Monday, August 31, 2009

It's Comic. It's Tragic.

My family went to visit our cousins every other year; in between, they would come visit us. On one such trip, and I must have been very young at the time, I was left with the adults as the kids went out. I'm not sure how that happened since my siblings and I were much younger than my cousins; it's possible that I was simply left alone in the house while they went hiking.
Their house was built into a slight incline of land. The driveway and carport were on the top level, the front door on the mid-level, and the workshop and cellar that would otherwise be at ground level were underground. There was a pool table in the cellar that provided hours of amusement and, if I close my eyes, I think I can still smell the musty workshop and cellar.
The family room was on the ground floor under the kitchen. It housed a large couch and several chairs, all facing the fireplace and TV. As one came down the stairs, the bedrooms were off to the left and the family room and cellar to the right. On the far wall partially hidden by the interior fireplace, there was a blank wall.
Well, blank except for the masks: comedy and tragedy. Their grotesque features always gave me the creeps. I refused to be within sight of them if I was by myself. Even in the comforting arms of family members, my eyes would invariably drift to the masks and a chill would run up my spine.
Alone that day, I grew weary of listening to adults chattering about nothing. I wandered downstairs, intent on playing pool. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Something told me that I was not alone downstairs. In the room lit by bright sunlight streaming through windows, I dared to glance around the corner into the family room. My heart pounding, I knew that there was something very wrong. In a moment, the masks had freed themselves and were floating in mid-air, turning to look directly at me, the expressions on their faces changing before my eyes. In a moment of terror, I screamed as loudly as I could. As adults ran from the kitchen and down the stairs, I watched the masks bob backwards towards their resting place, as if in laughter. I pointed and gestured towards the fireplace (the masks themselves were not visibile from where I stood) as my confused aunt and uncle and parents searched for anything that might have frightened me.
They chalked it up to my imagination, my nightmares, too many sweets, too little sleep.. anything but that I might have been telling the truth.
Years later, alone again, I dared to peek. The masks seemed dead. The features appeared smoother, less drastic. The eyes themselves seemed devoid of anything vicious. I can not explain what happened all those years ago. I can only relate what I experienced.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

You've Been Talking in Your Sleep

There was an occasion to have a sleep-over with my friends Steve and Mike. I didn't have many friends growing up (though I was friendly with almost everyone) so it was nice to have opportunities to hang out and be what I thought was 'normal'.
We played some games and talked and watched TV most of the night. We ate BBQ sandwiches and drank soda. Normal stuff.
I surprised myself at how easily I got to sleep that night. I wondered if I would be able to or not? Away from home, away from my usual patterns, away from my safety zone. But I felt comfortable around them and it was late and I had a full stomach. Drifting off was easy.
I woke up and glanced at the clock. I had to put my glasses on to see what time it was. Steve and Mike were still asleep. I took my glasses off and wondered if I should try to get some more rest or just go ahead and get up? Suddenly, Steve sat up. I don't know why I shut my eyes but I did. He started having a conversation with Mike (who also sat up) about me, over me as I pretended to be asleep. I couldn't believe that they would do that? Why?
They ended their dialogue and went back to sleep. I got up and went down to the kitchen, to get some breakfast. I just sat there in shock. I thought we were friends? Steve got up and left, he had to be somewhere. He was smiling and waving as he left, as if nothing had happened.
Mike wandered out a little while later, groggy. We sat in silence for a moment and I confronted him. He just looked at me, head cocked to the side. No, he had not sat up and had a lucid conversation with Steve about me nor had he ever had a conversation with Steve about me. I believed him, just from his early morning disheveled appearance; he did not look like he would be lucid about anything until much later that day.
It doesn't seem possible that I could have been awake and fallen back asleep. The whole thing (looking at the clock onwards) could have been a dream, I suppose, except it was so sharp and, well, real that that seems as unlikely.
When I was very young, the family had gone on a trip. Mom and Dad share the front bedroom, we kids were crammed into the back bedroom. When my sister came to bed, my brothers sat up and laughed and then immediately went back to sleep -- with no knowledge of doing so in the morning. It was very creepy.
Another trip, this time with a church group. My roommate goes to bed first, I am spending time getting ready for bed (brushing teeth, removing contacts, washing face, etc). When I am finally ready and make my way in the dark to the bed, he sits up slightly and tells me not to turn on the light and lies down and goes back to sleep. I chalk it up to a dream or being grumpy or... just weirdness. In the morning, he doesn't have any knowledge about the event.
My ex- would sometimes sit up or lie there and talk to me with no recollection of doing so in the morning. We had brief and seemingly meaningless conversations about nothing.
Being a somewhat private person, I don't spend a lot of time with sleeping people. I wonder if this is unique or common? My experiences have been awkward, comical, and uncomfortable -- sometimes all at the same time. If one person or another had done it, it would seem random; but, when two people are engaged in sleep talking, it seems as if something else is going on.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Sometimes They Come Back

