Searching For The Hereafter In Williams Lake, B.C.

A Time Shift On Shelbourne Street

2011-12-17T01:08:00.000-08:00

     You know I always believed that if there are ghosts they were most likely mentally unbalanced while among the living. Depression, anxiety schizophrenia, etc... These illnesses are debilitating and often leave one with a sense that all is lost. They wonder what life could have been like without such ailments and feel cheated as a result. Frustration, anger and sadness are very real emotions with the severely depressed. I should know - I do know, as I suffer from depression and anxiety, and I feel all these emotions on a daily basis. I believe these ghosts are remaining behind in hopes of attaining all that was lost in the midst of their daily battle, and now that they are free, they don't want to leave. They want to experience all that they could not while alive. That's just my view - take it or leave it. Anyways, on with the story.

     Ghost Stories Of British Columbia, Jo-Anne Christensen

     Hauntings usually seem to be a human connection between the past and the present, but there are indications that some places are able to make those connections on their own. In the cool, fall weeks of October leading up to Halloween, one street in Victoria, B.C. is said to make such a haunting connection - by presenting a visual memory of the dirt-packed country road that it once was.

     Witnesses to the eerie transformation are usually alone in their vehicles, between two and three o-clock on a Sunday morning. As they drive along Shelbourne Street, south of the Hillside shopping centre, they become convinced they have taken a wrong turn.

     The confusion is understandable, for the ordinary city street lined with streetlights, houses, and shops has unexpectedly become an overgrown country road. Wild grass grows up between the tire ruts, and flowering broom and bulrushes bunch thickly together in the marshy ditches. The dirt road is deserted and dark, but just as the lone traveller begins searching desperately for a place to make a U-turn, the bright lights of Hillside are suddenly all around.

     Have people see the 'ghost' of what Shelbourne Street once was, or have they momentarily travelled back to that time? It's a rare and fascinating phenomenon that occurs each October in Victoria's early morning hours.

     The Suspect Returns

     The man's name was Jim Hawthornthwaite and, in the early 1900's, he was member of British Columbia's Legislative Assembly. He made his living as a politician, and his home in Nanaimo, where he shared a house with a fellow by the name of Arthur Potts.

     One evening, Potts heard a commotion in the living room and went rushing in to see what was happening. There, he found Hawthornthwaite, wild-eyed and alone, waving a fireplace poker in a defencive arc.

     "Did you see him?" the politician raved. "Where did he go?"

     Potts assured his friend that he had seen no one leave the room, then cautiously asked what had happened. Hawthornthwaite proceeded to describe a grisly and dramatic scene, claiming he was confronted by a native man who was covered in blood and brandishing a gore-smeared axe.

     It is not know whether Potts believed the wild story, but the house-mates never spoke to each other of the incident again. In fact, it was years before Hawthornthwaite breathed another word about his fright - but when he did, he found a receptive ear.

     It was Nanaimo's Chief of Police who had somehow inspired the retelling of this strange tale. Perhaps, over time, Hawthornthwaite had begun to doubt his own sanity, or perhaps he expected to be greeted with the chief's mocking scepticism, but he relayed the story in a somewhat apologetic, disclaiming tone. However, the politician's seeming lack of credulity did nothing to dampen the other man's enthusiastic interest.

     As Bert Binny wrote in the April 27, 1958 edition of Victoria's Daily Colonist: The description of the Indian, his appearance and the setting provided an exact replica of the scene and character when an Indian had been taken into custody in that very room some years previously. He had murdered his wife with an axe.

     It was one for the paranormal record books. The politician had been telling the truth.

DEATH BED VISIONS - Part Two

2011-10-30T01:17:00.000-07:00

          From the works of Brad Steiger, Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places

          A Dream Of His Sister's Death

     Charles Downey had a dream that told him his sister Jean was dying. Since he had experienced similar dreams before the deaths of other members of his family, he was inclined to pay heed to the nocturnal revelation. "Either it's a dark Irish curse or a blessing," Downey said. "I had experienced a similar dream before the death of our mother, our cousin Paul, and a close school friend. Because of such a sorrowful track record, I knew that I had better pay attention to this sad dream about Jean."

     When a telephone call from his brother-in-law David confirmed Jean's approaching death, Charles and his wife Marcy left immediately to be at her bedside. Jean's eyes did not open, but somehow she knew who was present in her room, and even where they were standing. As Charles bent to kiss her cheek, Jean spoke in a voice barely audible: "Don't worry, Charlie, they've come for me. Mom, Dad, Paul, Uncle Sean, they're all here, waiting for me just outside the window. And there's a lovely angel with them. She'll excort us to our heavenly home."

     David was standing by the window when Jean asked him to step aside so the angel and the others might enter to take her home. Confused, David moved back from the window, and all those present in the room were startled when a whiff of wind suddenly stirred the curtains at the same time that Jean took a final breath.

     Charles Downey wrote that his sister's face bore a lovely and restful smile as her sould departed with membeers of her family and her angel guide.

          An Angel Appeared With Her Parents To Take Her Home

     The Personal Experience of Steve Preteroti: "I saw three separate clouds float through the doorway into the room where Rochelle lay dying. The clouds enveloped the bed. As I gazed through the mist, I saw what at first appeared to be the form of a woman take shape. It was transparent and had a golden sheen. It was a figure so glorious in appearance that no words can describe it. The beautiful entity was dressed in a long, Grecian robe, and there was a brilliant tiara on her head. It had to have been an angel.

