Just an interesting little note here...
There is a man here in town, that has lots of rental homes. He is a very type A, rich, self-righteous man. He told Rick that he had one house, that is scheduled to be demolished, that he will not go into at night. Rick asked if we could go in some night to take pictures, and use a recording device to try to record EVPs, and he said he would come into town some evening and unlock it for us!
Im sure this won't happen very soon, but I can't wait to get in there!
You can have your roller coasters, and bungee jumping.... THIS is my adrenaline sport!! LOL
Friday, September 15, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Interesting Image
2am this morning, I got up to go to the bathroom.
I saw my camera on the desk, and thought, "What the heck?"
I went out, took one picture.
Then I said, out loud, "IF anyone here wants their picture taken, nows the time." and after a second or two, took another picture.
The first picture showed the typical orbs, like the last ones I took, including one that was much brighter than the others, and not see-through.
There was nothing reflected in the china cabinet.
The second picture, however, showed this, reflected in the glass:
Nothing had changed, from one picture to the next. Nothing around would have made that reflection, and nothing inside.
I got to looking at it, and I can sort of see a face...
Balding man, white collared shirt, black tie... Handlebar mustache... Looking to the left... Can you see that? Seems to be some sort of rope-like thing stringing out behind him, though... scary connections, there...
May be nothing... BUT....
THIS may help you see the face I see....
I saw my camera on the desk, and thought, "What the heck?"
I went out, took one picture.
Then I said, out loud, "IF anyone here wants their picture taken, nows the time." and after a second or two, took another picture.
The first picture showed the typical orbs, like the last ones I took, including one that was much brighter than the others, and not see-through.
There was nothing reflected in the china cabinet.
The second picture, however, showed this, reflected in the glass:
Nothing had changed, from one picture to the next. Nothing around would have made that reflection, and nothing inside.
I got to looking at it, and I can sort of see a face...
Balding man, white collared shirt, black tie... Handlebar mustache... Looking to the left... Can you see that? Seems to be some sort of rope-like thing stringing out behind him, though... scary connections, there...
May be nothing... BUT....
THIS may help you see the face I see....
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Emma: Reader Submission
Two Cents sent me this wonderful story. I think that spirits can really enhance our lives, and occasionally we seem to help them, too.
Thanks Two Cents, I love this!
___________________________
We've lived in many houses over the years. Most of them have had a spirit or two but the most memorable one was about 16 years ago. The house had sat empty for about 5 years but I was desperate to find a cheap place to live. The property manager agreed to do some basic work to make it livable and rent it to me at a decent price. The house itself was a two story/two bedroom, one for us, and one for our 2-year-old son. There was a small open area at the top of the stairs, which we used as a nursery for my newborn daughter. The first floor had a living room with recessed French doors, a dining room with the original build-in hutch and linen closet, a kitchen with a pantry and an entrance foyer. In the foyer was a large natural gas space heater. There was a dirt basement with an old coal chute under the house.
At one time, this had been a beautiful home and as I cleaned room after room, the beauty began to shine again. I noticed things moving from time to time, a rag I left in another room would appear next to me, and window cleaner I hadn't unpacked would show up on the kitchen table. With in a few days I became aware of "female" energy. She was happy and became more so as I brought this house back to life. Soon after I began to see the shape of an older woman, short and stout, dressed in a plain long dress with an apron. I asked her name and what I "got" was Emma. Every time I cleaned or cooked Emma would become more active, touching me or making little air whirl winds around my legs. It got so that I talked to her during the days, as if a friend were there visiting while I did my chores. She visited the children at night. More than once, I saw her over the baby's crib. My son talked about "the Lady" in his room. She would sit on his bed when he woke up in the night. He never seemed afraid of her mostly just comforted.
