In a rare, soul-stirring interview, Richard Carpenter quietly opened up about something he had never shared publicly before — a series of late-night moments that defy explanation but bring him comfort: encounters with the ghost of his beloved sister, Karen Carpenter.
“I know how it sounds,” Richard said softly, his voice full of hesitation. “But some nights… I swear, she’s there.”
According to Richard, the visits began in the early 2000s — decades after Karen’s tragic passing in 1983. He describes them not as terrifying hauntings, but as gentle, peaceful presences—moments filled with light, music, and a strange sense of homecoming.
“The first time, I was at the piano. It was late—past midnight. I was playing around with a chord progression we never finished,” he recalled. “And suddenly, I felt this warmth behind me. I didn’t turn around right away. I didn’t have to. I knew it was her.”
Richard says the experiences are rare and always fleeting. Sometimes, it’s a shadow in the corner of his studio. Other times, it’s a voice—soft, distant, but unmistakably Karen’s—humming the first lines of “We’ve Only Just Begun.”
“Once, I even heard her laugh,” he whispered. “The same laugh from when we were kids in Downey. And for just a second… I felt 17 again.”
While he stops short of calling them supernatural, Richard says these moments feel like messages from somewhere beyond the veil. He believes Karen is at peace—and that she comes not to haunt, but to remind him that their bond transcends time.
“I think she visits to tell me it’s okay. That she forgives me for the things I couldn’t protect her from. That she knows I still love her.”
In his twilight years, Richard says he no longer fears the end. Instead, he finds hope in the idea that love doesn’t die—it lingers, it echoes, and sometimes… it returns at night.
“When the house is still, and the music fades,” he said, “sometimes, just sometimes, I hear her say… ‘Sing it again, Richard.’ And I do.”
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