The devil on the fiery porch. He was back again that year, the same as he had been for five years running, keeping the majority of Trick or Treaters behind an imaginary line of uneasiness drawn at the edge of the curb with his Hell-red grin and burning cauldrons. It was a scene from Faust, only this was no play; this was my neighborhood.
It wasn’t just kids who lingered apprehensively in the street, but parents as well. In a place where the definition of Halloween was more like cardboard skeletons and plastic jack-o-lanterns, a guy with a penchant for fire and pitchforks could be extraordinarily scary. Really young children were hurried past the residence altogether via lawns on the opposite side of the street, hopefully distracted by candy long enough to save them from the psyche-scarring nightmares certain to result from even the smallest glimpse of him. This left only the few - the brave - to make the journey and collect one of the candy bars given out by the devil basking in the red glow of the doorway.
Trick or Treating in the 1970’s wasn’t the flirt with death that it can be today. At that time, in most suburban settings, people lived in the same house for years and made the effort to get to know their neighbors and their neighbor’s children. It was a safe haven from the malicious world beyond; a stronghold of sterile thoughts and selective ideals. That is why it was more alarming when the occasional anti-Cleaver odd balls, like the Warren family, managed to infiltrate the peaceful utopia and upset the balance of neatly trimmed lawns and Tupperware parties. Especially when at Halloween their oldest son Wayne Warren painted himself red, donned horns, and sat on a throne between two flaming cauldrons on their sunken porch.
My first encounter with him was when my father volunteered to secure one of Satan’s fat candy bars on my behalf. I watched wide-eyed at the curb while my mother yakked up the other neighborhood mothers about the sick nature of the affair. Later that night, as I spread my bounty out upon the living room floor, she snatched the King Size Snickers that the devil had given and tossed it into the trash. Only later did I understand the action, although to my knowledge no one had ever reported any ill-effects from his confectionery treats.
The greasepaint devil quickly became a milestone of bravery for the youth of our neighborhood. As we got older, our worth was measured upon whether we had Trick or Treated his house on our own. For most of the neighborhood kids, it was a confrontation with their own childhood fears; a rite of passage. But my own eventual encounter with him reckoned with more than mere cultural demonspeak. For me it was not a conquest, but a beginning; a passageway to a haunted life well beyond the October ritual. And after what it indirectly wrought upon my life and the life of my childhood friend, Dan Rutgers, I came to realize that I had more in common with Wayne Warren than anyone would ever know.
I was old enough to Trick or Treat on my own. I had been for a few years - having entered the seventh grade - but had thus far chosen to skip the devil’s house despite my Samhain freedom. And as the candy collectors stood entwined in trepidation at the end of his lawn that night, I looked on, ready to cast away silly childhood fears. In the recessed front porch of the tan-stone house, the devil sat on a black throne, pitchfork in hand and grinning like a madman. On either side of him a cauldron belched hot flames, which illuminated the entire alcove with a yellow-red glow that brought a little piece of Hell right there to our suburban street. Dark music, probably borrowed from the Omen soundtrack, boomed from somewhere on the porch like a theme for a black mass, while Sounds of the Haunted House crept out of the home’s dark windows. They were opened just enough to let in some of the autumn air, which was uncharacteristically cool for Texas even in late October. Every once in a while, the devil would bark out something to the effect of "come on up kids" or just let out a string of vein-chilling laughs that echoed off of the houses and faded into the night air like a horde of goblins. As a fan of the horror film classics, somewhere inside I had begun to admire his mastery of Halloween, but the fear of something I did not fully understand still outweighed this association. The man behind the red face was something real, and that’s what made him scary to me, even if some people simply wrote him off as a self-aggrandizing jerk.
"Are we going up there?" Dan asked me as I stood at the curb siphoning the last bits of courage from my body.
Dan was a few years older and several inches taller, but we were two boys made from the same mold. We had been best friends for six years now, both possessing a fever for Hot Wheels, Big Jims, and superheroes. I could see his own reservation just under the green skin of his Incredible Hulk face. His mother was an inferno preaching Baptist and though I could not understand at the time, he grappled with issues far deeper than my own regarding the fiendish display.
"Yeah," I answered, although I had yet to top off my courage tank.
Our mutual friend, Bob, spoke from behind his Planet of the Apes mask. "Ya’ll can go if ya want, but I ain’t. My brother says that guy’s a goon and he don’t wanna have ta kick his butt when he finds a razor blade in my candy bar."
"I ain’t gonna eat the candy," I replied, stating what I thought was obvious.
The music boomed forth with a new strain and I looked hard at the real fire, the past prime teenager in the red makeup, and the iron gates which stood open at the porch’s arc.
"Well, he ain’t gonna kill us or anything. He’s been doing this ever since I can remember and lots of kids have gone up there." I nudged my head toward two older kids who had just been up to Satan. "They just went. And if they did then I’m going. Dan, you coming?"
Getting a yes from Dan, I put my foot onto the devil’s brown lawn and began the approach. I tried to imagine what I saw across the street the other three-hundred sixty-four days out of the year. A stony looking house with a dark porch and some skinny druggie guy coming and going in his beat up Camero. Sometimes kissing or beating his girlfriend a little, but always giving me a chin-up nod as if to say I was cool. It was just Wayne Warren…not the devil.
Telling myself this made it a little better, but on Halloween this guy was just plain different. Just plain scary. And as I neared I tried the customary cool nod, but Wayne didn’t nod back. Instead he grinned like a mental patient and let out a laugh that resonated in the sunken porch as if it sunk all the way down to Hell.
Dan, in an attempt at proper All Hallows etiquette, moved up beside me, held out his bag, and muttered "trick or treat" which sounded ridiculous under the circumstances.
"Heh, heh, heh," Wayne cackled and threw a Chunky bar into his bag.
Then he focused on me and my spirit-gummed wolfman face. "Something special for you my friend!" he said, reaching down beside his seat. He pulled out something, gazed at it a moment and then threw it into the sack I held open in front me as if it were my empty soul waiting for him to fill. I didn’t get a good look at it, but I didn’t care. I’d have a better look as soon as Dan and I got out of the yard.
Without any more explanation, Wayne stoked one of the cauldron fires, spit, and turned his attention to a group of approaching teenagers. Dan and I hurried back to the curb where Bob waited.
"Let’s go next door and check out whatever it was he gave me," I said.
Squatting down under a street lamp, Dan and I pulled out our devil’s booty.
"Just a regular candy bar, but maybe there’s a razor blade in it?" he said ripping into the package and breaking the Chunky into several pieces finding nothing but chocolate inside.
Bob removed his Cornelius mask. "What’d you get?"
I pulled out the weird item Wayne had thrown into my bag and held it up in the bath of white street light. "It looks like a tooth or maybe a horn," I said, not having seen anything like it before.
The thing was about three inches in length, jagged at one end and tapering into a curved point at the other. But instead of bone or enamel, it was made from a semi-transparent material with what looked like microscopic electronic components inside.
"Let me check it out," Dan said grabbing it from me. "That stuff in there looks like this computer board that my dad showed me."
I took it back and looked again beyond its translucent surface. "Computers are a lot bigger than this," I said authoritatively.
Bob squinted at it. "That’s weird. I bet my brother knows what it is."
"Maybe we should ask him?" I suggested.
Bob’s brother Ronnie rolled the horn-thing between his fingers as he looked at it under the desk lamp.
"Looks like it came from a robot or something. Ya’ll are a bunch of goons." He tossed it back at me. "Maybe it come from that alien that crashed over in Motor Valley," he added making a spooky whoooo sound.
"Huh?" all three of us replied.
Ronnie laughed. "I guess ya’ll were still in diapers. A few years ago, the cops and everybody went out there when something crashed in the woods between Motor Valley Road and Screaming Bridge. Supposedly, they found a blown up flying saucer, but never found any aliens. When that idiot Wayne Warren was still going to school, I heard a rumor about how he and a friend of his were out there drinking one night and found some flying saucer parts. I think that was about the time he started dressing up like Satan on Halloween. Maybe he’s givin’ out those UFO parts instead of candy; cheap ass. I think it’s all bullshit."
With that Ronnie left Bob’s room.
We all looked again at the thing.
"Pretty cool story, man. We oughta go out there and check it out. Maybe this did come from a space ship," I suggested.
Dan nodded. "I ain’t never seen anything like it."
"Ya’ll are crazy," Bob said, looking suspiciously at us both.
Anything good was usually off limits. It’s the tradeoff for having parents that give a shit about you. I wasn’t allowed in the creek, not allowed to attend spin-the-bottle parties, not allowed in the yard of the kid who talked like a sailor with a belly full of gin, not allowed to ride my bike to Dairy Queen, and basically not allowed to venture beyond the small quadrant of my neighborhood. Motor Valley was definitely off my childhood map. As a result, I spent half my youth in the creek or making bike runs out of the quadrant and the other half making up plausible excuses for why I was late. So a trip to Motor Valley with my usual accomplice, Dan, was nothing too exceptional. But the possibility of dead alien creatures was, and that’s why this mission was going to happen regardless of any potential consequences. Bob, however couldn’t go. He was grounded for getting caught with a pack of his dad’s cigarettes. Looking back, I can’t blame him for finding a way out.
Motor Valley got its name from the motocross track that was built on the west end of its expanse. Except for a few ill-repaired roads that cut through it, the valley was mostly brushy Texas woods and low lying flat land which collected water to create the closest thing to a bog Central Texas could have. If something did crash in there, it was no wonder that collecting all the pieces was difficult. But since the time of the crash, which I later dated at September 30, 1972 by searching old newspapers, much of the water had been irrigated out to subsidize a local cattle feed farm making it possible to get around in the area without sinking in muck.
Dan and I biked down the road past the old junior high school and out across Highway 10 where a few industrial buildings and a bar called The Firehose stood like holdouts against the concept of renovation. These were the last few constructs of civilization before Motor Valley took over.
As we reached the end of the industrial stretch, we right turned onto Motor Valley Road, which sloped down a gradual incline until it eventually curved south and cut right through the center of the valley itself. Few cars ever came this way unless they were there to dump something or to take a short cut to Highway 10 and Dan and I pedaled down the center of the curbless macadam as if we owned it. Off to the side, either in the gullies or along the occasional dirt paths that spidered away from the road, we saw discarded relics of prosperity littering the land like pock marks. Old washing machines, tread-bare tires, skeletal couches, and limbless dolls, in their abandoned afterlife, serving as shelters for the dark crawling creatures which hid underneath.
We stopped pedaling to coast the hill.
"Did you remember the horn thing?" Dan huffed.
"Yeah."
"You’re gonna be grounded forever if your mom finds out about this."
I nodded dramatically. "What did you tell your mom we were doing?"
"Going to Dairy Queen and the arcade."
"I hope your mom and my mom don’t talk for some reason before we get back. You know how my mom is always calling to find out where I am. I told her I was just going to the arcade. She doesn’t want me going over to the Dairy Queen. She heard a story on the news where this guy went into a Dairy Queen in Lubbock and whipped out his pecker and got thrown in jail!"