I was aware of other spirits but none made themselves overly apparent until winter set in. The space heater in the foyer was faulty and would shut it self off occasionally during the day and night. Days weren't too bad as one of us was always there to bleed the line and relight it but at night when it went out the house would get cold very quickly. As winter truly set in we began to hear footsteps during the night. Then they got louder and doors would be heard opening and closing. We finally figured out that one of the "males" was trying to heat the house. The doors were from the basement and the pantry. The footsteps were him trying to bring coal from the chute to the coal furnace that had once been in the pantry.
We ended up moving in the spring because the owner wouldn't fix the heater. Another family moved in after us but only lived there for 6 months and the family after that only made it a few months. It's been empty since then and is boarded over now. Neighborhood rumor has it the house is haunted by "evil" spirits and no one can live there for more that a little while. If I had the money, I'd buy that house and bring it back again. I miss Emma.
__________________________________
We had a house that, althuogh I never "met" the spirits personally, had wonderful, welcoming spirits that blossomed as we fixed up the old house that had been vacant for years. The owner sold it, and they tore it down to build a cotton gin. I always wonder what happened to the spirits that were there.
Thanks Two Cents, I love this!
___________________________
We've lived in many houses over the years. Most of them have had a spirit or two but the most memorable one was about 16 years ago. The house had sat empty for about 5 years but I was desperate to find a cheap place to live. The property manager agreed to do some basic work to make it livable and rent it to me at a decent price. The house itself was a two story/two bedroom, one for us, and one for our 2-year-old son. There was a small open area at the top of the stairs, which we used as a nursery for my newborn daughter. The first floor had a living room with recessed French doors, a dining room with the original build-in hutch and linen closet, a kitchen with a pantry and an entrance foyer. In the foyer was a large natural gas space heater. There was a dirt basement with an old coal chute under the house.
At one time, this had been a beautiful home and as I cleaned room after room, the beauty began to shine again. I noticed things moving from time to time, a rag I left in another room would appear next to me, and window cleaner I hadn't unpacked would show up on the kitchen table. With in a few days I became aware of "female" energy. She was happy and became more so as I brought this house back to life. Soon after I began to see the shape of an older woman, short and stout, dressed in a plain long dress with an apron. I asked her name and what I "got" was Emma. Every time I cleaned or cooked Emma would become more active, touching me or making little air whirl winds around my legs. It got so that I talked to her during the days, as if a friend were there visiting while I did my chores. She visited the children at night. More than once, I saw her over the baby's crib. My son talked about "the Lady" in his room. She would sit on his bed when he woke up in the night. He never seemed afraid of her mostly just comforted.
I was aware of other spirits but none made themselves overly apparent until winter set in. The space heater in the foyer was faulty and would shut it self off occasionally during the day and night. Days weren't too bad as one of us was always there to bleed the line and relight it but at night when it went out the house would get cold very quickly. As winter truly set in we began to hear footsteps during the night. Then they got louder and doors would be heard opening and closing. We finally figured out that one of the "males" was trying to heat the house. The doors were from the basement and the pantry. The footsteps were him trying to bring coal from the chute to the coal furnace that had once been in the pantry.
We ended up moving in the spring because the owner wouldn't fix the heater. Another family moved in after us but only lived there for 6 months and the family after that only made it a few months. It's been empty since then and is boarded over now. Neighborhood rumor has it the house is haunted by "evil" spirits and no one can live there for more that a little while. If I had the money, I'd buy that house and bring it back again. I miss Emma.
__________________________________
We had a house that, althuogh I never "met" the spirits personally, had wonderful, welcoming spirits that blossomed as we fixed up the old house that had been vacant for years. The owner sold it, and they tore it down to build a cotton gin. I always wonder what happened to the spirits that were there.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
The Basement
I think I will go area by area in this house, and tell you a few stories.
First, the basement.
Growing up, I spent 2 years living in the basement bedroom. I would wake up in the middle of the night, terrified, unable to move as if someone was holding me down. My sister and I have both heard voices, both of us have heard a baby cry, and both of us have seen human shaped shadows. My sister tried to stay in the basement bedroom; she didn’t even make it one night before moving back up stairs.