     "The majestic figure remained motionless, with its hands lifted over my wife, seemingly engaged in prayer. Then I noticed two other figures kneeling by Rochelle's bedside. I recognized them at once as the forms of her deceased parents. They had come in the company of an angel to guide my beloved Rochelle to heaven. My wife's spirit duplicate appeared over her physical body, hovering above it horizontally. It seemed to be connected to Rochelle's body by a cord.

     "The whole experience lasted for five hours. As soon as my dear wife had taken her last breath, the glorious angel, the spirits of Rochelle's beloved parents, and the spirit form of my wife vanished."

DEATH BED VISIONS - Part One

2011-10-29T01:25:00.000-07:00

From the works of Brad Steiger, Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places

     By now you are probably wondering if I'll ever expand my sources, and venture outside of Brad Steiger's world. I promise you that I will, but there is still so many stories I want to relay to you from this great book. So bear with me while I continue to ride the 'Brad Steiger' train for at least a little while longer.

     Deathbed Visions As Told To Reverend W. Bennett Palmer

          Cloud-like Vapors And Luminous Clouds

     Bill W. told Palmer that he saw the spirit of his brother as it disengaged from the dying body. The cloud-like vapor took on human shape, clapped its hands in joy, and passed upward through the ceiling in the company of an angel.

     Jerry C. of Denver Colorado, stated that when his ten year old son died, he saw the child's spirit leave the body as a luminous cloud and rise upward toward the ceiling.

          They Joined The Angels Two Days Apart

     Mr. and Mrs. S., two members of Palmer's congregation in New Port Richey, Florida, were very ill and had been placed in separate rooms of their home to insure periods of peace and uninterrupted sleep for both of them. One afternoon, as Mr. S. rested in his bed, he saw the form of his wife pass the wall of his room, wave her hand in farewell, and rise upward in the company of an angel.

     A few minutes later a nurse came into his room and informed him that Mrs. S. had passed away. "I know," he said, holding back his tears. "She had enough of this desperate struggle to maintain life. She came to say goodbye and to ask me to join her with the angels." Mr. S. died two days later.

          An Oval Light Met By A Lovely Angel

     When Mrs. Ernestine Tamayo entered her husband's sickroom in order to bring him the newspaper, she saw a large, oval light emerging from his head. The illuminated oval floated toward the window, hovered a moment, and was met by a lovely angelic figure. Within seconds, both the oval of light and the angel had vanished.

     "I knew that Miles was dead even before I reached my husband's bedside," she told Palmer. "I had seen his angel guide come to take him home."

          An Angel Came To Get Mommy

     Richard Riggs's wife and nine-year-old daughter were killed in an automobile accident that left his six-year-old daughter Robin severely injured. Riggs entered little Robin's hospital room and steeled himself for the awful task of informing her about the death of her mother and sister.

     But before he could break the sad news to Robin, she told him that she already knew about the deaths. "While I was lying hurt on the ground," she stated, "I saw an angel come to get Mommy. The angel started to go back up into the sky, but it stopped, came back for Becky, and took both of them into Heaven."

          An Angel Tapped At The Window

     Pastor Raymon Tigge had known for several months that his child, Samuel, would not recover from his lengthy illness. One warm July night, the entire family decided to sleep in the coolest room of their home. Tigge said that he and his wife were both awakened by a soft tapping at the window near their bed. They then saw an angel come through the window, walk over to the sleeping boy, kiss him, and leave.

     A few days later, in an effort to divert the boy's mind from his illness, a friend asked Samuel what he wanted for Christmas. The boy shook his head soberly and replied that he would be in Heaven. He wouldn't need any toys there. Within a week, Samuel Tigge died.

          His Friend's Soul Left During The Funeral

     Dr. D. P. Kayser said that while attending the funeral of Dr. A. N Costello, a colleague whom he had known for more that 30 years, he watched his friend's soul leaving the body. "There was no question in my mind that Angelo was truly, clinically dead before the funeral," Kayser stated, "but I had once heard it said that 'real death' is not accomplished until the soul actually leaves the body."

     Kayser knew that his friend's life had been one of kindness and service. "Angelo had always been a sincere, practicing Catholic, but even so, I was quite startled when I saw the spirits of a group of white-robed children materialize. Assembled near the coffin were more white-robed spirits, some of whom I recognized as deceased friends, relatives, and patients of Dr. Costello's."

     As the funeral service progressed, Kayser was somehow able to observe the process of death: "I saw a vapor or mist gradually rise from the body in the casket. When the transition had been completed, the mist gradually took on the image of Dr. Costello. Almost at that very moment, a very beautiful angel robed in the purest white, approached the newly liberated spirit. In its hands, the angel bore a lovely wreath, the center of which supported a large white flower. With this floral diadem, the angel crowned the spirit body of Dr. Angelo Costello.

     "When the spirit form was completely separated from the physical body, the image of my friend, the angels, and the attending spirits appeared to float away together."

PHANTOMS ON ROADS AND HIGHWAYS - Part Four

2011-10-22T00:20:00.000-07:00

     This is the final chapter of Phantoms On Roads And Highways. As you can see I find this stuff fascinating. Maybe it's because these type of apparitions show themselves by complete surprise and out of the blue, which is the most horrifying. You be the judge.

    SHE HANGS BY HER NECK DURING THE FULL MOON

     From the works of Brad Steiger, Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places.

     By now it is unlikely that anyone really remembers the names of the witnesses who first saw the ghostly image of the young woman hanging from the bridge on the old country road near Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, but nearly everyone agrees that it was two truck drivers who had turned off the main highway at about midnight one night when there was a full moon. As they rounded the bend that approached the old bridge, the driver suddenly slammed on his brakes.

