Haunted by Emotion: Why Ghosts Linger Where Pain Lives
What if ghost stories are not just about fear? What if they are attracted to our emotions?
A family secret. A betrayal. A death too painful to speak of. Countless traumas and daily stressors weigh on our minds, stealing our peace and turning our dreams into nightmares. No one is immune to anguish, fear, or anger, and anyone who claims otherwise is fooling themselves. And while happiness and joy are just as profound, they tend to be harder to maintain and are often fleeting. Negative feelings are stronger, quicker to rise, and linger with ease, banishing delight and enjoyment from our lives. If not dispelled, this unrest will poison our thoughts and bleed into every aspect of our being.
Not only that, but this darker emotional energy can taint the very atmosphere around us. Our homes, workplaces, and even the great outdoors can become polluted by our presence. Those who associate with sufferers of resentment, dread, and heartache can attest that they emanate a palpable aura like a dense fog, repelling joy, thickening the air, and influencing the moods of others.
Given that souls rarely pass under happy circumstances, it makes sense that wandering spirits would gravitate toward such familiar energy. This is why ghostly encounters are most often associated with negative emotions. Restless spirits are drawn to misery, like moths to a flame, congregating in areas where people have experienced the most pain, rage, and grief. The more intense the anguish, the stronger the haunt becomes. Though all of us are sensitive—whether or not we admit it—to their ghostly presence, few stop to wonder why they are there.
This idea is hardly new. Throughout history, cultures have drawn the same connection between spirits and emotions. The Victorians, obsessed with séances, believed grief cracked the veil between worlds. In Japan, the yūrei—restless ghosts—are said to linger when bound by rage or sorrow. And in Mexico’s Día de los Muertos, ancestors are welcomed back through joy, love, and remembrance, showing that emotion itself can be a bridge between the living and the dead. Since these traditions span centuries and continents, perhaps there is more truth to the idea than we realize.
Growing up, I was often told I was too sensitive, too intense, too odd because I could recognize the emotional energy of every space I entered—an almost tangible sensation, like watching through cobwebs. Happy places felt warm and inviting, sad places felt heavy, and angry places were icy cold—even if vacant. The denser and colder the atmosphere, the more crowded the space felt, as if filled by unseen entities. Though I do not claim to see ghosts, I cannot dismiss the sensation that has followed me.
Consider, for example, the countless stories of abandoned farmhouses, shuttered hospitals, or deserted battlefields. People who visit such places often describe the air as thick, heavy, and cold, as though dozens of unseen eyes are watching—echoing my own experiences. Footsteps echo louder than they should, and silence feels crowded. Accounts like these suggest that emotions do not vanish; they linger—absorbed into walls, soil, and air, leaving behind an invisible but undeniable presence.
Over time, I have come to accept that my sensitivity is not a weakness but a strength—an ability to perceive emotional undercurrents others might overlook. And though I no longer speak openly about such experiences, electing to avoid alienating those less attuned, I have learned to channel my perceptions into storytelling. Thus, I share my understanding through ink and paper, connecting with others who also sense the weight of unseen forces.
Ghosts may be feared, ignored, or banished to the realm of stories, but that does not mean they aren’t real. What’s more, they are not chained to earth simply by unfinished business, but by the resonance of human emotion—the grief, anger, and sorrow we leave behind. Until we learn to master our feelings, they will continue to haunt us, beckoned by the cold, dark chambers of our hearts.
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J.M. Shaw lives in Airdrie, Alberta, with her husband and two young children. She and her family embarked upon a journey of understanding, acceptance, and life-long learning when they discovered their shared diagnosis of autism and ADHD. Writing is her passion and, with experience and interests in healthcare, psychology, martial arts, and personal training, she pours her unique insights and knowledge into all her creative fictions.