One afternoon I was downstairs taking a shower. I was the only one home, my sister was at our grandparent’s house, and my mom was at work. All of a sudden, a naked Barbie doll came flying over the shower door, hitting me in the head.
I jerked open the doors, but no one was there. I grabbed a towel and opened the bathroom door, but no one was in the next room, or going up the stairs.
Many times, I would go into my room and things were moved around.
Once after Rick and I got married, he was downstairs installing a new water heater. He put all his tools on top of the new water heater, and turned around to get something else. Seconds later, he turned back, and all his tools had been moved to the top of the old water heater.
First, the basement.
Growing up, I spent 2 years living in the basement bedroom. I would wake up in the middle of the night, terrified, unable to move as if someone was holding me down. My sister and I have both heard voices, both of us have heard a baby cry, and both of us have seen human shaped shadows. My sister tried to stay in the basement bedroom; she didn’t even make it one night before moving back up stairs.
One afternoon I was downstairs taking a shower. I was the only one home, my sister was at our grandparent’s house, and my mom was at work. All of a sudden, a naked Barbie doll came flying over the shower door, hitting me in the head.
I jerked open the doors, but no one was there. I grabbed a towel and opened the bathroom door, but no one was in the next room, or going up the stairs.
Many times, I would go into my room and things were moved around.
Once after Rick and I got married, he was downstairs installing a new water heater. He put all his tools on top of the new water heater, and turned around to get something else. Seconds later, he turned back, and all his tools had been moved to the top of the old water heater.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Alice's Cats: Reader Submission
Here is a fabulous story written by Alice, from One Girl and Her Cats. I am so envious of her experience!
Thanks, Alice, for letting me use your story!
______________________
The death of Mike’s grandmother has left things very raw inside of me. Memories both good and bad, wants, needs, questions, wonderings, regrets, fears; all are jumbled up together in my mind, sometimes making me happy, sometimes making me sad.
I have a picture on my desk.
It’s of two kittens cuddled up to one another in an old soft drinks crate lined with a thick woollen blanket. These kittens are Squealer and Jasmine. Squealer is almost certainly curled up on mum’s bed right now, dreaming about whatever it is cats dream.
Jasmine died a little over a year old after developing a rare blood disease that had lain dormant in her blood since birth.
Of course I missed her, madly, as did her sister, but life goes on, and gradually she became a happy but sad bitter-sweet memory.
That is, until the night she decided to return and pay me a visit.
Before y’all call the funny farm, it’s true. I was haunted by my dead cat.
Still am.
First time it happened it scared the life out of me:
I was asleep in bed one hot summer’s night and when I was suddenly aware of a cat walking up towards me (those with cats will know how they move when walking on a bed, paws indenting silently on the mattress) reached out a hand sleepily to stroke whoever it was.
And felt nothing.
Fair enough. No big deal. The cat had decided against it and jumped off.
I mentally shrugged and went back to sleep.
A few moments later; it happened again.
Again, I felt the paws, again I reached out, yawning. Again nothing.
Sighing, I closed my eyes again.
Only to have it happen once more.
This time the paws came all the way up the bed until whichever cat it was was right there next to me, and I was just drifting off again when the little bugger suddenly decided to touch my hot, bare skin with its exceptionally cold, wet nose.
That did it.
Sitting up I yelled at it to let me sleep - in my defense it was 1 O’clock in the bloody morning and I had had a very long day previously working my socks off in the Nursing Home - and I expected to hear the miscreant jump to the floor and leg it, but heard nothing.
Fully awake, I noted in the gloom that the door was closed.
Right. So that was it. Whoever it was wanted out.
Sighing and muttering things under my breath I wouldn’t care to repeat I got up and turned on the light. I would let the little git out once I had told it off (not that they cared. It would just make me feel better) and lectured it on the correct procedure for waking me up, which did NOT involve having a freezing wet nose poked at me at 1 in the morning...
I bent to look under the bed.
Nothing.
Oh.