Dan laughed. "Sounds like what Jimmy’s cousin did at his birthday party."
"Didn’t some girl kick him in the nads when he did?"
"Yeah. He had to stay in bed for two weeks."
"Excellent!"
We made the curve and headed onto the long stretch of Motor Valley Road. After more than a half mile, we made it to the narrow side road which led down to Screaming Bridge. I’m sure that wasn’t its original name, but that was the name it went by. One of those tragic lover suicide stories went along with it. We had heard plenty about it, but had yet to make the trip out. I guess it took potential dead aliens to make it worthwhile.
Turning left, we pedaled up the side road whose name was a mystery since it had no street sign. As we crunched along its crumbling blacktop, the trees began to grow thicker, leaning over the road to form a canopy. They cast a shadow across the road like a dark tunnel. Bony branches were beginning to emerge from the clusters of leaves, which were falling away with each cool gust of autumn wind. For a moment I thought of the forest in Oz, but such a pleasant thought quickly faded. I was positive that any beasts lurking in these thorn-ridden groves would not be singing or dancing. In fact, they were not even chirping or growling. It was oddly silent, which was even more disturbing.
As we neared Screaming Bridge, the asphalt turned to sandy loam making it difficult for our bicycles despite the fact that they were the rugged Huffy models with plastic gas tanks screwed to the crossbar to emulate motorcycles. We decided to park them out of sight and go the rest of the way on foot.
The bridge was nothing, really. A dirt road that ended in a huge drop filled with sun-faded beer cans and other less identifiable trash. After taking a piss off of its edge, we headed south in the direction Ronnie had told us the UFO had supposedly crashed. I checked my pocket for the lockblade knife I had bought with my allowance prior to my last hunting trip with my father. I was no stranger to the country, having been brought along on numerous deer hunts since I was old enough to walk. But in spite of my self-proclaimed exploration expertise and my determination to expose the mystery locked away in Motor Valley, my heart beat hard against my ribs. There was something about the place that seemed deceptive, maybe even evil, which I had not encountered in any of my previous rural expeditions.
Crisscrossing the area, we began to look for any signs of…well, whatever signs there might be of a flying saucer crash. But the undergrowth was thick and I soon realized that there would be little hope of finding anything without knowledge of the exact impact location. We wandered on though, scanning for burnt trees or any other peculiar markings.
After about thirty minutes, Dan signaled me over to a dense clump of trees where he had spotted something.
"Check this out," he said, directing my vision past the branches to a dilapidated shack standing in a clearing twenty-five yards away. It wasn’t a UFO, but at least it was something other than trees and rocks. Dan looked openly disturbed by the possibility of who - or what - might be making it a home.
"I wonder if anyone lives there? I don’t see any cars," I remarked.
"I thought I saw something move by that window," Dan said solemnly.
I looked at the filmy window. "I don’t know how you could have, look how dirty it is."
"Yeah, maybe I was seeing things. I think we better get out of here. Search back over closer to the bridge."
"Let’s not worry about it," I retorted, trying to look at the situation logically. "If anybody does live there, they’ll probably be real old and we could always outrun ‘em."
Dan nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t wholeheartedly backing me on the decision.
"Let’s go this…" I began as I heard the sound of a stick crack behind us. I spun around.
Just feet from us stood a man. He looked old, but his unkempt appearance made an accurate guess at his age impossible. His hair was a brownish gray and poked out from his head like wild grass, framing a dirty unshaven face. A demented smile revealed several missing teeth from the brown rotted mess inside his mouth. He was scratching himself through a convenient hole in his ratty overalls with a handful of long, curling nails as he leered at us.
We started to bolt.
"Hold on youngins! You boys caint just come pokin round out here without talkin to ol Licky."
The man made a scrunching gesture with his face, which looked like the epileptic wink of a madman. We halted our retreat.
I fished for something good to say. "My dad’s looking for some firewood right back there," I said, pointing in no particular direction. "We were just looking around."
"You caint fool ol Licky. I knows yer out here by yerselves. If yer dad was around ya wooden look sa scared," he said, this time fully protruding his tongue and circling it around his lips in a nervous motion.
"Really, sir…" Dan began.
But the old man cut him off. "My feelins might get hurt if ya keep lyin boy."
"We’re sorry, but we have to get back home soon," I added as if I were quoting from the repertoire of Wally Cleaver.
"Not bafore ya come on in and have a drink with Licky. I wanna show ya somethin."
He began to walk towards us.
Now to this day I can’t tell you why we went into that weirdo’s shack, but I guess we feared more what would happen if we didn’t follow his wishes than what would happen if we did. Maybe I had more faith in my knife than I should have. Regardless, I kept my eyes on the old man as he led us into the leaning gray shanty.
"You boys like co-colas?" he asked as we followed him inside.
"Uh, yeah," I said, knowing full well that Dan was a strict 7-Up drinker, but under the circumstances figuring it wouldn’t matter.
The first thing that struck us sour about the inside of the shack was the smell. Worse than the smell of Licky himself, it was like the musty smell of an old house exponentially worsened until it reached near organic putrefaction. A snail of nausea slinked across my gut as the first thick waft of stench rolled into my lungs.
The cramped single room of the shanty was as rotted on the inside as it was on the outside. The exposed boards of the ceiling were completely gray and covered with cobwebs. An old rickety cot was shoved into one corner, a brownish stain covering its sagging middle. Over at the opposite end was a broken-down stove, resembling a leper with its rust-eaten porcelain finish. A tattered beige couch sat rotting against the long wall, almost hidden by countless piles of old water-stained magazines. They looked mostly like Playboys and Hustlers as far as I could tell. To our right sat a dusty old wooden crate. It looked to me like a coffin used back in the 1800’s. A fat rat sniffed around its base.
But the most shocking aspect of the shack was the wallpaper. Old pin-up style nudie pictures had been cut from countless magazines and stuck to every visible inch of wall. Superimposed on top of this layer were random pictures of goats and other wild beasts, taken from magazines I was not familiar with. They were all faded by the damp and rotting conditions. I had seen plenty of naked pictures in my grandfather’s garage so I wasn’t too shocked. But Dan’s religious background didn’t seem to be mixing well with the mass of nude women and goats.
"You boys wouldn’t be lookin fer a UFO would ya?" Licky asked as he began digging in a dirty box near the stove.
I peeled my eyes from a cherry-nippled blonde. "Why would you think that?" I asked.
"I’ve caught plenty a curious peoples diggin round here like moles. They think they’s gonna find some kinda alien body."
"Why would they think that?" I asked dumbly.
"A smart boy like you sure ta know about the UFO crash over here." Licky said pulling out two dusty bottles from the box. "Why else ya be out here nosin round?"
"Well, we’ve heard about it I guess, but I didn’t know about alien bodies."
"These are good co-colas," he said popping the caps off the dirty Coke bottles with his teeth and handing one each to Dan and I as he made another 360 around his chops with his tongue.
I discreetly knocked a dirt dauber’s nest off the side of my bottle and took a drink. Actually, I let the liquid touch my lips making it appear that I had taken a drink, not letting any of it slip into my mouth. Dan did the same.
"Howdoya like ol Licky’s place? You boys got names?"
"Uh, Jim," I said making one up.
Dan delivered one too. "And Horace."
Under any other circumstance, I would have busted out laughing. But the unsettling atmosphere suppressed any such reactions.
"I used ta have a granddaddy name Horace. Loved him to death that ol bugger. Silly as a whistle though. Cut his own arm off one night thinkin it was rattler." The old man laughed loudly and moved his arm around like it was a snake.
I glanced back at the door. I felt better knowing that we stood closer to the door than Licky. I noticed Dan still staring queasily at the exotic wallpaper with a clash of curiosity and horror as if he were looking at a car wreck.
"Did you see the UFO crash?" I asked, trying to conceal my nervousness.
"Well not exactly. I come here after that."
"You’re looking for the UFO too?"
"No, them rangers hauled that off. I’s waitin for somethin. A horn."
With that my heart went flatline. The thing in my pocket was in some way connected to the old man. I began to realize that maybe what Wayne Warren had said about finding some flying saucer parts may have been true.
"You ain’t happen ta see a horn out there have ya?" he said moving to the wooden crate.
"Was it a real UFO from outer space?" Dan finally kicked in.
"Yep. From a planet so far away that them stupid scientists ain’t seen it yet."
"You never answered bout that horn," his twang suddenly growing menacing.
Our faces began to flush.
"You little clever dickins know somethin, don’t ya?" He ran his hand across the crate like he was caressing the skin of a lover.
"What horn?"
"Fess up boy. If you got the horn, ya cain’t resist it. I knows cuz I found the other one when I worked fer the sheriff’s office and we was out here cleanin up after the crash. I found somethin else too that the rest of em never saw."
Fear finally slapped my common sense. I pulled the clear horn thing out of my pocket. "I got this trick or treating," I said as I threw it to the floor behind Licky and bolted for the door. Dan turned to follow, but a deep bark stopped us mid-way. A large dog stood growling outside. We looked back at Licky fully expecting him to move in for the kill right then.
"Colossus! Simmer down!" he yelled gruffly. "He’s just a tad grumpy if ya know what I mean? Ya don’t gotta be scared of him or ol Licky. I like you boys," he said picking up the horn.
"What do you want from us?!" I demanded.
"Now youngin don’t get all upset. You brung me this here horn that I been looking for."
"Does that have something to do with the UFO?" I asked, trying to calm down.
"Where’d ya get it?"
"From some guy dressed up like the devil on Halloween."
"Heh heh! I knew it!" he said with a lick. "I knew it’d find its way back here one way or another. Dressed like the devil…goddamn!"
He seemed excited by the fact that Wayne had been dressed like Satan. I wasn’t sure what the connection was between him and this old man, or if there even was one, but somehow we had been transporting something very important.
"Does that belong to an alien?" Dan asked.
"Some folks might call him an alien," he began, "but it really belongs to the devil. I’ve been keepin his body here since his space craft wrecked waitin for this other horn to turn up. Sometimes it takes the dickins for things to work out. But they always do! Now I can get the rewards I deserve!"
"The devil?" I asked skeptically.
Licky patted the wooden crate. "Yes sir, he’s in here."
We were speechless.
"I bet you boys would like to see him, wouldn’t ya?"
I shook my head slowly as tears began to well in my eyes. Dan just stood frozen as if he were looking down upon Virgil’s nine rings of hell.
"Well here he is!" Licky yelled as he flung open the crate’s lid. Its old hinges screeched like dying animal.
Inside lay the body of a creature. It was a brownish red and shriveled like the corpse of a mummy. It had arms and legs and a human-shaped torso, but they were thin and wiry. Its pointed chin and bulbous forehead made it appear like a reddish version of the little gray aliens that people always claim to see. A set of pointed teeth were thrust forward from the retracted lips, opposing the huge sunken sockets in whose valleys rested closed eyes. I could smell the acrid odor of age filling the room as if the beast were centuries old, having soaked up the stench of death and decay for an eternity. We were repulsed, though neither Dan nor I could take our eyes from the entombed thing.