I'm not a big celebrity fan. Of course, I like movies and shows and I like to know who's performing in certain roles, if I've seen them before, etc. But I don't particularly care what the stars do on their own time. Really, it's none of my business. I don't want them checking me out when I least expect it..
I am aware of when a celebrity passes away only because I hear it on the news or see it in a paper. Sometimes I know who it is, sometimes I care.
Sometimes, they don't stay dead.
Here's what I mean, by example. Years ago, I heard that Roddy McDowell died. It was a little sad. Then I heard that Malcolm McDowell died a few years later. That was sad, too. Then I was shocked to see Malcolm McDowell in a new movie/show. I was in shock and asked my friend if he had heard about Malcolm's death? No, he thought I was mistaken.
I was so sure... And it wasn't so close after Roddy McDowell's passing that I could have gotten them confused; no, I'm certain it was a separate event.
It's happened several times before. I recall when Jackie Gleason died thinking, "he had passed years ago?" I know it's easy to think that I'm just confused. From time-to-time, I think I must be mad. I usually conceed, and just shake my head and wonder at how I could have gotten it so wrong. I've been tempted to start keeping a scrapbook, just so I can reference what I recall happening versus what's actually happened.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Holy Orbs!

When I was a tween, my parent's church decided to build a new sanctuary. It seems the old building just didn't look like a sanctuary. And we were routinely filling the pews every week.
I may never understand people. The old building was a very rectangular and unimpressive building. But we worshiped there week after week and it never seemed to matter what the building looked like; in fact, I think that may have been part of the charm. Sure, some visitors might have been put off but anyone who came back certainly felt the Spirit. All inside a cinder block building, painted a wretched pastel green with blue trim and blue-green pile carpet squares to tie it all together. I thought it was grand.
The new sanctuary was a massive undertaking. The octagonal shape was filled with stark white trim, rich red carpets, dark wood pews, red cushions, a gigantic brass chandelier and stained glass windows on both levels. A balcony wrapped around three-quarters of the interior and the choir loft could easily hold 150 singers and a grand piano.
Being one of the last to leave some nights (see my previous post), I had many opportunities to freely roam the new building (as well as the old buildings). Sometimes I was asked to shut off the lights and lock the doors as everyone else left.
One night, my mother was staying late with some of the other church ladies to work on a reception later in the week. At first, it was fun. I could move around without supervision, indefinitely as long as I stayed out of trouble...
I was getting bored, being all alone except for the ladies who were decorating the Reception Hall. Although I might have helped them, I would rather wander around and see what the building was like at night. I was surprised to find the sanctuary doors unlocked. I walked down the hallway. Only the light from the Exit signs provided illumination. As I neared the doors into the main sanctuary, I instinctively slowed. Even though I should have been all alone, something didn't feel right. I opened the door, allowing some of the ambient Exit light into the massive room. Lights appeared to rise up from the floor and circle the top of the chandelier, near the ceiling, before dissipating. I tried to pass it off as headlights from passing cars shining through the stained glass windows but.. if that were the case, the lights would have gone off at strange angles, not circle at the roof. Plus, as cars passed the building, none of the headlights were hitting the stained glass with enough strength to appear to be a ball of light moving through the air.
I still do not know what I saw, what caused it, what caused the lights to dissipate, where they went.. In my imagination, I thought they were angels and demons, locked in eternal struggle, chasing each other through the world, through the ages. It seemed to fit, at the time. In retrospect, I suspect it was nothing to grandiose.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Lamest. Haunting. Ever.