     "Look ahead!" he said to his partner. "Look in the full beam of the headlights! There's a woman hanging there on the bridge." As the full impact of the sight penetrated his consciousness, the other man said that they should cut the woman down, as she might still be alive.

     There could be few sights creepier than coming upon the swaying body of a hanged woman suspended from the girder of an old country bridge, but the two truckers knew they had to do something - whether it was midnight on a deserted gravel road or not. Their feet had no sooner touched the coarse road when the form of the hanged woman began to fade from their sight.

     By the time that they reached the bridge, the woman, noose and all, had completely vanished. The two men stared at each other with open mouths, mouths no longer capable of articulating the fear and confusion that jammed their brains. Just moments before, they had both clearly seen the wretched figure of a hanged woman swaying above the worn wooden planks of the old bridge.

     The second sighting of the ghostly hanging was by a young couple coming home from a Saturday night dance, who saw the same grim apparition on the dark and eerie country road. Then other truckers and townspeople began to see the form of the hanging woman in the light of the full moon.

     We decided when our team went to investigate the apparition that we would have to be there on site on a night of a full moon, for the ghost had never been sighted at any other time. So on July 19, 1970, with the moon full above us, we sat in my station wagon with the psychic - sensitive Irene Hughes and a number of others, just a few yards away from that haunted country bridge. My associate Glenn and I wanted to see if Irene could pick up on the ghost and the events that led to the hanging without having any prior knowledge of what she might see. All Irene knew was that our research team had taken her out in the Iowa countryside and parked at a particular place.

     Just a few minutes before midnight, someone whispered that Irene was in a light trance. "There's someone coming down the road," she said. Two or three people agreed with the sensitive. I strained my eyes to perceive a midnight visitor, but I could see nothing more than a traffic sign advising approaching motorists about the narrow bridge and its load limit.

     Irene said nothing. She seemed to be tuned into another dimension, which the rest of us could neither see nor hear. The medium sat in silence for a few more moments, then she spoke, slowly, precisely: "I see a woman swinging in a circle. A circle of confusion. She is disturbed, confused. She feels betrayed. She feels like she wants to jump over the side of the bridge." A high, thin wail seemed to come from the direction of the bridge. Was it only the cry of some night-hunting bird, the distorted complaint of some farm animal, or the keen of a tormented soul? The frogs and crickets seemed undisturbed by any of the possibilities.

     "I see a circle," Irene said, speaking once more. "I see a woman committing suicide from this bridge." (Again it must be noted that we had not told Irene what she might expect to see at this lonely country bridge).

     "It was a suicide," Irene said. "But there was another person involved. This is most unusual. Usually when someone in spirit appears, they are dressed just as they were in life. I have never hand any spirit who comes to e wrapped in a sheet like so many people think spirits do. But that is just what I saw on the bridge. I saw what looked like somebody wrapped in a sheet!"

     "A shroud?" I asked her.

     "A shroud," she agreed. "And she tells me her name is Brown. Or maybe it was O'Brien. She was a brunette. I really don't feel that she was a sick person. I feel that this act was just a sudden thing in her life. I feel that there was a husband, but that he was not close by."

     Irene sat quietly for a few moments, apparently sifting through the psychic impressions bombarding her from the bridge. "I'm hearing the name Helen," she said, resuming her reportage. "I feel that this woman was having a love affair with a doctor in the community. And I feel that you will find that there was a doctor who left the town rather quickly after this woman took her life. I don't feel that this woman was mentally ill or anything like that. I feel that her life was okay and then, suddenly, involvement with the doctor began."

     A reporter who had accompanied us asked how many years ago this happened. Irene said that she had the feeling that it may not have been more than 16 to 20 years ago, around 1950.

     "According to the information that I have," Glenn said, "that would seem to be exactly the time that the ghost began to appear."

     "Look!" Irene said. "Can you see it? A form was very clear there for an instant."

     It may be that our eyes were playing tricks on our group, but on the right-hand side of the bridge, there seemed to be a glowing figure.

     "Oh, I see her so clearly," the medium said. "She's wearing a yellow dress." Irene suddenly stopped talking. Then after several seconds of silence, she said: "She keeps telling me, 'Honey, don't talk. Honey, don't tell them.'"

     I asked if there was some reason why she didn't want anyone to know why she killed herself.

     "I think it is the doctor," Irene said. "I think she was involved with a doctor who left soon after her death."

     By this time the researchers had left the station wagon and were standing in the middle of the bridge. There were holes in the wooden planking and we had to move our feet cautiously in order that we not twist an ankle.

     "I am getting the impression that some member of her family was from Philadelphia, but she came here from Kansas," Irene said. "I'm seeing a huge sunflower, and that is the sunflower state, isn't it?"

     As discreetly as possible, we conducted a follow-up investigation after we spent several hours of a full moon night near the bridge with the legend of a young woman, originally from Kansas and fond of wearing bright yellow dresses, who had come to the area and become romantically involved with a local doctor. The young woman had committed suicide in despair over their impossible love affair, and public opinion, or conscience, had forced the doctor to leave town. While some informants believed that the ghost of the hanging woman might well be the suicidal Kansan, others said that the young woman in question had not hanged herself and that they were unaware of the legend of the haunted bridge.