"Just like in the storybooks. ‘Cept he don’t come from no Hell, he’s from up there," Licky said pointing to the sky. "Been coming here longer en you and I can figure!" he exclaimed. "Don’t cha like em?!"
That’s when I noticed the horn. The creature had one horn identical to the one I had been given. A jagged hole at the other side of his head made it apparent that he had once possessed two.
"At last, I can raise him again! I’ll be made a prince of the sky when he sees what ol Licky’s done fer em!" the old man said, drooling a line of spit onto the creature’s chest as he began to fit the missing horn back in place.
The dog outside barked and we remained trapped between two rapidly off balancing evils.
Licky laughed as the component finally clicked into place. A faint whir became audible from the coffin as he pulled back.
"Look close boys, ya brung back ol Nick!"
The thing began to move, not mechanically like a robot as I would have thought, but more like an organic being that had been sleeping for a long time. It sat upright as the eyes began to open. Their dark menisci looked like black mirrors as they focused on our white faces. Its skin became more supple and its lips rolled back down over his teeth. The thing smiled a grin that was beyond pure evil, that seemed to crawl through my eyes, down my throat, and squeeze the bloody pulp of my heart like a constrictor. But I resisted and so did Dan. Breaking our gaze, we ran for the door as the beast jumped from the crate.
I had been used somehow to bring the horn back to the creature. It seemed to explain my complete lack of good judgment when we followed Licky into the shack. I had been possessed by something much the way Wayne Warren had been, dressing up like the devil, probably unknowingly waiting for some adventurous kid to take the horn from him like the wind carries a seed to its final destination, where it could root and produce seed of its own.
"Ain’t you a beaut!" Licky cried.
The devil responded with a snap of his clawed hand. Blood splattered the nude-papered wall as the old man chortled and fell to the ground, callously beheaded despite his service.
"Shit!" I screamed as Dan and I burst through the door and tripped over the dog. We both hit the ground, along with the dog, in a whirlwind of confusion and gnashing teeth. I felt a few bites hit my arms, but when the devil crashed through the door the dog yelped and darted into the trees.
The creature smiled again and looked at us. It was one of those split seconds between reactions when the mind and body are trying to get into sync, when the true perspective of time is lost. For a few endless seconds the foul beast stood above us and before we could pull ourselves up to run, he turned and headed into the woods. He spun his neck around to look at us one more time as he blended into the countryside and disappeared.
Dan and I ran in the opposite direction, back toward our bikes. We said nothing as we careened through the branches and undergrowth gouging at us with fingery thorns as if it were reluctant to let us leave. It wasn’t until we had pedaled all the way back to Motor Valley Road that I finally broke the silence and confronted the reality of what had taken place.
"Do you think it was the devil?!"
Dan, terror etched into his face, shook his head. "If it was an alien and there’s more of them…"
He began to cry.
I could feel my hands trembling on the handle grips. The reality of aliens and devils or something that was both was too much for my young mind. "We can’t tell anyone," I said.
"I don’t ever want to talk about it again."
"We won’t."
"Never," was the last clear word I heard before he fell into a repetitive mumble.
If it was the devil, alien or otherwise, and we were responsible for bringing him to life… I grappled with the thought. The thought that has slowly wrested the life from me over the years like a patient serpent subduing its prey. The same thought that was responsible for the phone call I just received.
I gently sat the telephone receiver back into the cradle. It had been Dan’s sister on the line. He was found dead in his car that morning. He had been missing for weeks. She asked me if I had any idea why he would have driven out to a remote spot in Motor Valley and put a gun to his head.
I told her I didn’t know.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Last Ride
She lifted up her head and peered outside through the frosted window. Wrinkled eyes gazed into the bright sky, and a smile came over the old woman’s face when she saw the full moon, shining away in all it’s harvest glory, a perfect background setting for All Hallow’s Eve.
A loud purring reached her ears as a black cat leaped up on the table next to the rocking chair she was sitting in.
"Yes, my sweets. Isn’t that a pretty night we have in store for us? Old man moon looks down on us with a wink in his eye tonight."
The cat stared at her with deep green eyes, attention fixed on every word.
"You know what this night means, don’t you, Trickster?" The cat let out a soft meow, listening to his master.
"It is the passing of an age, that is what. Many long years, happy memories, but there is an ending to every story, good and bad. Ol’ Madge here has seen it all, yes I have."
The old woman pushed herself up from the chair, one gnarled hand stroking the silken fur of Trickster. There was a creaking noise as old bones cracked within the ancient body, stiff joints groaning in protest at the effort made by her to straighten up.
"Ah, this craggy old girl ain’t what she used to be. Need a dose of the ointment before I go, that’ll fix me for a little while."
Madge walked over towards a large oaken trunk that was filled with an assortment of herbs, spices, animal parts, jarred collections of insects, packaged powders, and numerous other odds and ends. They were the tools of her trade.
Rummaging through the contents, she found a sachet containing some brown colored leaves, and when she opened it a sweet odor wafted outwards.
"Hmm, this will do fine." The crone went over to a wooden cabinet which had vials of liquid scattered about the shelves. She grabbed a tube with a bubbly fluid inside with a purple tinge to it, and then poured the leaves in.
Wispy curls of vapor rose up, and the old woman drank deeply.
A look of revulsion crossed her face at the bitter taste, but she shook it off.
"Not the fountain of youth, but it bestows on me a glimmer of strength, and that is all I need." She smacked her dry lips together, and smiled with glee.
Madge hobbled over to the great stone fireplace that warmed the cottage, and a black cauldron was resting above the burning flames. A green liquid boiled away in a frenzy, fat bubbles oozing from the surface. She stirred the mixture with a metal ladle.
"Double, bubble, toil and trouble!"
"Double, bubble, toil and trouble!’
Cackling with delight, the old woman churned the foul broth with renewed vigor. The cauldron hissed in answer, and the brew began to fizzle over.
"Ha ha, that’s it. A ghastly potion for a ghostly night!"
Madge nodded to herself, and the flames danced before her, casting lurid shadows on the walls of the cottage.
The image behind the cat grew in size, reaching the proportions of a great beast which was many times the feline’s actual body shape.
Trickster growled, his dark mane bristling. The master made a gesture in the air, and the front door burst open as the black cat sprang into the night, the transformation beginning to take place. A howl echoed from the woods outside, and Madge shouted in response, the language old and archaic.
"Rejoice in the wild, my pet. The night calls. Until the sun comes up, when you must return."
A gust of wind blasted against the cottage, slamming the door shut with a loud crash. The old woman’s wizened face had a trace of sadness on it, and she let out a deep sigh.
"It is almost time, must make haste."
Madge opened the closet and reached inside, tenderly bringing out a worn garb, black as the night. A tear trickled from the corner of an eye, moistening the callused cheek beneath.
"So many years, where have they all gone? How will I be able to face the next one, knowing that my time is done?"
She pulled the raiment tightly about herself, cherishing the feel of the familiar outfit. The cloak gave her comfort and security.
"Such little time, and too many things to fill it with, ‘tis a pity."
There was an upper shelf inside the closet, and from this she brought out a rumpled black hat, pointed at the top in the shape of a narrow cone.
"Hee hee hee," she chuckled. "A pointed cone for a crooked crone." She set the hat on her head, and brushed back the strands of silver hair that lay tangled down to her shoulders. She began to feel much younger and stronger, but it was only wishful thinking. Potions could give her a teasing of both, but that was it.
Madge crossed to the other side of the room, wooden floor boards creaking underneath her musty black boots. The heels clicked softly with her passing.
A reading desk sat in the corner, and a dusty tome sprawled along the top. Strange words and symbols were etched onto the crinkled pages, the lettering written in blood. She leafed through until she found the proper incantation, then closed the book with a snap.
"Long ago, I could recite nearly every line of verse in half that script. But now....." The old woman shook her head, again being overcome with remorse.
"More’s the pity, old hag, I’ve had my turn. The wheels of time roll on without stopping, and my moment has arrived to step aside. Only fond memories, no regrets."
The old woman’s gaze wandered the trappings of the cottage, her domain for countless years. Yes, fate had treated her well, there was no denial.
"And now, my friend, who has served me so well these many years. Will you answer the summons yet again, on this night of all nights?
Madge spread her arms wide in appeal, pale yellow eyes closed in concentration. The wind picked up outside, and tree branches scratched against the window panes, bent stick arms moving in wooden animation, responding to the surge of dark power that was building within the cottage.
There was a flash of brilliance radiating from a section of stone next to the fireplace, and a secret panel was revealed. From the compartment emerged a long broom, stark in opaque blackness, levitating towards the old woman.
"Ha ha ha, come to me! It is our time again. The sisters await!"
The broom continued floating, and it came within the crone’s eager grasp as it throbbed with power, pulsating with diabolical energy.
Madge held the broom up triumphantly, and opened the front door. A strong breeze was blowing, and fallen leaves covered the mossy earth. Sinister figures crouched within the surrounding shadows, lurking among the trees.
It was Halloween night, and spirits of the nights had awakened in unholy celebration.
Madge sat astride the enchanted broom, and up she flew to meet with her fellow sisters of the coven. This was her last time as the coven leader, and a new one would be sworn in this Hallow’s Eve.
She gazed up at the awaiting sky, spotting others of her wicked brethren. It was Halloween night, and for the last time, into that magical night, rode the form of the witch, on her last moonlight ride.
The End
A loud purring reached her ears as a black cat leaped up on the table next to the rocking chair she was sitting in.
"Yes, my sweets. Isn’t that a pretty night we have in store for us? Old man moon looks down on us with a wink in his eye tonight."
The cat stared at her with deep green eyes, attention fixed on every word.
"You know what this night means, don’t you, Trickster?" The cat let out a soft meow, listening to his master.
"It is the passing of an age, that is what. Many long years, happy memories, but there is an ending to every story, good and bad. Ol’ Madge here has seen it all, yes I have."
The old woman pushed herself up from the chair, one gnarled hand stroking the silken fur of Trickster. There was a creaking noise as old bones cracked within the ancient body, stiff joints groaning in protest at the effort made by her to straighten up.
"Ah, this craggy old girl ain’t what she used to be. Need a dose of the ointment before I go, that’ll fix me for a little while."
Madge walked over towards a large oaken trunk that was filled with an assortment of herbs, spices, animal parts, jarred collections of insects, packaged powders, and numerous other odds and ends. They were the tools of her trade.
Rummaging through the contents, she found a sachet containing some brown colored leaves, and when she opened it a sweet odor wafted outwards.
"Hmm, this will do fine." The crone went over to a wooden cabinet which had vials of liquid scattered about the shelves. She grabbed a tube with a bubbly fluid inside with a purple tinge to it, and then poured the leaves in.
Wispy curls of vapor rose up, and the old woman drank deeply.
A look of revulsion crossed her face at the bitter taste, but she shook it off.
