Someone's Spirit Is Someone Else's Ghost

When I was in college, I heard about a haunted mansion in the town I was in. Being young and full of bottomless curiousity, among other things, on a wintery Sunday afternoon, I talked my girlfriend and two roomates into going to investigate. Peter, my friend, as well as roomate, was much like me, and definitely excited to play ghost hunter. Michele, my girlfriend, really did not have any desire to go in the least, but came along, anyway. Jeff, my other roomate came along, but as it turned out was too scared to enter the house.
Anyway, moving the story along, it was an old mansion, and hadn't been lived in for awhile. The surviving family, however, was having renovations done, with the intent of living in it again. At that time, the windows and doors were boarded up. Being the foolish, and somewhat reckless youths that we were, Peter and I pried the plywood off of a side door, and entered the house along with the reluctant Michele, who when not protesting, was trying to pull me back by tugging on my hand.
I remember it being very dark inside. The only light we had was a flashlight. We went through most of first floor, except for the very front of the house, and then made our way upstairs. Peter entered every room, while Michele held me back by refusing to let go of my hand, although I would stand in the doorway of each room as Peter looked inside. Until, we reached a particular doorway on the second floor. I didn't have any idea why at the time, but I stopped several feet from the doorway, and Peter did not cross the threshold. It was like we were being pushed back. It was right at that moment that Michele, stopped tugging on my hand, and later said that was when she stopped being anxious about being there.
Later, back at the apartment that I shared with Peter and Jeff, Michele and I were having tea in the kitchen, and we started talking about our experience in the mansion. We both ended up describing a tall, dark haired man we both had seen in our mind's eye, standing in that doorway in dark riding clothes, and holding a riding crop (used to sometimes whip as well as control horses). But the message he conveyed was different for each of us. In my mind's eye he appeared as threatening, as if to say, leave, you don't belong here. But for Michele, he had a calming effect. She stopped being afraid, like he was telling her, it's alright, don't worry.
And, yes, we did confirm more or less, that he was the late owner of the house. We had a friend who grew up in that town, and knew the family. He recognized our description of this revenant (ghost) as being the former owner of the mansion. 
Unlike some of the tall tales I have told here, this one happens to be a true story. And actually, one that is a happy memory for me, because of that time of my life, and the company I was fortunate to have.