Looking around the room, confused, I couldn’t see a cat anywhere. I peered under the bed again, this time pulling everything out. Nothing. Then I searched the entire floor. Nothing. Then I (now obsessively determined) checked in every nook, every cranny, every drawer, every box…Even the bookcase, flinging books behind me, and still nothing.
Bewildered, I shook my head.
Had I imagined it?
Exhausted, I tidied everything away (an excuse to check once more rather than a desire to be neat and efficient) and opened the door, meandering downstairs to grab a glass of water.
When I reached the hall I noted the living room door had shut itself – it does that sometimes if the back door is opened for whatever reason – and absentmindedly I opened it.
The light was still on, so I leant in to switch it off…
…And there they were. All three cats. Curled up asleep on the sofa.
I blinked at them in disbelief.
Walking back upstairs I rubbed the arm that I could have sworn the nose touched as I entered my bedroom, carefully checked none had followed me in and shut the door.
I must have imagined it, I conceded, doubtfully, flicking off the light and getting back into bed. After all, there was no possible way any of my three cats could have been in my room on my bed when every last one of them was asleep (and trapped) in the living room.
No, I must have imagined it. Slowly, my body relaxed and I began to drift off…
…Suddenly I started awake. It was maybe an hour later, and there it was again. I could feel the paws pressing silently onto the duvet beside my feet, feel the indents they made – was I going mad? Not one of the cats could be there, and yet there WAS a cat, on my bed.
Walking towards me.
I felt something soft and invisible brush against my upper thigh and started.
Fear washed over me.
…And then I heard it.
A purr.
It was a very quiet, very soft, gentle purr. A reassuring purr.
I knew it the second I heard it.
It was Jasmine.
MY Jasmine.
She was there with me, on the bed.
Happy.
And purring.
The fear melted away into pure, unadulterated joy.
For a few minutes I didn’t speak.
I felt her curl up, leant lightly against me, and lay down again.
A happy lump rose in my throat and tears filled my eyes.
“Goodnight, sweetie,” I whispered.
I reached down and felt nothing. But I knew she was there, and that night we both went to sleep happy, content, safe in the knowledge that the other was there.
When I woke up again she was gone.
It was months before she came again. But come she did, and this time when I felt the paws walk up the bed and reached out, I didn’t feel fear when my hand touched nothingness.
Just contentment.
She still visits. Not often.
But she does still visit.
When the girls are asleep in mum’s room, and Simba is roaming the night outside, I feel her paws treading the duvet and hear her purr. When that happens I feel happy that she’s still there, that she’s still with me, but at the same time feel cheated: it isn’t enough. I want her back.
But then, if Jasmine hadn’t died, we never would’ve gotten Simba, my darling, flabby little man, and possibly also would never have gotten Susie, either.
I guess life, and death, has its own agenda…
Thanks, Alice, for letting me use your story!
______________________
The death of Mike’s grandmother has left things very raw inside of me. Memories both good and bad, wants, needs, questions, wonderings, regrets, fears; all are jumbled up together in my mind, sometimes making me happy, sometimes making me sad.
I have a picture on my desk.
It’s of two kittens cuddled up to one another in an old soft drinks crate lined with a thick woollen blanket. These kittens are Squealer and Jasmine. Squealer is almost certainly curled up on mum’s bed right now, dreaming about whatever it is cats dream.
Jasmine died a little over a year old after developing a rare blood disease that had lain dormant in her blood since birth.
Of course I missed her, madly, as did her sister, but life goes on, and gradually she became a happy but sad bitter-sweet memory.
That is, until the night she decided to return and pay me a visit.
Before y’all call the funny farm, it’s true. I was haunted by my dead cat.
Still am.
First time it happened it scared the life out of me:
I was asleep in bed one hot summer’s night and when I was suddenly aware of a cat walking up towards me (those with cats will know how they move when walking on a bed, paws indenting silently on the mattress) reached out a hand sleepily to stroke whoever it was.
And felt nothing.