"Not the fountain of youth, but it bestows on me a glimmer of strength, and that is all I need." She smacked her dry lips together, and smiled with glee.
Madge hobbled over to the great stone fireplace that warmed the cottage, and a black cauldron was resting above the burning flames. A green liquid boiled away in a frenzy, fat bubbles oozing from the surface. She stirred the mixture with a metal ladle.
"Double, bubble, toil and trouble!"
"Double, bubble, toil and trouble!’
Cackling with delight, the old woman churned the foul broth with renewed vigor. The cauldron hissed in answer, and the brew began to fizzle over.
"Ha ha, that’s it. A ghastly potion for a ghostly night!"
Madge nodded to herself, and the flames danced before her, casting lurid shadows on the walls of the cottage.
The image behind the cat grew in size, reaching the proportions of a great beast which was many times the feline’s actual body shape.
Trickster growled, his dark mane bristling. The master made a gesture in the air, and the front door burst open as the black cat sprang into the night, the transformation beginning to take place. A howl echoed from the woods outside, and Madge shouted in response, the language old and archaic.
"Rejoice in the wild, my pet. The night calls. Until the sun comes up, when you must return."
A gust of wind blasted against the cottage, slamming the door shut with a loud crash. The old woman’s wizened face had a trace of sadness on it, and she let out a deep sigh.
"It is almost time, must make haste."
Madge opened the closet and reached inside, tenderly bringing out a worn garb, black as the night. A tear trickled from the corner of an eye, moistening the callused cheek beneath.
"So many years, where have they all gone? How will I be able to face the next one, knowing that my time is done?"
She pulled the raiment tightly about herself, cherishing the feel of the familiar outfit. The cloak gave her comfort and security.
"Such little time, and too many things to fill it with, ‘tis a pity."
There was an upper shelf inside the closet, and from this she brought out a rumpled black hat, pointed at the top in the shape of a narrow cone.
"Hee hee hee," she chuckled. "A pointed cone for a crooked crone." She set the hat on her head, and brushed back the strands of silver hair that lay tangled down to her shoulders. She began to feel much younger and stronger, but it was only wishful thinking. Potions could give her a teasing of both, but that was it.
Madge crossed to the other side of the room, wooden floor boards creaking underneath her musty black boots. The heels clicked softly with her passing.
A reading desk sat in the corner, and a dusty tome sprawled along the top. Strange words and symbols were etched onto the crinkled pages, the lettering written in blood. She leafed through until she found the proper incantation, then closed the book with a snap.
"Long ago, I could recite nearly every line of verse in half that script. But now....." The old woman shook her head, again being overcome with remorse.
"More’s the pity, old hag, I’ve had my turn. The wheels of time roll on without stopping, and my moment has arrived to step aside. Only fond memories, no regrets."
The old woman’s gaze wandered the trappings of the cottage, her domain for countless years. Yes, fate had treated her well, there was no denial.
"And now, my friend, who has served me so well these many years. Will you answer the summons yet again, on this night of all nights?
Madge spread her arms wide in appeal, pale yellow eyes closed in concentration. The wind picked up outside, and tree branches scratched against the window panes, bent stick arms moving in wooden animation, responding to the surge of dark power that was building within the cottage.
There was a flash of brilliance radiating from a section of stone next to the fireplace, and a secret panel was revealed. From the compartment emerged a long broom, stark in opaque blackness, levitating towards the old woman.
"Ha ha ha, come to me! It is our time again. The sisters await!"
The broom continued floating, and it came within the crone’s eager grasp as it throbbed with power, pulsating with diabolical energy.
Madge held the broom up triumphantly, and opened the front door. A strong breeze was blowing, and fallen leaves covered the mossy earth. Sinister figures crouched within the surrounding shadows, lurking among the trees.
It was Halloween night, and spirits of the nights had awakened in unholy celebration.
Madge sat astride the enchanted broom, and up she flew to meet with her fellow sisters of the coven. This was her last time as the coven leader, and a new one would be sworn in this Hallow’s Eve.
She gazed up at the awaiting sky, spotting others of her wicked brethren. It was Halloween night, and for the last time, into that magical night, rode the form of the witch, on her last moonlight ride.
The End
Scrapbook ghost follows me home!
I want to take a moment of your time to share an experience and a photograph that I believe to be of supernatural interest and speculation. My family and I have been witness to some very strange and unusual activities over the past two years that I believe will be of interest to you and your site. I have attached a photograph for your review. About two years ago, my wife, child and I moved into a rent house in Mesquite, Texas. One Fall evening shortly after our move-in, I was visiting my sister who lives just a few blocks away. As the evening got late, my sister mentioned that she had been collecting antiques and wanted to show them to me. She took me in her spare bedroom and the two of us spent a couple of hours looking at old tintypes, photogravures and various sundry of items that were in excess of a hundred years old. She had one particular item that struck me as odd and left me with a very strange feeling. It was a Victorian age scrapbook (very popular during that time) that was filled with all kinds of personal effects including a lock of human hair. As I thumbed through the scrapbook, I felt a very deep feeling that this was the work of a very small child perhaps a little girl. I was not uncomfortable or uneasy with the scrapbook, but for some reason I felt saddened that it had been once cherished by someone who had passed on many years before. As I was leaving my sister's house, she asked me why I was so somber and quiet. When I told her about the strange feeling I had with seeing her antiques, she laughed at me and quickly assured me that there was nothing to be concerned about. She even made a joke that something attached itself to my jacket and might follow me home. When I returned home my wife and child were already asleep and I went straight to bed. Later that night, I was awakened at precisely 4:00 AM to the sound of my daughters mobile being wound up and playing. I sat up in bed and was immediately amused because my one year old daughter had evidently learned to stand up by herself and wind the mobile. As I got up and entered her room, the mobile stopped playing and to my surprise my daughter was sound asleep. I stood there in the dark for a moment and wondered if I had dreamt the whole incident. Just as I walked away and turned the corner to the hallway, the mobile wound itself up three times again and starting playing. I bolted back into the bedroom and the thing stopped. By this time I was really starting to freak out. My heart was beating very rapidly and my mind started scanning through all of the possible explanations of what had just happened. The next morning I briefly told my wife what had happened and she did not want to believe me. I studied the mobile and could not find any way possible that the thing could wind and play itself. The turning mechanism was very stiff and required a fairly sizeable amount of energy to turn. I quickly forgot the incident, but exactly one week later at 4:00 AM I was awoken by my wife who was frantically upset. She kept telling me that the mobile was winding up and playing itself and stopped every time that she entered the room. The mobile had duplicated the same action that it had done for me a week earlier. The next day my wife and I had several discussions about what had happened and tried to arrive at some conclusion and/or explanation. I even brought up the scrapbook incident and told her about the way I felt that night. My wife did not hesitate and immediately disassembled the mobile. About a week later I took several photographs of my daughter. Being a new parent, I naturally have expended several rolls of film just on her. I took over ten shots of her in her room that day and when I had them developed we were astonished to find that two of the shots contained this gray mist. As the other photos have revealed, the blinds and curtains were closed and the only ambient light that was in the room was coming from the door. This was the first and only time that my Nikon had ever produced such an image. Since then, we are continuing to have strange things happen in our home. We hear someone walking through the house when no one is there and the door knob on our backdoor sometimes turns back and forth all by itself. My wife has woken up several times and feels the presence of a small child. At first she thought it was our daughter, but after going to her room she is always sound asleep. I am now a firm believer in ghosts and I have a whole new respect for the supernatural. There is an entity in my home and it seems to be attracted to my daughter. We do not feel threatened or harmed by the entity but we would like to attain a better understanding of how and why it is in our home. Since all of these things have transpired, I have started to question many things about my religious convictions and the very nature of the human soul. I have not been comfortable with sharing this information, but since I have visited your site, I know that there are others that have similar experiences. I appreciate any feedback or comments that you have on our experience and the picture.
Haunted House for Sale
I once lived, for a very short time, in a house haunted by ghosts. This house had been empty for a very long time. I don't know for sure how long the house had been empty, but I do know that no one had lived in it for quite a few years.
It was a very beautiful three story house with a two room guest house and a big barn. It was located on the side of hill on a sparsely populated country road in south-eastern Kentucky. I had been living a few miles up the road and so I passed this house almost every day. For years there was a "For Sale" sign out front, but there never seemed to be a buyer.
I was working for a retired couple doing odd jobs. One day the old man made me an offer on the house. Until then I didn't even know that he was the one who owned it. He said that if I would clear the weeds on the hillside behind it and keep all the grass cut, wash the windows and do some repairs that I could live in it rent free. Naturally I was excited about the idea and so within a few days my wife, my daughter, and I were moving into the house. I did think that it was a little strange that he and his wife lived in their small house next to the road instead of that nice big house on the hill, but I didn't give it too much thought.
We couldn't believe our luck. The house was really nice inside and out and the property it was on was beautiful. There was a huge yard and the mountain spread out behind it with trees every where you looked. The nearest neighbors were almost half a mile away.
After only a couple of nights strange things started to happen. One night we were laying in bed in the third story bedroom when I began to hear music. It reminded me of the Big Band groups like Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller. The music sounded far off at first, but it grew louder and louder until it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Next I could hear what sounded like a large group of people talking. I couldn't make out what was being said, it was like a bunch of voices all mixed together. Suddenly a man and woman started yelling and arguing. I still couldn't make out what was being said, but I knew for sure that it was a man and a woman who were fighting.
At this point I turned to my wife and asked her if she could hear anything. She looked at me and I saw that her eyes were wide and she was afraid. She told me that she did hear something downstairs. I asked her what it was that she was hearing. She described to me exactly what I myself had been hearing! She said she heard a lot of people talking and then a man and a woman arguing and some old fashioned music playing. When she told me all that it was like the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. For some reason I had felt no fear until that moment, but suddenly I was afraid. Were there ghosts just downstairs from us?
We got up from the bed and slowly walked toward the stairs and turned on the lights. The music and the voices started getting quieter. We went down the first flight of stairs and turned on the next set of lights and the ghostly sounds stopped. Soon we were in the main living room and were looking all around for any signs of what we had heard. Suddenly the ghostly noises started up again, except this time they were upstairs! We ran upstairs and brought our daughter down to the first floor. We made pallets in the floor and spent the rest of the night listening for ghosts with most every light in the house turned on.
Several nights later the whole thing started happening again. This time I was home alone. My wife and daughter were visiting relatives for the weekend. I was bound and determined not to let the ghosts get to me and even yelled out to them to leave me alone and to go away. It seemed to work at first. The noises would stop and everything would be quiet, but as soon as I laid back down and began to get comfortable it would all start up again!
The next day I went to see a man I knew who I had rented our previous residence from. I told him about everything that had happened and asked him if he knew anything about the history of the house or had ever heard anything about it being haunted by ghosts. He told me that sometime back in the 1920's there was a murder during a big family gathering, but didn't know any details about what had happened or who had been murdered.
