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The most vivid encounter I've had with a ghost happened at my old house. It was the middle of the night, and I was walking down the hallway to the restroom. (Sidenote: I was sleeping in the living room at the time. The hallway led to the other rooms in the house. It was a small house.) My parents' bedroom door was open, and I saw an icy blue figure standing over here, comforting her. The figure appeared to be gently patting her shoulder. I stood in the hallway for a moment and rubbed my eyes. The figure was still there. I whispered a hello to it, and it turned to look at me. Moments later, it stood up and walked away. In the morning I described the figure to my mom and she said it looked like her grandma from what I said about it. She showed me a picture and sure enough, it was her. I saw her one other time at the old place while we were moving. One of the last days in the house, I saw her briefly in the same place as before.
Other than her, I've only heard what sounded like people whispering jumbles of words and faint shadows. But those might go along with the whole living near a cemetary feel. Since I've lived here, only one other time have I had an encounter of sorts.
I do believe ghosts are real. Ghosts, spirits, however you want to call them, I do believe they are among us. They just don't always choose to interact with us.

I believe that technology is so advanced now, and there are so many paranormal documentaries and movies now, that if a ghost walked into the Oval Office in broad daylight in front of President Obama, no one would know whether it was real or not.

As for me, I have only had one experience, but it terrified me to the point of tears.

When I was about 12 or so, my parents were asleep in there room, my sisters and I were in my oldest sister's room, playing who-knows-what. We heard a noise, like a loud thump, but thought it nothing but our parents.Then it got deathly cold, which was strange because it was the dead of summer and our A/C was busted. My sisters and I continued to play and my younger sister, who was about 5 at the time poked me and said, "Hannah! the cross!" In what you could think would be only a cheesy horror flick fashion, the silver cross on the wall above my sister's bed was hovering in mid-air. All of a sudden it flew across the room and in to my sister's closet, which at the time had no door. We told our parents what happened, but naturally they blamed our vast imaginations.Nothing ever happened in that house as long as we lived there, and as many times as we searched, we never found that cross.

I like to think of myself as a fairly 'sensitive' person to the things around me that I can't see. So far, I've only had 2 experiences that shook me to the core, and have led me to believe that ghosts, to some degree, do exist.

The first was when I was young. I was staying with my grandparents and my father for a short holiday. I rarely spent time with him, so, being young, I asked if I could sleep in the bed with my dad that weekend. He wasn't the soundest of sleepers, so I was awake most of the time I was there. After a while, I felt the bed start to shake. Not the frame of it, just the mattress, as if there were an earthquake or something going on. Living in the deep south, we're not known for having them frequently, so I was kinda disturbed. Moving from the bed, I went to go sleep with my mom instead, knowing that with her at least I would be safe. While I was in the hallway, I heard this soft singing, ethereal and lovely. It calmed me, and so when I went to rest with Mom, I felt okay. In the morning, I talked to my dad about it, and he explained that it was the ghosts that haunted the house.

The second occasion was a few years ago. My husband and I were looking for sites to get married at, and I had toyed with the idea of an outdoor wedding. We went to visit a beautiful place on the way to Beaufort called Old Sheldon Church. It had been burned down a long time ago, and just the brick ruins and the graves behind it still stood. Walking along, I looked at the different graves, reading names and dates. I came to a young boy's stone, he was 5 or 6 when he died. It absolutely broke my heart, and I mourned for his short life. After a moment, I felt a cold chill on my hand, and what I saw in my head was that young boy holding it. I got the strangest thought that he wanted his mother, and wanted me to take that place. I creeped out and demanded that we leave right then, in a fit of terror. It took me an hour before I was settled back down again. To this day, I don't want to go to back to Old Sheldon Church.