The town I grew up in was big, for a small city, but very spread out. It wasn't completely awful growing up there; it was easy to get out of town, for instance. When Haley's comet passed near, we were able to get out of the glare of city lights with very little effort. It helps having friends who live out of the main city when one wants to get away.
It wasn't uncommon to get out of the routine and away to the country. Gaming nights with friends kept me out of trouble and got me socializing with others, albeit in a geeky environment. One night, we went to a buddy's house. It was at the top of a hill, the driveway twisting down the side. On a rainy night, a driver would require a four-wheel drive vehicle to navigate the driveway.
There were four of us, alone in the house. Our host's parents were gone for the weekend. We were at the top of the stairs; the kitchen was on the first floor near the stairs and the back door was off the kitchen. With a bathroom next door, there were only 4 rooms that we were in the whole night. It wasn't until the weirdness started that he told us the house was haunted. Which was odd because it wasn't particularly old?
It began for us when someone went down to get a drink from the kitchen. He came back and asked who had left the cabinet with the glasses open? Of course, none of us had. We had walked through the post-70s kitchen on our way upstairs, the dark wooden cabinets were all closed. Our host apologized and bounded down the stairs, telling us in a rush about the haunting.
Lights would turn on, cabinets open, toilets flush.. the usual stuff one would expect from a bad horror movie. I got a creepy feeling from time to time but never saw anything, even out of the corner of my eye. In fact, it was the lack of anything tangible that sticks in my mind.
Everything that happened happened out of sight. It was almost as if we were supposed to be frightened by what we couldn't perceive (lights flickering, cabinets opening, etc) than by anything jumping out at us. Lamest haunting ever. It was like walking in on a party just after everyone has left... a surge of excitement but then a wave of let-down.
We eventually called it a night. I was most frightened by the twisting journey down the driveway of doom than by the lights that shut themselves off when I looked up the hill at the house, one last time.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

It's in the cards

I wasn't punished often as a child. No, I wasn't a particularly good kid; rather, I was very clever. I knew what to say or do, instinctively, to avoid getting into trouble or getting out of punishment. My siblings thought I was spoiled because I 'got away with' things. I suppose it's all in one's perspective but my recollection of events played out due to being clever.
One time, I was not so lucky.
There were two Air Force bases in town resulting in lots of families who moved in, stayed a few months or years, then moved away. One such family, and I cannot recall their names, had moved into the neighborhood in the Summer. They had some children that were the same ages as we, my siblings and I. The family, I'll call them the Smiths, had some industrious kids. As soon as they moved in they put up a lemonade stand (similar to what Linus and Lucy in the Peanuts Gang had), as much to make some spare change as to meet the neighbors. The kids were very accustomed to moving in, making friends fast, and ready to move out again in about a year if and when duty called.
In October, the Smiths had a Halloween Carnival in their garage and play room. Classic things like putting your hand into a bowl only to discover that it's something horrible: spaghetti doubled as rat intestines, grapes for eyeballs, etc. They also had some games like bean bag toss and bobbing for apples.
The one thing that I found most curious: the lemonade stand had been transformed into Madame X's Fortune stand. I sat down and the girl began to shuffle regular playing cards. She asked what I wanted to know? I didn't have a question in mind so I replied, "what the future holds?" She weaved a yarn about the future always being in flux, changing something now could forever alter the future, and then she began to deal the cards: Queen of Hearts, 10 of spades, Ace of clubs. She interpreted the cards for me but when I asked for more details she just smiled and told me the future should be somewhat uncertain.
I ran home and told my mom. I was so excited! The girl down the street could tell us our futures!! Mom turned to me and scolded me for participating in such an event. She immediately went outside and called my siblings home using her ear-piercing whistle that could be heard a mile away, if one were outside. When we were all home, she forbade us from going to the Smith's home again. And we were not to associate with them. She also called some neighbors to discuss this with them.
I felt horrible. I wasn't trying to get anyone into trouble. I thought this would be a good thing? Our futures dealt before us, we could avoid the bad things and steer out paths towards the good. I went and got a deck of cards and began to shuffle. I turned and loaded the deck so that I would get the same read as before. When I laid them in front of me... I just saw cards. How did the Smith girl see the future? While I was staring at the cards, Mom walked in and caught me.
No amount of cleverness could get me out of this one. Mom was furious and it was one of the few times I was spanked. I wasn't even allowed to play with cards for weeks afterwards, at least not alone. I'm certain she went and called her friends and neighbors again. All I know was I wasn't allowed near the Smiths again and I didn't even want to look at a deck of cards for a very long time.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