     It is possible, then, that the spirit of the young woman in the bright yellow dress may have hanged herself at the bridge in an earlier decade than the spirit who takes delight in frightening motorists who travel a dark country road. Or maybe she is only an urban legend, who shall be forgotten - until some night when the moon is full and someone turns the bend toward the old country bridge and sees her ghostly figure hanging there.

PHANTOMS ON ROADS AND HIGHWAYS - Part Three

2011-10-16T01:04:00.000-07:00

     The Phantom Warrior Who Raced Trains
     From the works of Brad Steiger, Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places

     A travelling salesman was making the night trip from Minneapolis, Minnesota, to Butte, Montana by train. He had been dozing lightly in a lower berth when he was awkened by what he later described as a "damned uneasy feeling."

     He couldn't put a finger on what was troubling him, he told a reporter for a Chicago newspaper in the summer of 1943. There were no strange or unusual noises in the train. He could detect nothing that sounded wrong in the steady clicking of the wheels. For some reason he decided to lift his window shade.

     That was when he saw the apparition. Outside of his window, so close that it seemed as if he might be able to touch them if he lowered the glass, was a brightly painted Indian brave on his spirited mount. The warrior bent low over the flying black mane of his horse and looked neither to the right nor to the left. He seemed to be mouthing words of encouragement to the phantom mustang as they rapidly gained on the train.

     "I've seen them five or six times after that, in different parts of the Dakotas," the salesman said. "They seem to be solid flesh, but there's a kind of shimmering around them. It's like watching a strip of really old movie film being projected onto the prairie."

     Railroad brakemen, engineers, and construction crews in the Dakotas and Wyoming have often spoken of the phantom Sioux and his determined race with their swift, modern iron horses. They couldn't beat the trains when they were alive, on old timer who knew the legend behind the spectral racers commented, but they seem to have picked up some speed in the afterlife.

     According to tradition, Frederic Remington, the famous artist of the Old West, sketched the Sioux brave and his mustang from life as the inexhaustible pair raced the train on which he was riding in about 1888. Remington had heard from several travelers the same tale, of a determined warrior motive represented a tangible symbol of the encroaching white man, and the Sioux believed that if he could conquer the iron horses, his people could vanquish the paleface invaders.

     With a marrow-chilling war whoop, the warrior would come astride the train engines as they entered a wide-open stretch of the prairie. The mustang would pound the plains until sweat formed on its lean, hard body. Only the greater speed of the locomotives would at last enable them to pull away from the chanting Sioux and his animal as he painted their images. Remington named his piece: "America On The Move."

     Route 666: The Southwest's Devil's Highway

     Although U.S. Route 666 is now officially known as U.S. Route 491 or 393, the legend of Camino del Diablo, "the Devil's Road," will be long remembered. The original naming of the highway had nothing to do with the Number of the Beast, or Antichrist - 666, as given in Revelation, the last book in the Bible. The highway was so designated because it was the sixth branch of an interstate route then known as U.S. 60. The section linking Chicago to Los Angeles became the legendary Route 66. And the Four Corners detour from Route 66 was renumbered 666 in August 1926. But some say the labeling the road with those numerals made it Satan's own road to perdition. The 190 miles of the former U.S. 666 starts at Gallup, New Mexico, winds it way through 70 miles of Colorado, then ends in Monticello, Utah.

     According to numerous eyewitness accounts, on nights of the full moon, a black, 1930's vintage Pierce-Arrow roadster has appeared and run scores of cars, trucks, and motorcycles off the road. The ghostly automobile has been linked to at least five deaths.

     Dr. Avery Teicher of Phoenix spent ten years documenting reports of the phantom Pierce-Arrow and the howling hellhounds that materialize to terrorize anyone foolhardy enough to pull of Route 666 and admire the desert landscape. According to Dr. Teicher, two members of a biker gang had both of their arms chewed off by the fiendish ghost dogs, and a third biker had 90 percent of his face eaten away. The least threatening of all reports from the Devil's Highway are those of a phantom female hitchhiker who vanishes whenever someone stops to give her a ride.

     On January 21, 2003, New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson stated his support to change the name of U.S. 666. The change became official in May 2003.

PHANTOMS ON ROADS AND HIGHWAYS - Part Two

2011-10-10T00:48:00.000-07:00

     This is a conclusion to my last post from the works of Brad Steiger, Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places. This next story take place in Britain.

          Salisbury

     In October 1959, Charles Collins, a salesman for an industrial engineering firm, was returning to London when he decided to spend the night at the Spread Eagle, a small eighteenth century coaching inn on the Western edge of Salisbury. Around midnight, Collins suddenly had the urge to get out of bed and look out the window. As he looked over the yard, he saw a man in eighteenth century costume ride through on a horse. He wore a mask and carried a pistol. Collins was captivated by the sight - until the man suddenly vanished.

     In the morning, the landlord unhesitatingly told Collins that he had seen the ghost of a highwayman named Richard Savage, who had been hanged in 1730. Tradition said that he had sought refuge at the Spread Eagle, but the landlord turned him away. Ever since, he had returned to the inn to haunt it.

     Historical records of the phantom highwayman go back to 1850, and the ghost has been seen on the average of once every five years. In 1962, Savage's spirit was seen by three American tourists staying at the inn.

     Now we come back to North America. I've always been chilled at the idea of people messing around with Native American/Canadian burial sites or anywhere where you find ancient artifacts and refrain from reporting it or even caring. This has happened numerous times when corporations turn their heads to what lies beneath their newly purchases land so they can build and prosper as quick as they can. And I'm sure many of them live to regret it. This next story, albeit a subtle consequence, still raises the hair on the back of my neck.