That really got me to feeling eerie! I knew without any doubt that the house was haunted because my wife and I had both heard the sounds on more than one occasion and now I had learned a little bit about the history of the house.
The very next day the owner of the house came by and told us that we had to move out right away. I asked him why, but he would give no explanation. He just said that he didn't want anyone living in the house. I am certain that my ex-landlord had told him about what I had said about the ghosts and that was the reason he wanted us out as well as the reason why he wasn't living there himself. So, not long afterwards we would be driving past the old house and see that "For Sale" sign and wonder if anyone would ever live there.
Written By David Slone and Copyright © 2007 True Ghost Tales all rights reserved. No part of this story may be used without permission.
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Make your house haunted with supplies from our costume store! Find the scariest adult costumes that will send chills up your spine. We have a wide selection of kids costumes too!
It was a very beautiful three story house with a two room guest house and a big barn. It was located on the side of hill on a sparsely populated country road in south-eastern Kentucky. I had been living a few miles up the road and so I passed this house almost every day. For years there was a "For Sale" sign out front, but there never seemed to be a buyer.
I was working for a retired couple doing odd jobs. One day the old man made me an offer on the house. Until then I didn't even know that he was the one who owned it. He said that if I would clear the weeds on the hillside behind it and keep all the grass cut, wash the windows and do some repairs that I could live in it rent free. Naturally I was excited about the idea and so within a few days my wife, my daughter, and I were moving into the house. I did think that it was a little strange that he and his wife lived in their small house next to the road instead of that nice big house on the hill, but I didn't give it too much thought.
We couldn't believe our luck. The house was really nice inside and out and the property it was on was beautiful. There was a huge yard and the mountain spread out behind it with trees every where you looked. The nearest neighbors were almost half a mile away.
After only a couple of nights strange things started to happen. One night we were laying in bed in the third story bedroom when I began to hear music. It reminded me of the Big Band groups like Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller. The music sounded far off at first, but it grew louder and louder until it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Next I could hear what sounded like a large group of people talking. I couldn't make out what was being said, it was like a bunch of voices all mixed together. Suddenly a man and woman started yelling and arguing. I still couldn't make out what was being said, but I knew for sure that it was a man and a woman who were fighting.
At this point I turned to my wife and asked her if she could hear anything. She looked at me and I saw that her eyes were wide and she was afraid. She told me that she did hear something downstairs. I asked her what it was that she was hearing. She described to me exactly what I myself had been hearing! She said she heard a lot of people talking and then a man and a woman arguing and some old fashioned music playing. When she told me all that it was like the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. For some reason I had felt no fear until that moment, but suddenly I was afraid. Were there ghosts just downstairs from us?
We got up from the bed and slowly walked toward the stairs and turned on the lights. The music and the voices started getting quieter. We went down the first flight of stairs and turned on the next set of lights and the ghostly sounds stopped. Soon we were in the main living room and were looking all around for any signs of what we had heard. Suddenly the ghostly noises started up again, except this time they were upstairs! We ran upstairs and brought our daughter down to the first floor. We made pallets in the floor and spent the rest of the night listening for ghosts with most every light in the house turned on.
Several nights later the whole thing started happening again. This time I was home alone. My wife and daughter were visiting relatives for the weekend. I was bound and determined not to let the ghosts get to me and even yelled out to them to leave me alone and to go away. It seemed to work at first. The noises would stop and everything would be quiet, but as soon as I laid back down and began to get comfortable it would all start up again!
The next day I went to see a man I knew who I had rented our previous residence from. I told him about everything that had happened and asked him if he knew anything about the history of the house or had ever heard anything about it being haunted by ghosts. He told me that sometime back in the 1920's there was a murder during a big family gathering, but didn't know any details about what had happened or who had been murdered.
That really got me to feeling eerie! I knew without any doubt that the house was haunted because my wife and I had both heard the sounds on more than one occasion and now I had learned a little bit about the history of the house.
The very next day the owner of the house came by and told us that we had to move out right away. I asked him why, but he would give no explanation. He just said that he didn't want anyone living in the house. I am certain that my ex-landlord had told him about what I had said about the ghosts and that was the reason he wanted us out as well as the reason why he wasn't living there himself. So, not long afterwards we would be driving past the old house and see that "For Sale" sign and wonder if anyone would ever live there.
Written By David Slone and Copyright © 2007 True Ghost Tales all rights reserved. No part of this story may be used without permission.
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Make your house haunted with supplies from our costume store! Find the scariest adult costumes that will send chills up your spine. We have a wide selection of kids costumes too!
My Daughter's Imaginary Friend Was an Evil Ghost
My Daughter's Imaginary Friend Was an Evil GhostMy children and I moved into a house built in 1903, in Lancaster, Ohio. The year was 1985 when my 5 year old daughter began talking about a girl who was in her room. We lived in the upstairs apartment and another family lived in the downstairs so I suspected one of the kids downstairs had once again gotten into the house to play with my kids.
A full search of the house proved that no one but our family was in our apartment but my daughter insisted that the girl had been in her room. As time went on my daughter began to tell me that this girl would pinch her or hurt her and even show me the red mark on her arm to prove it.
My sister in law came to me one day to tell me my daughter was playing tea party with a friend and I laughed. She grabbed my arm and said quietly but firmly that the "friend" was real. I laughed again but she grasped my arm so hard this time that I had no choice but to go where she dragged me.
She was adamant that I listen and watch the tea party in progress and I did just that. I looked at her and asked what the problem was and she demanded this time that I keep my eyes on my daughter's mouth and listen for some time to be sure I heard it too. I asked what she heard and she said there was another voice, not my daughter's, but was also a young girl's voice.
I let out a large sigh and said, "Is that all!?" I said, "She does different voices all the time."
My sister in law wasn't having any of it and looked at me with consternation saying, "Don't you think I've heard all of them too?"
Well, at about that moment my daughter began serving tea and talking to all the dolls and stuffed animals she'd set up around her in a circle. My sister in law pointed out the large vacant space but I shrugged and just said, "Oh, she's got an imaginary friend, that's all!", and I laughed. She, however did not and gave me a look which took me aback.
She said my daughter might need an exorcist and seemed dead serious about this. I began to laugh but stopped in the middle of it when I clearly heard the voice of another girl in the area where my 5 year old was holding high tea. That's when I began to watch my daughter's face intently to see if this might be a voice I'd never heard before. I knew full well she had a limited repertoire when it came to voices. Still, who knew if she'd invented yet another.
The first time I heard this "other" voice I could not clearly see my daughter's face but the second time I heard it I did and she didn't even have her mouth open. I looked at my sister in law and she at me and I said, "What? She's a ventriloquist?"
She said rather sternly, "I don't think so? What are you going to do about it?"
I said, "What do you mean what am I going to do about it?"
She said, "You have to do something, your daughter is having tea with someone we can't see but whom we can hear very well."
Frankly I was still in shock at what I just heard and I was trying to get my mind around this. To my mind there had to be a reasonable explanation but I just hadn't thought of it yet. My sister in law said if I wasn't going to do anything she was and she grabbed my daughter by reaching over the threshold of her bedroom door without stepping inside. In one fell swoop she yanked my daughter out of the room and grabbed my arm saying we were all going outside for a very long walk.
Once outside and off the property of the house I asked her what in the world just happened in there. She asked me to tell her what I remembered. I told her what I've just told you here and she said, "Yup, that's about it!"
I said, "No, tell me what you saw and heard!", and she said, "I saw and heard the same things you did."
We must've walked eight or more blocks before we realized we didn't want to return to a dark house. My daughter began preschool and my sister in law and I talked about how to handle this. She suggested I take a walk to the top of the hill and talk to the local catholic priests.
I felt it more important to play along with my daughter, as if the girl was real, and ask my daughter what she looked like. Not knowing what to call them she described button up shoes which I'd only seen as a very small child myself. She described how the girl put them on and took them off by saying she used a hook. Indeed this is how these are worn but again, I hadn't thought of this since I was very small watching grandma put her's on.
My daughter remarked how the girl hated wearing them since they hurt her feet and ankles very much. she said they rubbed her skin raw. Days later I remembered seeing such marks on grandma's feet and ankles when I was young and she was still wearing her's. My daughter knew the exact places where such shoes rubbed the feet and ankles and I know very well that she couldn't have known this.
She kept saying how the girl hated the "high collars" as she called them and the sleeves that buttoned up to the elbow. The girl said they were tight and very uncomfortable.
My daughter, a connoisseur of tights at that time, took note of the girl's knit stocking and asked where she'd gotten them. The girl said her mother had made them, as would be the custom at the turn of the century. The girl said they were scratchy and hot. My daughter asked what wool was and told me that the girl's stockings had been made of wool. Indeed, I had been taught as a very young girl by grandma that they were made from wool. Grandma explained how some wool was better and softer than others. I'd never spoken of this to my daughter.
The girl had long curly red hair which my daughter was envious of. She also had a large red velvet bow which held it back. Again this is a hair style from the turn of the century.
She said the girl was very pale, very white complexioned and coughed a lot. She said she'd asked the girl if she felt well and the girl said she'd been very ill with a fever. She told me that the girl said she was nine years old.
So, we had turn of the century dress, hair style, and shoes, so my next step was to locate official records about any deaths which might have occurred in that house and records to show when the house had been built. It was a fascinating journey reading the old plat maps and the death register. It was very sad reading name after name of young girls and boys who died from fevers, head pain, and countless other maladies. Even older people who died were not very old but mainly in their 60's.
Finally I located the lot on the plat map and this lead me back to real estate records which told me the surname of the owner at the time it was built. From there I followed the trail of owners and made note of each and everyone of them up to the present day. Back reading the death record I knew what surnames to look for then.
In 1903 a young girl by the name of Ida Mae Skinner died of infection caused by accidental shooting. At the local library I was able to locate old newspaper articles about the whole ordeal which was fascinating to read although sad. She was just a teenager when 10 days after being shot accidentally, she died in the living room upstairs which was probably her bedroom. In 1985 it was our living room. Needless to say this girl was not the one my daughter had become friends with.
She began saying the girl changed into a skeleton and would fly right through the window. One day after that I heard my son screaming for me to come quick as my daughter had opened the window and was trying to go out it. There were no screens in them! Needless to say the windows got nailed shut after that. My daughter insisted that the girl had opened the window and I knew all too well that it took some strength to get one of them open.
While my daughter was at school I took the time to talk to the young girl who was obviously there to tell her that we loved my daughter very much and didn't want her hurt. I told her to leave or to leave my family alone or I'd have to get the catholic priests involved in it. I told her to go to god since she was obviously dead. My daughter knew nothing of this and neither did my sister in law.
Once my daughter came home she said the girl said I was mean and that my daughter should come with her. My daughter said the girl turned into a skeleton and circled around in the room before another greenish-grey entity with red eyes came to chase her out the window. She said the girl was terrified of this entity. My daughter said she wasn't scared by any of it but felt bad for the girl. She was scared of this thing catching her.
I told my daughter that when the girl tried to hurt her just to say she was going to call that entity in to come after her if she didn't quit hurting her. It worked!