Fair enough. No big deal. The cat had decided against it and jumped off.
I mentally shrugged and went back to sleep.
A few moments later; it happened again.
Again, I felt the paws, again I reached out, yawning. Again nothing.
Sighing, I closed my eyes again.
Only to have it happen once more.
This time the paws came all the way up the bed until whichever cat it was was right there next to me, and I was just drifting off again when the little bugger suddenly decided to touch my hot, bare skin with its exceptionally cold, wet nose.
That did it.
Sitting up I yelled at it to let me sleep - in my defense it was 1 O’clock in the bloody morning and I had had a very long day previously working my socks off in the Nursing Home - and I expected to hear the miscreant jump to the floor and leg it, but heard nothing.
Fully awake, I noted in the gloom that the door was closed.
Right. So that was it. Whoever it was wanted out.
Sighing and muttering things under my breath I wouldn’t care to repeat I got up and turned on the light. I would let the little git out once I had told it off (not that they cared. It would just make me feel better) and lectured it on the correct procedure for waking me up, which did NOT involve having a freezing wet nose poked at me at 1 in the morning...
I bent to look under the bed.
Nothing.
Oh.
Looking around the room, confused, I couldn’t see a cat anywhere. I peered under the bed again, this time pulling everything out. Nothing. Then I searched the entire floor. Nothing. Then I (now obsessively determined) checked in every nook, every cranny, every drawer, every box…Even the bookcase, flinging books behind me, and still nothing.
Bewildered, I shook my head.
Had I imagined it?
Exhausted, I tidied everything away (an excuse to check once more rather than a desire to be neat and efficient) and opened the door, meandering downstairs to grab a glass of water.
When I reached the hall I noted the living room door had shut itself – it does that sometimes if the back door is opened for whatever reason – and absentmindedly I opened it.
The light was still on, so I leant in to switch it off…
…And there they were. All three cats. Curled up asleep on the sofa.
I blinked at them in disbelief.
Walking back upstairs I rubbed the arm that I could have sworn the nose touched as I entered my bedroom, carefully checked none had followed me in and shut the door.
I must have imagined it, I conceded, doubtfully, flicking off the light and getting back into bed. After all, there was no possible way any of my three cats could have been in my room on my bed when every last one of them was asleep (and trapped) in the living room.
No, I must have imagined it. Slowly, my body relaxed and I began to drift off…
…Suddenly I started awake. It was maybe an hour later, and there it was again. I could feel the paws pressing silently onto the duvet beside my feet, feel the indents they made – was I going mad? Not one of the cats could be there, and yet there WAS a cat, on my bed.
Walking towards me.
I felt something soft and invisible brush against my upper thigh and started.
Fear washed over me.
…And then I heard it.
A purr.
It was a very quiet, very soft, gentle purr. A reassuring purr.
I knew it the second I heard it.
It was Jasmine.
MY Jasmine.
She was there with me, on the bed.
Happy.
And purring.
The fear melted away into pure, unadulterated joy.
For a few minutes I didn’t speak.
I felt her curl up, leant lightly against me, and lay down again.
A happy lump rose in my throat and tears filled my eyes.
“Goodnight, sweetie,” I whispered.
I reached down and felt nothing. But I knew she was there, and that night we both went to sleep happy, content, safe in the knowledge that the other was there.
When I woke up again she was gone.
It was months before she came again. But come she did, and this time when I felt the paws walk up the bed and reached out, I didn’t feel fear when my hand touched nothingness.
Just contentment.
She still visits. Not often.
But she does still visit.
When the girls are asleep in mum’s room, and Simba is roaming the night outside, I feel her paws treading the duvet and hear her purr. When that happens I feel happy that she’s still there, that she’s still with me, but at the same time feel cheated: it isn’t enough. I want her back.
But then, if Jasmine hadn’t died, we never would’ve gotten Simba, my darling, flabby little man, and possibly also would never have gotten Susie, either.
I guess life, and death, has its own agenda…
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