     The Spirits Of Pocahontas Parkway Toll Plaza

     Over the years I have received numerous reports from truck drivers who make long hauls across the Plains states and who say that they have seen strange things. Most often, in addition to phantom hitchhikers of varying descriptions, they attest to having encountered spirits from the past - ghostly wagon trains, small bands of Native tribes people, stage coaches, and Pony Express riders.

     On July 15, 2002, the driver of a delivery truck reported seeing three Native Americans approaching the recently opened Pocahontas Parkway toll plaza on state Route 895 in eastern Henrico County, Virginia. In a report filed by the toll taker to whom he related the account, the driver remarked that he had seen three breech-clothed warriors carrying torches walking in the middle of the highway. He blasted his horn to warn two more torch-wielding men who were clearly illuminated by his headlights. He wondered if some tribes-people were staging some bizarre kind of protest against the parkway.

     The toll taker took the driver's report and added it to the list of stories from motorists who had seen strange and unexplainable phenomena. She knew that although she would report the incident to state troopers who would be right on the case, they would find no Native Americans parading with torches in the area.

     Troopers who patrol the graveyard shift along the Pocahontas Parkway told Chris Dovi of the Richmond, Virginia, Times-Dispatch, that they had responded to dozens of calls similar to the one the delivery truck driver made on July 15. The first was on July1, then two nights later, when plaza workers reported hearing Indian drums, chants, whoops, and the cries of what seemed to be hundreds of voices. From time to time there would be seen the vague outlines of people running back and forth in the darkness.

     Virginia state police spokeswoman Corinne Geller visited the toll plaza late on night in July and said that the high pitched howls and screams were real. She told Dove (August 11, 2002) that the sounds were not the kind o screams that a person in trouble would make, 'but whooping. There were at least a dozen to 15 voices. I would say every hair on my body was standing up when we heard those noises.'

     An engineer working nights to complete the construction of the bridge in Parkway Plaza said that he and a group of workmen had seen an Indian sitting astride a horse watching them from below on the interstate. They were about to tell him to move on, that he wasn't allowed to ride a horse on the interstate, when both rider and horse disappeared.

     Deanna Beacham of the nearby Nansemond tribe confirmed that none of their tribal members were engaged in any kind of protest against the Plaza. Although, she would not admit to a belief in tribal spirits roaming around near the plaza, she said that there were many rivers, streets, roads, and communities with Native American names in the region, so why shouldn't people see physical manifestations of that impulse.

     Dennis Blanton, director of the College of William and Mary's Center for Archaeological Research, conducted a dig at the site of the bridge's construction at the plaza. According to his group's findings, there were artifacts scattered all over the site, dating back 5,000 to 6,000 years. Edward Halle, an area historian, agreed that the Pocahontas Parkway location had been home to tribespeople for a long time.

     An area resident, who owned a business less than a mile from the toll plaza, said that 'hooting and hollering' had been heard near the place for years and that the local Native Americans had long declared that there were many spirits there. In his opinion, the plaza had been built on an Indian burial ground.

PHANTOMS ON ROADS AND HIGHWAYS - Part One

2011-10-08T19:06:00.000-07:00

RESURRECTION MARY, ARCHER AVENUE, CHICAGO

From the works of Brad Steiger, Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places

     Chicago paranormal researcher Richard Crowe has quite a file on "Resurrection Mary," a beautiful phantom hitchhiker who haunts Chicago's South Side. "She was buried in Resurrection Cemetery on Archer Avenue, which is where she gets her nickname," Crowe explained. "During the 1930's, and 1940's, Mary was often picked up at dances by various people. She would ask for a ride toward Resurrection Cemetery, saying that she lived down that way. As people drove her home, she would yell at them to stop in front of the cemetery gates. She would get out of the car, run across the road, and dematerialize at the gate."

     Crowe mentioned a report wherein two young men were fascinated by watching this beautiful blond dance by them, but when she passed near them they got the strangest sensation. That night when they got home, they told their father about this woman. They'd never heard of 'Resurrection Mary,' but their father recognized her by the description they provided.

     "I investigated and found out that a week before this sighting, Mary had been seen dancing around the cemetery's fence," Crowe said.

     Crowe told me that he had numerous first person accounts of people who have had Mary open their car doors and jump in, but he had only one going to the street address she gave him. According to the man's report, Mary had sat in the front between the driver and him. Their friend sat in the back seat. When they approached the front gate at Resurrection Cemetery, she asked them to stop and let her out. It was a few minutes before midnight, and the young men had protested, saying she couldn't possibly live there. According to the narrator of the story, Mary said, "I know. But I have to get out.

     "So being gentlemen and she being so beautiful, we let her out, and she left without saying another word," he told Crowe. "She crossed the road running, and as she approached the gate, she disappeared."

     The young man continued with his account: "She had given me her name and address, so early Monday morning, all three of us guys came to the number and street in the stockyards area. We climbed the front steps to her home. We rang and knocked on the door. The mother opened the door, and lo and behold, the girl's color picture was on the piano, looking right at us. The mother said she was dead. We told her our story and left. My friend and I did not pursue the matter any more, and we haven't seen her again. All three of us went into the service thereafter and lost contact with each other."

THE HAUNTED HIGHWAYS AND ROADS OF GREAT BRITAIN

     People have been traveling about at night in carriages and coaches far longer in Great Britain than in the United States, so there seems little question that their shadowy highways should have an inordinate number of ghosts at the side of the road.