After that my daughter would say from time to time that the girl was making noise and waking her up. My son said there was giggling over the partition in their room and she clearly had another girl over there! I asked my daughter if this was true and she said the girl and she would talk about things that made them laugh.
My son began saying that someone was pinching him and it hurt. He said he didn't see who was doing it. When I investigated it I could see that he should've known who was doing it. He said it was a girl with red hair when he got a good look at her. He said she was very fast. We'd hear running up and down the hall along with tumbling but I suspected it was coming from downstairs.
They complained to the landlady that it was coming from upstairs. I suspected they just wanted to be mean to get us kicked out. My sister in law and I kept watch in the hallway several nights and noted the times it began and stopped. Usually it went on clear up until about 3 AM each night.
Finally we went to the landlady with this information to tell her we were not to blame. She said she would just rather evict both tenants in both apartments. Fearing she would do this we had a talk with the downstairs tenants. They had heard the running and tumbling for some time, even before we moved in!
I began checking city directories to see how many tenants had lived in that house and the time span they'd lived there. Over the course of over 15 years there'd been as many new tenants. No one ever stayed a full year in that house in either apartment after the original owners sold it. From there it became a duplex, one up, one down. I could not locate any of the previous tenants to verify one way or the other why they moved so quickly.
An 80 year old neighbor across the street filled me in. Past tenants said there'd been ghosts in there. In all we experienced four ghosts. The teen, the nine year old girl, a 50ish man who drug one leg through our hallway all the time, usually at night, and a young robust man. We'd catch glimpses of the young man, the teenage girl and one day before we moved out entirely after six years of hell in that house, we saw the nine year old leave a blur in color of herself as she darted between I and a friend of mine in the hallway. She headed for the kitchen. My friend was utterly shocked.
My daughter began yelling that the girl said she was going to push a pan off the stove. I laughed and saw it was a heavy pan which sat squarely on the stove burner. Besides that there was about a two inch wall on the side of the stove. We all watched it move seemingly by itself to the edge of the stove, come up over that short wall, and fall to the floor.
We all looked at one another and my daughter screamed again that the girl was heading for my crockery bowls sitting about six inches from the edge of the countertop. When I began to see them move towards the edge, again, seemingly by themselves, my daughter ran to save them from falling to the floor.
She yelled at the girl that she no longer wanted to be friends with her because she was a very bad girl. I praised her for being straight with the girl and telling her like it was. My daughter was like a little rooster when you got her angry. We knew the girl ghost hadn't a chance.
There were other things the girl ghost did which horrified the neighbor boys. Late one night when there wasn't much light outside they came around our side of the house heading for our door to ask for something for their grandma next door. When they did knock on the door they were absolutely terrified. They said they'd seen my daughter outside at the back corner as they came around it. She hissed at them like a cat and growled like one too before they noticed her eyes were glowing red in the dark! I'm glad I didn't see it myself.
We all knew my daughter was in the apartment upstairs the entire time and that whoever they saw was not her. This terrified them even more. They went home to tell their grandparents about this. Both residences, their grandparents and our house shared the young male ghost. Through the newspaper articles I discovered he'd lived in their house when he was alive. His dad, a renowned doctor in his time, had once owned and run his doctor's business out of our house.
We later found his "shingle" in the basement of our house. Through a series of circumstances I discovered why the young man was in our house. When I wore my hair up, I was the spitting image, of the teen girl who'd died in the front room upstairs. In those days it was the duty of a true friend to honor the last wishes of the dying. The young man loved the teen girl very much from all accounts. The horror of that age was being buried alive. So, then, this accounts for the young man's behavior at seeing me alive and well. He thought I was her.
I woke up late into the night one night with large hands squeezing my throat. When I tried to fling myself up to get away from this I was held fast. I had to fight my way out of the covers and discovered that my pillow had been placed underneath my back below my neck.
It wasn't until many years later when I discovered how the last wish of the dying was carried out, to make sure they were indeed dead before being buried. What of the covers being tucked in tightly all around me up to the neck with my arms to my sides? This is how they set the body before rigor set in to where the body could not be posed for viewing. What about the pillow? Again, this was done in order that the corpse looked as natural as possible. Laying flat in a pine box in the normal state without help to hold the neck forward meant that the jaw would be pushed down towards the chest. Problem solved by setting the body with the pillow just below the neck.
when I fought my way out of this choking to flip the light on to have a look at my neck I saw large finger marks on my throat. While fighting my way out I heard a man scream in horror. Thinking back on this I laugh ... the young man thought the girl he loved, whom he'd seen die, had somehow come back to life. Here he was choking her as her last wish and ... well you know the rest, lol.
Poor guy! I finally had a long talk with this guy that night and showed him the calendar along with bills with the date on them. I explained what year it was and who I was. Although I could not hear him audibly I could hear him in my mind telling me this couldn't be so.
He showed me outside the bathroom window that there were large low barns which held horses and carriages. It was fascinating to see all this as he showed it to me. The bathroom wasn't a bathroom at the time he was living and I could even see the inside stair well which I'd never known was there before. Later on I verified that this did indeed still exist below our bathroom closet.
I asked the young man if he knew anyone who'd died already and asked him to think about them. I saw a very bright light in my mind and he saw it also. He said it was OK and seemed to be content to go into it. I was glad to get to go back to bed at least for a few more hours. I didn't sleep but kept going through the entire experience in my mind for hours trying to figure it all out.
I learned more about the young man from the woman who was living in the house where he'd once lived, across the alley. She was Pentecostal, and to me this was a bit out there, but we discussed the young man's coming and going in their house and our's. She'd talked to the young man as if he was one of the family.
Then another man seemed to be coming in too. This one was older from the sound of his walking and the sound of dragging one foot. One day I laughed because I could fill in the blanks of who he was. I knew how he got that way, an industrial accident. He'd once lived in our house. He often made himself known by opening our dead bolt lock and door no matter what time of year it was and leaving it open. He'd then come up the stairs clomping his heavy boots the entire way. He walked heavy through the upstairs hallway at night too.
I and the neighbor laughed at this. One day she told me she knew why this man came to her house also. The doctor lived next door even during this man's time in our house. In other words, it was the doctor next door who was treating him! Mystery solved.
You can imagine the times we had with all four of these ghosts in that house. Some were hilarious like the time my sister in law asked me how I got into the kitchen without her seeing me when I'd just come out of the bathroom down the hall and gone into my bedroom. She'd been standing in the hall the entire time and I couldn't have gotten past her without being seen.
When I said I was in the kitchen the entire time she told me not to speak to her again and slinked into the living room which was her room at the time. She sulked there for some time before finally telling me what she'd seen. I told her a quick goodnight and good luck before acting like I was heading for my own room at the other end of the house. I laughed at seeing her face but sensed I should get her into a better mood before I left that room. I told her to sleep with the light on if it made her feel better. She did.
Written an contributed by Patty Roe Copyright © 2007 all rights reserved. No part of this story may be used without permission.
After submitting her story to us Patty has written more information about what she and her family experienced with her daughter's imaginary friend. Read more about the events surrounding their ghostly experience Author's Comments on her Daughter's Imaginary Friend
You will also be interested in reading these other stories that involve a child's imaginary friend:
My Childhood Imaginary Friend Turned Out to be a Ghost
The Imaginary Friend - A Real Ghost Story
A full search of the house proved that no one but our family was in our apartment but my daughter insisted that the girl had been in her room. As time went on my daughter began to tell me that this girl would pinch her or hurt her and even show me the red mark on her arm to prove it.
My sister in law came to me one day to tell me my daughter was playing tea party with a friend and I laughed. She grabbed my arm and said quietly but firmly that the "friend" was real. I laughed again but she grasped my arm so hard this time that I had no choice but to go where she dragged me.
She was adamant that I listen and watch the tea party in progress and I did just that. I looked at her and asked what the problem was and she demanded this time that I keep my eyes on my daughter's mouth and listen for some time to be sure I heard it too. I asked what she heard and she said there was another voice, not my daughter's, but was also a young girl's voice.
I let out a large sigh and said, "Is that all!?" I said, "She does different voices all the time."
My sister in law wasn't having any of it and looked at me with consternation saying, "Don't you think I've heard all of them too?"
Well, at about that moment my daughter began serving tea and talking to all the dolls and stuffed animals she'd set up around her in a circle. My sister in law pointed out the large vacant space but I shrugged and just said, "Oh, she's got an imaginary friend, that's all!", and I laughed. She, however did not and gave me a look which took me aback.
She said my daughter might need an exorcist and seemed dead serious about this. I began to laugh but stopped in the middle of it when I clearly heard the voice of another girl in the area where my 5 year old was holding high tea. That's when I began to watch my daughter's face intently to see if this might be a voice I'd never heard before. I knew full well she had a limited repertoire when it came to voices. Still, who knew if she'd invented yet another.
The first time I heard this "other" voice I could not clearly see my daughter's face but the second time I heard it I did and she didn't even have her mouth open. I looked at my sister in law and she at me and I said, "What? She's a ventriloquist?"
She said rather sternly, "I don't think so? What are you going to do about it?"
I said, "What do you mean what am I going to do about it?"
She said, "You have to do something, your daughter is having tea with someone we can't see but whom we can hear very well."
Frankly I was still in shock at what I just heard and I was trying to get my mind around this. To my mind there had to be a reasonable explanation but I just hadn't thought of it yet. My sister in law said if I wasn't going to do anything she was and she grabbed my daughter by reaching over the threshold of her bedroom door without stepping inside. In one fell swoop she yanked my daughter out of the room and grabbed my arm saying we were all going outside for a very long walk.
Once outside and off the property of the house I asked her what in the world just happened in there. She asked me to tell her what I remembered. I told her what I've just told you here and she said, "Yup, that's about it!"
I said, "No, tell me what you saw and heard!", and she said, "I saw and heard the same things you did."
We must've walked eight or more blocks before we realized we didn't want to return to a dark house. My daughter began preschool and my sister in law and I talked about how to handle this. She suggested I take a walk to the top of the hill and talk to the local catholic priests.
I felt it more important to play along with my daughter, as if the girl was real, and ask my daughter what she looked like. Not knowing what to call them she described button up shoes which I'd only seen as a very small child myself. She described how the girl put them on and took them off by saying she used a hook. Indeed this is how these are worn but again, I hadn't thought of this since I was very small watching grandma put her's on.
My daughter remarked how the girl hated wearing them since they hurt her feet and ankles very much. she said they rubbed her skin raw. Days later I remembered seeing such marks on grandma's feet and ankles when I was young and she was still wearing her's. My daughter knew the exact places where such shoes rubbed the feet and ankles and I know very well that she couldn't have known this.
She kept saying how the girl hated the "high collars" as she called them and the sleeves that buttoned up to the elbow. The girl said they were tight and very uncomfortable.
