Does a little boy's spirit live on?

I'm a writer of stories with the ones appearing on news sites as true. This one has truth in it, but I cannot verify the main premise. And that's because there's no scientific proof of ghosts.

Does the ghost of a young relative killed at the age of five in a car-train wreck at the Park Avenue crossing in 1918 remain at the house of my great-grandparents in the Old Orange Historic District?

The child was the son of my grandmother's sister, Zollie Bland Roan, and her husband, Wright B. Roan. The only name I heard relatives use for the child Wright B. Roan, Jr., was Little Wright B.

My great-grandparents moved into the house in 1906. By the time I was born, my great-grandfather and my grandfather had died. My great-grandmother and her daughter, my grandmother, lived in the house until I was 15. I spent a lot of time in the house growing up and spent a lot of nights there. As far back as I can remember, I said there was a ghost.

But were my memories only by an imaginative kid in a big old house with lots of dark wood? The big Victorian-style furniture, including a dining room buffet with carved lion heads roaring, was a bit frightening in the dark. Plus the painting of wolves by Little Wright B.'s mother didn't help the spookiness of the setting.

I'll never forget the time I screamed at a ghost. I was probably about eight years old and playing with toys in the entry way using the glow of the lights from the living room, where my father and grandmother were.

That "ghost" was my great-grandmother. She was in her 80s and had already gone to bed. Apparently, she heard the voices and got up to check. I saw her tiny figure coming down a dark hallway. She was wearing a white nightgown with her long white hair, usually in a tight bun, hanging almost to her knees. Yes, it was scary.

My cousin, Julian Thomas Garrett, remembers living there with his parents for a while when he was young. He would play in the storeroom upstairs. He would turn off the light in the room, only to have it go back on.

All the cousins played in that room. It was full of old trunks with old hats, clothes, books, and toys. Untold treasures of the past. We also all joked about the ghost staying in that room, which usually had the door closed. But sometimes the door was open.

A second set of owners of the house also claimed to see ghosts. They were Marie and Major Inman Jr., who moved there with their daughter, Sally, in 1968 after my great-grandmother died. My grandmother then moved into the smaller house next door that she and my grandfather had built in the 1920s. Major Inman served as mayor of Orange in the 1980s and pushed to build the first riverwalk.

Marie Inman often told of the time a friend of Sally's came to visit. Instead of using the back or side door as most people did, the girl went to the front door and rang. They family hollered for her to come inside. But they never saw her.

They learned she had run home because of a young boy in strange clothes. The girl came into the house at the front door and saw the boy walking down the stairs. He came up to her, put his hand on her shoulder, and then walked back upstairs.

Mrs. Inman talked about little things like toys or knicknacks being moved. She also said she could sometimes smell flowers. My great-grandmother in January always had fragrant paperwhite narcissist flowers sitting in a vase next to her chair in the living room. Old photographs of the house show climbing roses and window boxes of flowers. I also remember the smell of the climbing small, pink sweetheart roses in the spring.

My great-grandparents were George and Margaret "Maggie" Pevoto Bland. They were teenagers, he was 19 and she was 18, when they married in 1892. The Orange newspaper at the time reported the young couple were married at Green Avenue Baptist Church and the reception was held at the bride's parents' home. They were J.B. and Anna McKenzie Pevoto and lived on Green Avenue where First Presbyterian Church was later build. The town's band serenaded the couple.

The newspaper also reported the groom owned a confectionery on Front Street. The day after the wedding, the young couple took little cakes wrapped in pressed linen napkins by the newspaper office as a "thank you" for the write-ups of their wedding.

My great-grandparents Bland had four daughters when they moved into the year-old house on Tenth Street in 1906. A "late" baby, a daughter would be born eleven years later, after their first grandchild, Little Wright B. Roan, was born.

Their first born was Zollie, born in 1894, my grandmother, Winnie, born in 1895, was the second. Then came Madge and Aileen, followed years later by little Valla. Three of the daughters, including Valla, died within two years.

Zollie's death with her four-year-old son, plus her mother-in-law, in the crash was a shock not only to the family, but to the whole town.

The Orange Leader had a front page story with the headline "Three Killed In Sad Accident" concerning the deadly crash.

Zollie was married to Wright B. Roan Sr., a young automobile mechanic in those early days of cars. Their son was Wright B. Jr., so it was a given that he was called "Little" Wright B.

All the Bland girls were beauties with talents. My great-grandmother taught piano lessons. Her daughters played and were known for their lovely voices. The newspaper reported my great-grandmother would play and with her daughters singing hymns at the Christian Women's Temperance League meetings.

Zollie was also an accomplished painter, mostly in watercolors. My brother has two of her colorful paintings of bird dogs hanging in his home. I have a painting of a bulldog.

Zollie was driving a Ford Model T to show her visiting mother-in-law around town, according to the newspaper story and court testimony in a lawsuit against the railroad company by Zollie's husband, Wright B. Roan Sr.

Mavis Roan, Zollie's 17-year-old sister in law, was sitting in the front passenger seat. Little Wright B. and his paternal grandmother, Lula Roan. Lula and Little Wright B. were thrown out of the car and apparently hit by the train. The train dragged the car almost two blocks streets down before stopping.

That would have put it almost in my great-grandparents backyard. The child and Lula Roan were killed immediately. Zollie died on a train taking her to a Houston hospital. Though Mavis had critical injuries, she survived.

They were traveling west down Park Avenue. Zollie pointed out to her mother-in-law the new house Dr. J.H. Thomas was building. She didn't see the train coming from the north. The railroad crossing is raised and witnesses said it appeared the car may have stalled.

Witnesses, including Mrs. J.H. Thomas and Mavis, said they didn't hear train bell or whistle sound. The time was about 5 in the evening of October 5, 1918. The sun would have been going down. Perhaps it blinded Zollie. No one will ever know.

The bodies of the dead, including LIttle Wright B., were brought to my great-grandparents. It was a house the child would have visited often and played in.

Does he still live there? There's no scientific proof of ghosts. But even people who have lived in the house in more recent years said sometimes people feel a spirit pass them on the stairs.