          The A23

     The United Kingdom's most haunted road is said to be A23 between London and Brighton, where numerous motorists have sighted a small girl with no hands or feet, a specter in a white trench coat, and a ghost dressed in cricketer's clothing.

          The A465

     On a stretch of the A465 near Bromyard in Herefordshire, villagers are concerned that the ghost of an accident from more than 60 years ago could be haunting the country road. A farmer reported as many as 26 drivers crashing into his fence during an 18 month period. Some motorists stated that they mysteriously lost control of their vehicles, that they felt their steering wheels pulled from their hands, as they approached the haunted area.

          The A12

     On a dark night in the 1970's, a lorry driver was traveling north up the A12 on a narrow stretch of road outside Blythburgh in Suffolk when he was horrified to see in the road ahead of him a man riding in a small cart pulled by a horse and a woman walking beside the cart. He swerved to attempt to avoid hitting them, but the road runs between high banks at that point. Thus unable to leave the road, he slammed into the pair and their horse and cart.

     Shaking with dread and remorse, assuming that he must surely have killed the two, the driver stepped down from his can and began to walk back along the road, fearing at any moment to come upon the grisly remains. He found nothing. He walked back to his truck, looked underneath and around the vehicle. Nothing.

     At last he drove on, baffled but relieved that he apparently had not harmed anyone. Later, he learned that the folk of Blythburgh often encounter the cart, the driver, and the woman crossing that piece of road, and the historians among them believe the ghosts date back to the eighteenth century.

          Blue Bell Hill

     Since 1965 dozens of drivers have slammed on their brakes to avoid hitting a pretty young woman in a flowing white dress standing in the road on Blue Bell Hill in Maidstone, England. The phantom is said to be that of a woman who was to have been a bridesmaid for her best friend when she died in a car crash the night before the wedding. Her spirit appears still dressed in her flowing bridesmaid's gown, still attempting to get to the wedding on time.

CHILDREN AND THE PARANORMAL

2011-09-30T23:19:00.000-07:00

From the works of JO-ANNE CHRISTENSEN, Ghost Stories Of British Columbia

     A woman was asked by her nine-year-old daughter what an aura was. She tried to explain the halos, colour, and energy that are believed to emanate from each living thing, and the girl casually replied, "Oh those. Everybody had those until grade one."

     Among people who believe in the existence of ghosts, it is generally accepted that children tend to be more sensitive to the phenomena than are adults. The commonly held theory is that a young child's innocence and lack of conditioning allows him/her to accept what they see. "Children...are less skeptical," writes Some Canadian Ghosts (1973), author Sheila Harvey; "less apt to criticize the evidence of their own senses."

     According to University of Regina parapsychologist Dr. Buddy Wynn, "Children do not yet hold socialized beliefs of what is and isn't possible. They don't have the blinders on."

     It makes one wonder how many 'invisible friends,' are perhaps more than the product of a child's active imagination...

     KUKIN AND FRINDON

     Children with few playmates are often creative enough to invent their own. When little Chris Dixon was only two years old, this is exactly what his parents thought he was doing.

     "He one day announced that he had two new friends," Chris's father, Dave Dixon recalled. "He called them Kukin and Frindon."

     Dave and his wife, Patricia, thought nothing of it at the time, but years later, would view the arrival of Kukin and Frindon as the beginning of one of the strangest experiences of their lives.

     The Dixons had rented the same, small, two-bedroom bungalow on the outskirts of North Burnaby since before Chris was born. It was, according to Dave Dixon, "so old that a friend of my mother's who had lived in Burnaby all of her life could remember a woman who lived in the house giving birth to her fourteenth child. This was in the 1930"s, and the house was old then."

     Like most homes its age, the Dixon residence was poorly insulated and could be a bit chilly in the winter months. Still, there was no explaining how the smaller of the two bedrooms, which opened directly off the living room, was always colder than the rest of the house. This odd difference in temperature and the eerie sensation of being watched - a feeling so strong that Patricia would often rouse Dave in the middle of the night, insisting that someone must have broken in - were the only indications of unusual events to come.

     Chris Dixon was born soon after his parents moved into the Burnaby house and, once he was old enough, the small bedroom became his. This is where Kukin and Frindon, his invisible playmates, came to visit.

     As the months passed, Chris's account of these visits became increasingly detailed. The stories soon seemed too sophisticated for a toddler to invent, and the Dixons began to wonder if their son's imaginary friends were really so imaginary.

     According to Chris, Kukin and Frindon only appeared at night, when everyone else was asleep. They would arrive, he said, by walking through the wall.

     "Bear in mind," wrote Dave Dixon, "that Chris had no access to older children or Sci-Fi television programs."

     Concerned, Dave and Patricia began to question Chris more closely. They asked their son where Kukin and Frindon came from. Chris replied, "From the other side."

     "The other side of what?" The Dixons pressed.

     "The river," he answered. There was no river where the family lived.

     What alarmed Dave and Patricia most, however, was Chris's comment that Kukin and Frindon often wanted him to return with them, when they left.

     "At this point," wrote Patricia, "we felt that Chris might be in some danger and advised him never to go with them. We repeated this warning time and again."

     The visits continued, three or four nights a week. They ended only when Chris was three years old and the Dixons moved away.

     "After the first night at or new house, we asked Chris what his friends thought of his new bedroom. Chris told us that his friends had to stay at the old house, they couldn't leave. Chris never spoke of them again. Which is not to say the Dixons never heard of them again.