My daughter, a connoisseur of tights at that time, took note of the girl's knit stocking and asked where she'd gotten them. The girl said her mother had made them, as would be the custom at the turn of the century. The girl said they were scratchy and hot. My daughter asked what wool was and told me that the girl's stockings had been made of wool. Indeed, I had been taught as a very young girl by grandma that they were made from wool. Grandma explained how some wool was better and softer than others. I'd never spoken of this to my daughter.
The girl had long curly red hair which my daughter was envious of. She also had a large red velvet bow which held it back. Again this is a hair style from the turn of the century.
She said the girl was very pale, very white complexioned and coughed a lot. She said she'd asked the girl if she felt well and the girl said she'd been very ill with a fever. She told me that the girl said she was nine years old.
So, we had turn of the century dress, hair style, and shoes, so my next step was to locate official records about any deaths which might have occurred in that house and records to show when the house had been built. It was a fascinating journey reading the old plat maps and the death register. It was very sad reading name after name of young girls and boys who died from fevers, head pain, and countless other maladies. Even older people who died were not very old but mainly in their 60's.
Finally I located the lot on the plat map and this lead me back to real estate records which told me the surname of the owner at the time it was built. From there I followed the trail of owners and made note of each and everyone of them up to the present day. Back reading the death record I knew what surnames to look for then.
In 1903 a young girl by the name of Ida Mae Skinner died of infection caused by accidental shooting. At the local library I was able to locate old newspaper articles about the whole ordeal which was fascinating to read although sad. She was just a teenager when 10 days after being shot accidentally, she died in the living room upstairs which was probably her bedroom. In 1985 it was our living room. Needless to say this girl was not the one my daughter had become friends with.
She began saying the girl changed into a skeleton and would fly right through the window. One day after that I heard my son screaming for me to come quick as my daughter had opened the window and was trying to go out it. There were no screens in them! Needless to say the windows got nailed shut after that. My daughter insisted that the girl had opened the window and I knew all too well that it took some strength to get one of them open.
While my daughter was at school I took the time to talk to the young girl who was obviously there to tell her that we loved my daughter very much and didn't want her hurt. I told her to leave or to leave my family alone or I'd have to get the catholic priests involved in it. I told her to go to god since she was obviously dead. My daughter knew nothing of this and neither did my sister in law.
Once my daughter came home she said the girl said I was mean and that my daughter should come with her. My daughter said the girl turned into a skeleton and circled around in the room before another greenish-grey entity with red eyes came to chase her out the window. She said the girl was terrified of this entity. My daughter said she wasn't scared by any of it but felt bad for the girl. She was scared of this thing catching her.
I told my daughter that when the girl tried to hurt her just to say she was going to call that entity in to come after her if she didn't quit hurting her. It worked!
After that my daughter would say from time to time that the girl was making noise and waking her up. My son said there was giggling over the partition in their room and she clearly had another girl over there! I asked my daughter if this was true and she said the girl and she would talk about things that made them laugh.
My son began saying that someone was pinching him and it hurt. He said he didn't see who was doing it. When I investigated it I could see that he should've known who was doing it. He said it was a girl with red hair when he got a good look at her. He said she was very fast. We'd hear running up and down the hall along with tumbling but I suspected it was coming from downstairs.
They complained to the landlady that it was coming from upstairs. I suspected they just wanted to be mean to get us kicked out. My sister in law and I kept watch in the hallway several nights and noted the times it began and stopped. Usually it went on clear up until about 3 AM each night.
Finally we went to the landlady with this information to tell her we were not to blame. She said she would just rather evict both tenants in both apartments. Fearing she would do this we had a talk with the downstairs tenants. They had heard the running and tumbling for some time, even before we moved in!
I began checking city directories to see how many tenants had lived in that house and the time span they'd lived there. Over the course of over 15 years there'd been as many new tenants. No one ever stayed a full year in that house in either apartment after the original owners sold it. From there it became a duplex, one up, one down. I could not locate any of the previous tenants to verify one way or the other why they moved so quickly.
An 80 year old neighbor across the street filled me in. Past tenants said there'd been ghosts in there. In all we experienced four ghosts. The teen, the nine year old girl, a 50ish man who drug one leg through our hallway all the time, usually at night, and a young robust man. We'd catch glimpses of the young man, the teenage girl and one day before we moved out entirely after six years of hell in that house, we saw the nine year old leave a blur in color of herself as she darted between I and a friend of mine in the hallway. She headed for the kitchen. My friend was utterly shocked.
My daughter began yelling that the girl said she was going to push a pan off the stove. I laughed and saw it was a heavy pan which sat squarely on the stove burner. Besides that there was about a two inch wall on the side of the stove. We all watched it move seemingly by itself to the edge of the stove, come up over that short wall, and fall to the floor.
We all looked at one another and my daughter screamed again that the girl was heading for my crockery bowls sitting about six inches from the edge of the countertop. When I began to see them move towards the edge, again, seemingly by themselves, my daughter ran to save them from falling to the floor.
She yelled at the girl that she no longer wanted to be friends with her because she was a very bad girl. I praised her for being straight with the girl and telling her like it was. My daughter was like a little rooster when you got her angry. We knew the girl ghost hadn't a chance.
There were other things the girl ghost did which horrified the neighbor boys. Late one night when there wasn't much light outside they came around our side of the house heading for our door to ask for something for their grandma next door. When they did knock on the door they were absolutely terrified. They said they'd seen my daughter outside at the back corner as they came around it. She hissed at them like a cat and growled like one too before they noticed her eyes were glowing red in the dark! I'm glad I didn't see it myself.
We all knew my daughter was in the apartment upstairs the entire time and that whoever they saw was not her. This terrified them even more. They went home to tell their grandparents about this. Both residences, their grandparents and our house shared the young male ghost. Through the newspaper articles I discovered he'd lived in their house when he was alive. His dad, a renowned doctor in his time, had once owned and run his doctor's business out of our house.
We later found his "shingle" in the basement of our house. Through a series of circumstances I discovered why the young man was in our house. When I wore my hair up, I was the spitting image, of the teen girl who'd died in the front room upstairs. In those days it was the duty of a true friend to honor the last wishes of the dying. The young man loved the teen girl very much from all accounts. The horror of that age was being buried alive. So, then, this accounts for the young man's behavior at seeing me alive and well. He thought I was her.
I woke up late into the night one night with large hands squeezing my throat. When I tried to fling myself up to get away from this I was held fast. I had to fight my way out of the covers and discovered that my pillow had been placed underneath my back below my neck.
It wasn't until many years later when I discovered how the last wish of the dying was carried out, to make sure they were indeed dead before being buried. What of the covers being tucked in tightly all around me up to the neck with my arms to my sides? This is how they set the body before rigor set in to where the body could not be posed for viewing. What about the pillow? Again, this was done in order that the corpse looked as natural as possible. Laying flat in a pine box in the normal state without help to hold the neck forward meant that the jaw would be pushed down towards the chest. Problem solved by setting the body with the pillow just below the neck.
when I fought my way out of this choking to flip the light on to have a look at my neck I saw large finger marks on my throat. While fighting my way out I heard a man scream in horror. Thinking back on this I laugh ... the young man thought the girl he loved, whom he'd seen die, had somehow come back to life. Here he was choking her as her last wish and ... well you know the rest, lol.
Poor guy! I finally had a long talk with this guy that night and showed him the calendar along with bills with the date on them. I explained what year it was and who I was. Although I could not hear him audibly I could hear him in my mind telling me this couldn't be so.
He showed me outside the bathroom window that there were large low barns which held horses and carriages. It was fascinating to see all this as he showed it to me. The bathroom wasn't a bathroom at the time he was living and I could even see the inside stair well which I'd never known was there before. Later on I verified that this did indeed still exist below our bathroom closet.
I asked the young man if he knew anyone who'd died already and asked him to think about them. I saw a very bright light in my mind and he saw it also. He said it was OK and seemed to be content to go into it. I was glad to get to go back to bed at least for a few more hours. I didn't sleep but kept going through the entire experience in my mind for hours trying to figure it all out.
I learned more about the young man from the woman who was living in the house where he'd once lived, across the alley. She was Pentecostal, and to me this was a bit out there, but we discussed the young man's coming and going in their house and our's. She'd talked to the young man as if he was one of the family.
Then another man seemed to be coming in too. This one was older from the sound of his walking and the sound of dragging one foot. One day I laughed because I could fill in the blanks of who he was. I knew how he got that way, an industrial accident. He'd once lived in our house. He often made himself known by opening our dead bolt lock and door no matter what time of year it was and leaving it open. He'd then come up the stairs clomping his heavy boots the entire way. He walked heavy through the upstairs hallway at night too.
I and the neighbor laughed at this. One day she told me she knew why this man came to her house also. The doctor lived next door even during this man's time in our house. In other words, it was the doctor next door who was treating him! Mystery solved.
You can imagine the times we had with all four of these ghosts in that house. Some were hilarious like the time my sister in law asked me how I got into the kitchen without her seeing me when I'd just come out of the bathroom down the hall and gone into my bedroom. She'd been standing in the hall the entire time and I couldn't have gotten past her without being seen.
When I said I was in the kitchen the entire time she told me not to speak to her again and slinked into the living room which was her room at the time. She sulked there for some time before finally telling me what she'd seen. I told her a quick goodnight and good luck before acting like I was heading for my own room at the other end of the house. I laughed at seeing her face but sensed I should get her into a better mood before I left that room. I told her to sleep with the light on if it made her feel better. She did.
Written an contributed by Patty Roe Copyright © 2007 all rights reserved. No part of this story may be used without permission.
After submitting her story to us Patty has written more information about what she and her family experienced with her daughter's imaginary friend. Read more about the events surrounding their ghostly experience Author's Comments on her Daughter's Imaginary Friend
You will also be interested in reading these other stories that involve a child's imaginary friend:
My Childhood Imaginary Friend Turned Out to be a Ghost
The Imaginary Friend - A Real Ghost Story
The Bermuda Triangle
The Bermuda Triangle is inexorably associated with time travel, UFOs, missing time and wormholes. Credible witnesses to the effects of the Bermuda Triangle have been witnessed by Charles Lindbergh to Christopher Columbus. When Charles Lindbergh was making a nonstop flight from Havana to St. Louis his magnetic compass started rotating. His Earth-inductor-compass needle jumped back and forth erratically. This has now all been revealed in his autobiography. Even a great pilot like Charles Lindbergh witnessed unusual events while flying in the reaches of the Bermuda Triangle.
Let me introduce you to Nancy Bradley - Celebrity Psychic. Nancy is gifted with the sight. She has been a psychic consultant for many celebrities, she has predicted various earthquakes and recently predicted the illness of Senator Ted Kennedy.
Nancy has met many celebrities and one celebrity that really stands out is Vincent Gaddis, the man that first coined the phrase Bermuda Triangle. Nancy has been very interested in all things paranormal, especially the Bermuda Triangle.
