Wingard must have been a skilled craftsman because the house he built for his bride in the early days of the last century was still standing even after the tornados of 1994 hit and took off part of its roof.

MR. QUINCY’S AGING house had a kitchen, wooden stairs and a claw-foot tub in the upstairs john that gave it even more charm.

We had several parties there for advertisers, subscribers and other friends. It was a good way to engage our community.

Kristen and Richard Hook rented it to us.

Kristen’s father, former prosecutor Phil Wingard, had used it as his office years ago.

Our early recognition that something other-worldly was going on involved our phone system. The downstairs console controlled all the phone lines in the house.

If someone picked up a phone, it would light up on the console.

OUR OFFICE MANAGER Hilda Crain began noticing the lights on upstairs lines blinking on ... with no one up there.

Hilda joked that Mr. Quincy was trying to make a call to someone.

Hilda told us she could occasionally hear someone walking around upstairs. When she went to investigate, no one was there.

One Saturday we were putting together an extra large edition of the Chronicle.

Wanda Sightler had come in to help.

Wanda wrote our Lexington Yesterday column for many years. She was a talented sketch artist, too. She did the drawing of the house you see above this column.

Wanda was in the upstairs bathroom when she saw a shadow pass across the light under the edge of the door. When she opened the door, no one was there.

ONE NIGHT OUR son Mark was at the house working on a term paper for a class at Carolina. He was alone in the house when he heard steps on the stairs.

He knew I had gone to cover a town council meeting and figured it was me.

When no one appeared, he searched through the upstairs rooms, then down stairs, too. No one was there.

At least no one any of us could see.

One afternoon, MacLeod had been upstairs checking on pages for the next week’s edition. As she started down the stairs, Mr. Quincy showed himself.

An image of a little man’s face appeared in a window pane on the stair landing for just a second. Then it dissolved.

NONE OF US know how to explain any of this. Mr. Quincy, if it was his ghost, seemed to be having fun teasing us. He never did anything malevolent or re

He never did anything malevolent or really threatening. He just let us know he was keeping an eye on his house.

Now we are in JJ Barker’s former real estate office on Swartz Road, just off US l.

JJ must be happy wherever he is because we don’t seem to have a ghost.

Frankly, I miss Mr. Quincy.

Next: Heal yourself

Chronicle Editor Emeritus Jerry Bellune is the author of more than 15 books. His new book, “The Art of Compelling Writing” is due soon). Advance orders at $20 are being accepted at 803-331-6695.