     When Dave and Patricia moved out of the Burnaby house, two young men, who were their friends, took over the lease. The arrangement lasted only two months. The fellow who moved into Chris's old bedroom found sleeping there nearly impossible. He would awaken at night, certain that he was being watched. The feeling was so powerful that he began avoiding the room altogether, and slept on a recliner in the living room. But, according to Dave Dixon, this didn't solve the problem.

     "One night he awoke with a stronger premonition than usual, and he looked across the darkened room to the doorway leading to the small bedroom. In that instant, he believed he saw two shadowy figures standing just inside the bedroom. He came fully awake and dashed into the bedroom, thinking kids had maybe come in through the window. He found no signs of any intrusion."

     The next day, he and his room-mate decided to move out. Apparently, they felt no need for the imaginary playmates that entertained Chris for a year.

     It is interesting to note that they young man could not have been influenced by the Dixon's own story. According to Dave, they never told anyone of their son's experience.

     To this day, however, the Dixons are curious about the old bungalow and its shadowy inhabitants, Kukin and Frindon. They speculate that perhaps there was a connection to the story of the woman with fourteen children, but cannot be sure.

     "Who the two children were, or why they continue to haunt the little house in Burnaby, we will never know," wrote Dave.

     What they do know is this: the house still stands, and someone lives there today. And very likely, Kukin and Frindon continue to make their night-time visits.

CAITIE'S FRIEND

2011-09-24T23:36:00.000-07:00

     I always found it remarkable that children seem to be much more likely to see apparitions. Some say it's because they don't manufacture any sort of logic to explain away what they see and experience. What they see, is what they see. Perhaps if we all thought this way, we'd all see ghosts at one time or another. Another thing I find odd is the fact that many kids take on imaginary friends to keep them company. Well, what if those imaginary friends aren't imaginary at all. What if they are in fact, ghosts?

     This next story is taken from the works of Jo-Anne Christensen, Ghost Stories of British Columbia.

     Caitie's Friend

     It was 1990 when Janice and Ed Clapp decided to leave their home in Ottawa in pursuit of a calmer existence on Vancouver Island. With their two year old daughter Caitie in tow, they travelled across the country in a van searching for the perfect charming house to turn into a bed and breakfast venture. They found that house on Windemere Avenue in Cumberland. Whether they found the calmer existence is up for debate.

     "The house was eighty-five years old and in dire need of repair," Janice recalled. Still, the Clapps were excited by the home's potential. It boasted 3500 square feet, five bedrooms, and a distinctive history, having been originally owned by one of the founding members of Cumberland Hospital, a doctor by the name of McNaughton. The home had charm, albeit hidden by years of neglect, and in August of 1990, Janice and Ed began working to bring it out.

     Part of the extensive renovation process was research. As the Clapps wished not to alter, but enhance, the Windemere Avenue house, they asked dozens of questions about its original state. By December 16, when they invited the public to an opening celebration, the home looked as grand as the day Dr. McNaughton moved into it with his family. To those who attended the open house, it would seem the past had come alive. Years later, Janice would wonder if, in fact, it hadn't.

     Little Caitie Clapp was two and a half when the family moved into the restored home. It is an age when children are typically imaginative, so her parents were not surprised when she began talking about the 'ghost' of a little girl in the corner of her bedroom. They dismissed it as a phase Caitie was going through, yet with each passing night, she offered more details about the spectre.

     "Go away ghosts and goblins, witches, get out," became a bedtime ritual with Caitie, as her parents made a great business shooing unwanted paranormal types out of her room.

     "This took place every night for about three months," wrote Janice, "when we finally said she had to start the shooing on her own - and she did." This passing of responsibility did nothing to discourage Caitie's fantasy, however. The ghost, she claimed, was still there.

     It was around this time that the Clapps received a telephone call informing them that one of Dr. McNaughton's daughters was coming to Cumberland and would love to see her old home restored. Anxious to see the woman's reaction to their work, Janice and Ed invited her for a tour. It would prove interesting for everyone involved.

     Janice and Ed engaged Dr. McNaughton's daughter with the details of their extensive renovation. She entertained them with stories of their home's past. But it was one casual remark made after touring the bedrooms that captured Janice's attention.

     "She commented on how her sister had, in fact, died of influenza...and that although her dad was a doctor, there was nothing he could do."

     Janice was intrigued. Could Caitie's ghost be the little McNaughton girl who was lost to the Spanish Influenza epidemic of 1918? Suddenly, other odd occurrences seemed to bear greater consideration. "I had often heard noises, like footsteps from the top floor when we were downstairs," Janice remembered, "but passed them off as my imagination."

     It is natural to wonder why, after more than sixty years, the spirit of the young girl chose to materialize for the Clapps - but there are theories that make sense of the situation.

     Renovations have often been reported to stir up paranormal activity; sometimes because the ghost takes offense at extensive changes, but more likely, in this case, because its former environment has been lovingly recreated. The other probable explanation is that Caitie, at her sensitive young age, acted as a sort of catalyst, encouraging the phenomena. This supports Janice Clapp's own conclusions.

     "To this day I often wonder if the ghost of the little girl was indeed some lost soul who left Windemere Avenue back during the influenza epidemic and came back to find a friend in Caitie," she wrote, also wondering if, had they stayed in the house, the ghost "would have made her presence more evident."

     There is no way of knowing. Ed and Janice Clapp sold their beloved bed and breakfast in 1991, and the house has again undergone major changes.

     Does the little McNaughton girl approve? Does she visit? Only the current tenants know for sure.