In the Closet

A lot of weird things have happened over the years that involved doorways, particularly closet doors. As a very young child, for instance, I inspected the closet every night before bed; sometimes, in the middle night, I had to re-inspect them only to discover that they were... different.
There was a time that I had to share a room with my brother. He was four years older than me and resented having to share a room with a kid brother but that's the way it was. One night, he had some friends sleep over. I tried to be cool about the whole thing but I secretly liked having older brother-types around. It made me feel safe.
We read comic books before bed, reading some of the panels out loud. We eventually turned to reading the ads out loud, too. Would x-ray spex really work? Wouldn't it be cool if they did? What would you do with them?
One ad was for a life size, glow-in-the-dark poster of Frankenstein's monster. Wouldn't that be awesome? What if it came to life? Would that really scare anyone? How would you display it? Even as we laughed about it, I looked at the ad in my own comic book and shuddered a bit. It seemed creepy, late at night. Even the comfort of a room full of, well, boys didn't abate the terror of the monster coming to life and killing us in our sleep.
Eventually, the lights were turned off and we drifted off to sleep. I woke up with a chill. I could hear the other guys sleeping but the hair on my arms was standing up. Something was wrong. I could make out the sound of the closet door opening. I slowly rolled over and looked through a slat in the bunk bed. The closet, about 6 feet away, had a pocket door and made a rolling sound as it opened. As I watched, the door just finished opening all the way. Slowly, Frankenstein's monster faded into focus. He looked just like the ad so I assumed that my brother and his friends were playing a prank on me... except that I could hear them sleeping. I sneaked another peek and the monster's head had turned! That wasn't part of the ad nor could a paper poster do that! I figured I had to be dreaming but my heart was racing, my throat was dry, I felt like I was dying.
As I worked up the nerve to scream for help (risking forever being branded a loser or worse by my brother's friends), I heard the door closing. I peeked one last time as the door shut all the way. Suddenly, it was warm again. I could move freely and quickly ran to the bathroom, just to catch my breath and be away from the scary... thing.
In the morning, I braved a look at the closet door when no one was around. There wasn't any sign of string or anything that could have remotely opened the door. Much less was there any rolled up poster or anything that a poster could have been attached to. What I saw wasn't something that teenaged boys could have faked. And, knowing teenaged boys, they would have teased me either in the moment or in the morning.
I'm still not sure what it was.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