Perhaps if we want to learn the methods of time travel, we need to investigate the Bermuda Triangle more thoroughly. Why do so many witnesses claim to see a strange fog or a strange cloud before the mishaps happen? Could we find the key to time travel in the midst of the Bermuda Triangle? Survivors of the Bermuda Triangle complain about distortions in time or missing time. What did Flight 19 - The Lost Patrol see that was so odd in the Bermuda Triangle? Where did they go? Did they enter a wormhole and land in another dimension? Did they travel back into time or forward into time? So many questions, but yet so little answers.
I have survived the Bermuda Triangle while taking a flight to Puerto Rico and later to St. Thomas for my sister's wedding. The only thing unusual that happened is when my flight hit an air pocket that made the plane shake tremendously. Some passengers even screamed.
Bruce Gernon flew his plane, a Bonanza A36 into the Bermuda Triangle and encountered a non-threatening mile and a half long Lenticular shaped cloud. When he came near this cloud, he thought it was unusual because it was so low to the water. Most Lenticular shaped clouds are high in the atmosphere. The cloud seemed to come alive. It became huge, it engulfed his plane 5 times. It became the shape of an immense squall and extended 10 miles! From a harmless Lenticular cloud it became a dangerous cumulonimbus cloud with a massive thunderhead. A tunnel opened up in the cloud and he went through this tunnel. The tunnel had cloud trails swirling around his plane. While going into this tunnel, he experienced zero gravity and the only thing keeping him in the cockpit was his seatbelt. He survived this ordeal, but it's an experience he will never forget. Was this tunnel in the cloud a wormhole?
Christopher Columbus wrote in his memoirs on how his compass acted strangely while sailing through the Bermuda Triangle. He also witnessed along with another shipmate a glowing globe of light that seemed to hover over the sea. Did Columbus and his shipmate witness a UFO in the Bermuda Triangle in the year of 1492? Did the UFO help Columbus find land?
Edgar Cayce, the sleeping prophet said that Atlantis would rise in 1968 or 1969 and in that time frame we discovered the strange roads of Bimimi. Would a great civilization like Atlantis be attracted to the unique properties of the Bermuda Triangle? Could the Bermuda Triangle also serve as an energy source for a great civilization?
What is with the clouds or the fog? When strange clouds or fog enter the Bermuda Triangle, strange things start happening. Strange fog or mist has been seen with the Philadelphia Experiment in which the USS Eldridge vanished and reappeared later miles away, with some of the crew men infused into the hull of the ship. There are reports of past armies of men disappearing into a strange mist. In 1901 Anne Moberly & Eleanor Jourdain stepped into a mist and arrived at a time period before the French Revolution. The mist and those ominous clouds must be the key to time travel or entering other dimensions.
We need teams of scientists to study this phenomenon. It's a phenomenon that may be able to open many doors literally. Perhaps we can truly find our Stargate. Right now, Gold Rush Ghosts is analyzing their case documents on the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe, just maybe Vincent Gaddis left some tidbit of information that will lead to solving this mystery.
To learn more about Nancy Bradley, please see her website at: www.nancybradley.org or www.ghostgirls.net You can read about her husband Robert Reppert's paranormal investigation team at www.goldrushghosts.com
Paul Dale Roberts, Gold Rush Ghosts Ghostwriter/Paranormal Investigator
Let me introduce you to Nancy Bradley - Celebrity Psychic. Nancy is gifted with the sight. She has been a psychic consultant for many celebrities, she has predicted various earthquakes and recently predicted the illness of Senator Ted Kennedy.
Nancy has met many celebrities and one celebrity that really stands out is Vincent Gaddis, the man that first coined the phrase Bermuda Triangle. Nancy has been very interested in all things paranormal, especially the Bermuda Triangle.
Perhaps if we want to learn the methods of time travel, we need to investigate the Bermuda Triangle more thoroughly. Why do so many witnesses claim to see a strange fog or a strange cloud before the mishaps happen? Could we find the key to time travel in the midst of the Bermuda Triangle? Survivors of the Bermuda Triangle complain about distortions in time or missing time. What did Flight 19 - The Lost Patrol see that was so odd in the Bermuda Triangle? Where did they go? Did they enter a wormhole and land in another dimension? Did they travel back into time or forward into time? So many questions, but yet so little answers.
I have survived the Bermuda Triangle while taking a flight to Puerto Rico and later to St. Thomas for my sister's wedding. The only thing unusual that happened is when my flight hit an air pocket that made the plane shake tremendously. Some passengers even screamed.
Bruce Gernon flew his plane, a Bonanza A36 into the Bermuda Triangle and encountered a non-threatening mile and a half long Lenticular shaped cloud. When he came near this cloud, he thought it was unusual because it was so low to the water. Most Lenticular shaped clouds are high in the atmosphere. The cloud seemed to come alive. It became huge, it engulfed his plane 5 times. It became the shape of an immense squall and extended 10 miles! From a harmless Lenticular cloud it became a dangerous cumulonimbus cloud with a massive thunderhead. A tunnel opened up in the cloud and he went through this tunnel. The tunnel had cloud trails swirling around his plane. While going into this tunnel, he experienced zero gravity and the only thing keeping him in the cockpit was his seatbelt. He survived this ordeal, but it's an experience he will never forget. Was this tunnel in the cloud a wormhole?
Christopher Columbus wrote in his memoirs on how his compass acted strangely while sailing through the Bermuda Triangle. He also witnessed along with another shipmate a glowing globe of light that seemed to hover over the sea. Did Columbus and his shipmate witness a UFO in the Bermuda Triangle in the year of 1492? Did the UFO help Columbus find land?
Edgar Cayce, the sleeping prophet said that Atlantis would rise in 1968 or 1969 and in that time frame we discovered the strange roads of Bimimi. Would a great civilization like Atlantis be attracted to the unique properties of the Bermuda Triangle? Could the Bermuda Triangle also serve as an energy source for a great civilization?
What is with the clouds or the fog? When strange clouds or fog enter the Bermuda Triangle, strange things start happening. Strange fog or mist has been seen with the Philadelphia Experiment in which the USS Eldridge vanished and reappeared later miles away, with some of the crew men infused into the hull of the ship. There are reports of past armies of men disappearing into a strange mist. In 1901 Anne Moberly & Eleanor Jourdain stepped into a mist and arrived at a time period before the French Revolution. The mist and those ominous clouds must be the key to time travel or entering other dimensions.
We need teams of scientists to study this phenomenon. It's a phenomenon that may be able to open many doors literally. Perhaps we can truly find our Stargate. Right now, Gold Rush Ghosts is analyzing their case documents on the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe, just maybe Vincent Gaddis left some tidbit of information that will lead to solving this mystery.
To learn more about Nancy Bradley, please see her website at: www.nancybradley.org or www.ghostgirls.net You can read about her husband Robert Reppert's paranormal investigation team at www.goldrushghosts.com
Paul Dale Roberts, Gold Rush Ghosts Ghostwriter/Paranormal Investigator
Coffee Shop Ghost
The coffee shop I used to work in had been a fairly crazy bar in the 70s and was the reputed sight of a drug overdose in the men's bathroom during that time. The men's room was always noticeably colder than the ladies' room, even though they shared a heating vent and neither had a wall to the outside.
One event that occurred when I was there was when two other employees (we all hung around, even when we weren't on shift) and I were playing a game of cards at around 2 pm (slow time). We all heard a glass break from behind the counter, but no one was back there. Since I was the one technically on shift, I went behind the counter - Not a single bit of glass on the floor. Confused, I looked at the shelves where we keep our glasses and on one of the shelves was a glass pedestal with glass all around it. The glass had broken where it stood.
Another time when all of us were hanging around in the "employees booth", I spotted out of the corner of my eye what looked like a man in a sweat suit or leisure suit behind the counter. I was about to say something when one of my co-workers, who was the one on shift at the time, jumped up and said "Excuse me, can I help you?". we confirmed with each other that we thought we had seen someone behind the counter, and went together to see if he had gone into the back (the only way to get behind the counter is through the back). But when we went into the back, no one was there, and the only door out was bolted from the inside.
A third incident happened to me when I was all alone closing up one night. I was balancing the till at one of the booths with the cordless phone right beside me that had its base in the back with a corded phone. Whenever you picked up/turned on either phone, a red light would go on on both phones. As I was counting the till, I noticed that the red light on the cordless phone was on. As the corded phone in the back was not well mounted on the wall, it frequently was improperly hung up by everyone, and I thought I had made that mistake. I went into the back , but the red light was not on the corded base. I picked up the phone - dial tone. I hung up the phone, went out to the front and the light on the cordless was out.
I resumed my count, only to look up five or ten minutes later to see that the red light was on again. I took the cordless into the back with me, checking to make sure the whole way that the red light was still on. Got into the back - No red light on the base. Looked at the phone in my hand again - No red light. I picked up the base phone again just to be certain, and got a dial tone. A little confused, I went back to the booth to finish the count and get the heck out of there. Not two minutes later the corded phone, sitting face up on the table right in front of me, turned on all by itself. I called one of my friends who lived nearby to finish the close with me.
These are just a few of the creepy things that happened to me at that coffee shop, and my co-workers had other stories too. So glad I don't work there anymore!
One event that occurred when I was there was when two other employees (we all hung around, even when we weren't on shift) and I were playing a game of cards at around 2 pm (slow time). We all heard a glass break from behind the counter, but no one was back there. Since I was the one technically on shift, I went behind the counter - Not a single bit of glass on the floor. Confused, I looked at the shelves where we keep our glasses and on one of the shelves was a glass pedestal with glass all around it. The glass had broken where it stood.
Another time when all of us were hanging around in the "employees booth", I spotted out of the corner of my eye what looked like a man in a sweat suit or leisure suit behind the counter. I was about to say something when one of my co-workers, who was the one on shift at the time, jumped up and said "Excuse me, can I help you?". we confirmed with each other that we thought we had seen someone behind the counter, and went together to see if he had gone into the back (the only way to get behind the counter is through the back). But when we went into the back, no one was there, and the only door out was bolted from the inside.
A third incident happened to me when I was all alone closing up one night. I was balancing the till at one of the booths with the cordless phone right beside me that had its base in the back with a corded phone. Whenever you picked up/turned on either phone, a red light would go on on both phones. As I was counting the till, I noticed that the red light on the cordless phone was on. As the corded phone in the back was not well mounted on the wall, it frequently was improperly hung up by everyone, and I thought I had made that mistake. I went into the back , but the red light was not on the corded base. I picked up the phone - dial tone. I hung up the phone, went out to the front and the light on the cordless was out.
I resumed my count, only to look up five or ten minutes later to see that the red light was on again. I took the cordless into the back with me, checking to make sure the whole way that the red light was still on. Got into the back - No red light on the base. Looked at the phone in my hand again - No red light. I picked up the base phone again just to be certain, and got a dial tone. A little confused, I went back to the booth to finish the count and get the heck out of there. Not two minutes later the corded phone, sitting face up on the table right in front of me, turned on all by itself. I called one of my friends who lived nearby to finish the close with me.
These are just a few of the creepy things that happened to me at that coffee shop, and my co-workers had other stories too. So glad I don't work there anymore!
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