When I was in college the student union did a pretty good job of getting movies and/or entertainment acts for us. I saw Ellen DeGeneres, Larry David, Carol Leifer, Kevin Nealon, Dread Zeppelin, and a special Guest to be named in just a moment. There were many other acts, of course, but I didn't see them all. I saw the ones I could and the ones that had some sort of appeal.
Tim Burton was in the production for Batman when I learned about the next event. The student union sometimes managed to get first run movies which we got to see for free. I was a little surprised to find out that they would be showing Batman and would be hosting a special guest from the movie.
I was running just a little late that night. As I rushed toward the building, an extremely large bat flew just overhead. Seriously big, like something out of a bad science fiction movie. I took that as a good omen and headed for the doors.
I sat with mixed emotions as the lights began to dim. There were only a few empty seats but... surely there were more fans on campus? I scanned the room for buddies but didn't see anyone I knew. And the movie was starting and there was no where to sit so I stayed in the back and settled in to be amazed and entertained. Instead, I was shocked as the 1966 Batman began to play. It was entertaining, just wasn't what I expected.
The special guest was Adam West. He was charming, funny, and recalled some great stories from his days as the Caped Crusader. People asked the usual questions and he was gracious for all of them. To my knowledge, he was flown in for the movie and left immediately afterwards.
Strangely, what I recall most about that night was the giant bat that flew over my head.

Sunday, August 16, 2009


I was unemployed at the time and extremely depressed. It seemed everything I did was wrong or failed in some way. I had all but given up and was just wandering through my days in a daze.
I had decided to go through all my old books and see if there was something I could sell to raise a few bucks to pay the rent one more month. I came across some Lovecraft that I hoped I could get cover value for, at least (hint: I couldn't). So I started rereading those books, one last time before trying to sell them.
I woke one night from a nightmare. Smiling, I thanked old Howard Phillips for waking me up. It was warm that night and I ended up getting up and watching some TV, checking email, and having a cool drink before trying to get back to sleep.
With my eyes on the computer screen, I saw something "sit up" through the ceiling (that is, the ceiling what this thing's floor), look at me, and lay back down. As I looked up, it "sank" through the ceiling. Although the hairs on my neck stood up, I didn't feel like I was in any danger.
A few days later, I was trying to get to sleep when I had the feeling that I was being watched. I opened my eyes and saw a figure clinging to the walls in the upper corner of the room, "looking" down at me. I couldn't tell if it had eyes or not. It was gangly and moved like a spider. But the biggest feature was it's toothy smile. Like a pit bull, it's head was mostly mouth. It cocked it's head at me and "sniffed" the air. Then, in a blur, it crawled out the open window. I sat up. It happened so fast and was dark in my room.. did it really happen? Had the horror books I'd read had a lasting effect? As much as I brushed it off as my imagination, I also got up and watched TV for a while.
In retrospect, it's very likely that I did see something. How easy it was to shrug it off as a dark imagining. And the mental balm of getting lost in something that would make me laugh was soothing enough to go back to bed.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Karma Chameleon

I used to think I could turn invisible. But, as I pondered my circumstance, I realized that I blended in rather than disappeared: people just forgot I was there but knew someone was there.
My friend, Stephen, told me of an afternoon spent with friends and how much fun he had. Only after I told him specific and trivial details (what people were wearing, for instance) did he believe that I had been there.
In high school, during a club meeting, some of the kids had separated themselves from the rest of the group. They were trying to figure out a clever acronym that only they would know, that other people could read and wouldn't think twice about, but they were stuck trying to make it work with the word they had come up with. Not only was I there, I helped them figure it out. Not long after that, I used the acronym in front of the ringleader who then accused me of being a poser. I had to remind her that I had helped them figure it out. She didn't believe me for a while but after I reminded someone else who had been there, the two of us convinced her. [I may blog this another day]
It used to make me sad. I would often be left out because someone forgot to include me and, if I were there, no one seemed to remember it. I eventually grew into it and just accepted it. Oh, it still happens; quite often, in fact. In combating this 'chameleoness' I found a niche in clever/funny/silly t-shirts. Some folks think of me as always having cute shirts. But even that is starting to fade away.
The frustrating part had been in continually reasserting myself. It seemed like a broken record that I was constantly having to remind someone to call or that I was just tagging along, even if it were my idea to, say, go to an event. That's why I tend to develop friendships with someone who seems to remember me even if we don't have much in common. It's just easier to get something done and be included from the start.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Cheek to cheek

I privately hated the difference in heights between me and my boyfriend. We were too close in height. He was 5'10 and I was 6'. If he were just a bit shorter or me just a bit taller, we could more easily walk with arms over shoulders or waists. As it was, we struggled to see who would put their arms where and, well, it just never worked out.
Mind you, it wasn't a deal breaker. It wasn't even an issue. Just an annoying thing. Like the way he woke up on Saturdays at 6am and wanted to clean the house from top to bottom. But I digress.
One witchy night in October, we watched scary movies and went to a haunted house and talked under the full moon before heading out to the bars. I noticed how tall his boots made him look? It was odd, he seemed to be taller than me? I looked down and my pants were dragging the floor. Had I gotten shorter? For a brief moment, he seemed to be about 6'1" and I seemed to be about 5'9". By the time we got home from the bars, we had returned to our normal heights. But, for a brief time, we fit when we walked hip-to-hip.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Tag, you're it!

My grandfather was very sick when I was growing up. I didn't really understand that at the time. He always seemed so happy to see me and would go for walks with me every time I visited, though some days he had more trouble moving around than others.
One day, he was bed-ridden. There were several family members visiting which was very exciting for me; I didn't understand that they were there to say their good-byes. Though the small house was mostly filled with adults, there were some older kids. No one wanted to play, of course. I happened to look out in the back yard and found some children my age.
We ran around the back yard for a bit, sliding down the big slide and playing tag. Soon, I was called to go inside. We ran in and the kids made for the bedroom my grandfather was resting in. I chased them, partly to keep playing and partly to stop them; he needed his rest, I had been told. There were some adults in his room, sitting with him.
The kids ran to the other side of the bed and dove under it as I entered the room, giggling as children will do. Someone made to grab me, to hold me back, but I slithered away. When I got to the other side of the bed and peeked under, there were no children. I looked around, out of breath and a little confused, and all I saw were shocked adults, aghast that I would be so disrespectful of my grandfather. He laughed a little and told me to hold his hand.
"Don't be confused, [grand]son. They've been playing here all day. I think you and I are the only ones who can see them."
I was quickly ushered from the bedroom by a well-meaning aunt. My grandfather passed away soon thereafter. I never got to ask him if he was going to join those kids in the backyard. And I never saw them again.
They didn't register as ghosts. In retrospect, I would say there were gods of some sort. But my reasons will have to wait for another blog.
My grandmother was the oldest of 14 children and helped her mother raise her siblings. Then she was married and had children of her own. Before long, her husband (my grandfather) fell sick and she took care of him. She spent her life caring for others.
After he passed, suddenly she was the one who needed care. It wasn't in her nature; she just couldn't do it. It was about a year after my grandfather's passing that my grandmother passed away as well. She went from being alert and mourning her husband's passing to thinking she was 6 years old and waiting for her daddy to bring the carriage to the front of the house.
I went to my first two funerals within a year of each other. Both my grandparents. Both before I was 7 years old. Life, and death, isn't all fun and games.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

In blackest night...

Growing up, I was often one of the last people to leave the church at night, especially during the Summer, especially on Wednesday nights. My mother felt we were safe at church and I was, overall, a pretty good kid -- meaning I tried to avoid getting into trouble but was adventurous and curious and often pushed those boundaries. All that said, the church was alive in a different way at night...
The church itself wasn't old, as churches go; less than 100 years. It was founded in a part of town that was booming at the time. Many families came and left as the church grew from a one-building chapel to a nine-building religious complex connected by a series of outdoor covered walkways. All but one building was two stories tall, all but two were rectangular block buildings. It could easily be mistaken for an institution of some sort, except for the steeples. There were three chapels; the original white building, the expanded (and slightly older) chapel, and the (new) sanctuary. Yes, they all had different names to avoid confusion.
There was an incident in the 80s that prompted church officials to spread out classes all over the buildings. Fear not, I'll discuss the incident one day. Suffice to say, the chapel (built in the 40s) had fallen into disuse; now, it would become the Teen Chapel and all teen aged church-goers would have Sunday School and Wednesday night Bible classes in that building.
I cannot count the number of times I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye, particularly in the area of the church complex around the Teen Chapel. It always made me wonder if someone had built the church on top of a graveyard; I mean, the church had an incredibly haunted 'feel' but wasn't very old at all? Perhaps spirits were naturally drawn to the area? I would be curious to go back now and see if I could learn a few things.
One particularly cheerless task was opening the back, ground-floor doors of the Teen Chapel. It seems the lock was particularly difficult to open from the outside. A far easier but gruesomely creepy solution was to open the upstairs door, walk down a hallway to the middle of the building, take the unlit stairs down to the ground level, feel your way along a wall to the door (and light switch), and unlock and open the door. At dusk, there would be some light trickling in from the classrooms on the outside wall but after sunset the downstairs was completely pitch-black. If you held your hand in front of your face and slowly drew it in towards yourself, you would touch your nose with your palm long before you ever saw your hand; in fact, you could touch your eye and still not see it coming.
We normally made this trip in pairs. Very few would do it alone. If they gave merit badges for solo door duty, only a few would be given out. I would have mine, though. Sometimes, I was the only person who would open that door, alone or in a group. My mother once asked me to do it for one of her classes. I was no stranger to the danger.
But one time, right around sunset, I agreed to open the door. Alone. I made my way down the stairs and into the darkened ground floor. The downstairs was almost completely devoid of light. But something was different and I couldn't put my finger on what it was? Was that a swish of fabric and a change in the darkness down the hall? Was that sweat I smelled? Did the temperature just drop a bit? For the first time in making the daring Door Run, I was utterly afraid. That was when I prayed. I prayed for an angel to protect me. In the darkness I thought I saw a pulse of light around me. I definitely felt a surge of warmth throughout my body. And the darkness retreated slightly. I walked to the door, turned on the lights and opened the door. And, in a back room of the building, the faint clicking sound of a door closing could be heard. With a gaggle of teens and some adults in tow, we searched the building but nothing could be found.
I believe that there was someone or something in the dark with me. I am quite certain my prayer protected me but I am uncertain if I was in any physical danger or not. Over time, we did learn some terrible things about the Teen Chapel. But that will have to wait for another blog.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Ghost Girl in the Mall

I have distinct memories of seeing ghosts when I was a very young child (2-4yo). Once I realized no one else could see them, I tended to keep sight of them to myself but would secretly wave or acknowledge them. Usually, they were glad to be seen and were kind in return. Sometimes they just wandered away.
There was an instance when my mother was pushing the stroller I was in through the mall. She stopped to talk to a friend and I noticed a teen-aged girl ghost. She seemed very confused. When she saw me, though, she smiled and waved. I waved back. She made funny faces. I laughed. I made funny faces back. She smiled. Just then, my mother's friends exclaimed, "you have such a happy baby!" and stuck her head in the stroller. I recoiled at the shock.. after seeing the ghost girl (so full of life), this tired woman seemed to be more dead, a zombie. I shut my eyes and when I dared to look again, the girl was gone and the lady seemed, well, at least alive.
I couldn't appreciate the irony then, of course.
So few of the ghosts were happy; they seemed weary but couldn't or wouldn't move on. In particular, the Old Man. But that's a story for another post.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Why I made this...

I kept a secret log of the beginnings of my journey but decided that I should make it a bit more public. Not to cause a spectacle but in hopes that someone who needs to know about my journey, whether they realize it or not, will have access to it.