GHOST HANDPRINTS

2011-09-18T00:45:00.000-07:00

A Texas Ghost Story
retold by: S.E. Schlosser

     I am so glad I found this author. She writes a series of books on spooky stories, folklore, campfire stories, myths and etc... Her wide variety of knowledge is breath taking. A lot of stories I have heard before from when I was a kid - the man with the hook for a hand for example, but many I have never heard of. So I'll share some stories I've researched from her works, and likely return to the works of one of my favorite investigators, Brad Steiger. Let's get to the story.

     My wife Jill and I were driving home from a friend's party late one evening in early May. It was a beautiful night with a full moon. We were laughing and discussing the party when the engine started to cough and the emergency light went on. We had just reached the railroad crossing where Villamain Road becomes Shane Road. According to local legend, this was the place where a school bus full of children had stalled on the tracks. Everyone on board the bus had been killed by an oncoming freight train. The ghosts of the children were reported to haunt this intersection and were said to protect people from danger.

      Not wanting a repeat of the train crash, I hit the gas pedal, trying to get our car safely across the tracks before it broke down completely. But the dad-blamed car wouldn't cooperate. It stalled dead center on the railroad tracks.

     As if that weren't enough, the railroad signals started flashing and a bright light appeared a little ways down the track, bearing down fast on our car. I turned the key and hit the gas pedal, trying to get the car started.

     "Hurry up, Jim! The trains coming," my wife urged, as if I didn't hear the whistling blowing a warning.

     I broke out into a sweat and tried the engine again. Nothing.

     "We have to get out!" I shouted to my wife, reaching for the door handle.

     "I can't," Jill shouted desperately. She was struggling with her seat belt. We'd been having trouble with it recently. She'd been stuck more than once, and I'd had to help her get it undone.

     I threw myself across the stick-shift and fought with the recalcitrant seat belt. My hands were shaking and sweat poured down my body as I felt the rumble of the approaching train. It had seen us and was whistling sharply. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. The engineer was trying to slow down, but he was too close to stop before he hit us. I redoubled my efforts.

     Suddenly, the car was given a sharp shove from behind. Jill and I both gasped and I fell into her lap as the car started to roll forward. Slowly at first, then gaining speed. The back end cleared the tracks just a second before the train roared passed. As the car rolled to a stop on the far side of the tracks, the engineer stuck his head out the window of the engine and waved a fist at us, doubtless shouting something nasty at us for scaring him.

     "Th...that was close," Jill gasped as I struggled upright. "How did you get the car moving?"

     "I didn't," I said. "Someone must have helped us."

     I jumped out of the door on the driver's side of the car and ran back to the tracks to thank our rescuer. In the bright moonlight, I searched the area, looking for the person who had pushed our car out of the path of the train. There was no one there. I called out several times, but no one answered. After a few minutes struggle with her seat belt, Jill finally freed herself and joined me.

     "Where is he?" she asked.

     "There is no one here," I replied, puzzled.

     "Maybe he is just shy about being thanked," Jill said. She raised her voice. "Thank you, whoever you are," she called.

     The wind picked up a little, swirling around us, patting our hair and our shoulders like the soft touch of a child's hand. I shivered and hugged my wife tightly to me. We had almost died tonight, and I was grateful to be alive.

     "Yes, thank you," I repeated loudly to our mystery rescuer.

     As we turned back to our stalled vehicle, I pulled out my cell phone, ready to call for a tow truck. Beside me, Jill stopped suddenly, staring at the back of our car.

     "Jim, look!" she gasped.

     I stared at our vehicle. Scattered in several places across the back of our car were several glowing hand prints. They were small hand prints; the kind that adorned the walls of elementary schools all over the country. I started shaking as I realized the truth; our car had been pushed off the tracks by the ghosts of the schoolchildren killed at this location.

     The wind swept around us again, and I thought I heard an echo of childish voices whispering: "You're welcome," as it patted our shoulders and arms. Then the wind died down and the hand prints faded from the back of the car.

     Jill and I clung together for a moment in terror and delight. Finally, I released her and she got into the car while I called the local garage to come and give us a tow home.

AMERICAN FOLKLORE, BLOODY MARY

2011-09-17T00:37:00.000-07:00

     I've always been interested in all folklore, especially how they originated. How were they created? Over active imaginations? I would like to believe there is a little truth behind every legend. Not that I'd like to believe there were spooky men walking around with hooks for hands, impaling helpless victims. I'm assuming you know what I mean. Everybody has heard of Bloody Mary. I remember at school, a few of us would go into the bathroom, turn out the lights, spin around a few times, and then call to Bloody Mary, saying her name three times. Nothing ever happened of course, but it sparked the imagination, and fear.

     I found this interesting interpretation of Bloody Mary, excerpted from 'Spooky Pennsylvania,' retold by S.E. Schlosser.

     BLOODY MARY

     She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for a living. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. None dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of fever, or any number to terrible things that an angry witch could do to her neighbors.

     Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if the witch had taken the girls, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances. Still, it was noted that her haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger, more attractive. The neighbors were suspicious, but they could find no proof that the witch had taken their young ones.

     Then came the night when the daughter of the miller rose from her bed and walked outside, following an enchanted sound no one else could hear. The miller's wife had a toothache and was sitting up in the kitchen treating the tooth with an herbal remedy when her daughter left the house. She screamed for her husband and followed the girl out of the door. The miller came running in his nightshirt. Together, they tried to restrain the girl, but she kept breaking away from them and heading out of town.

     The desperate cries of the miller and his wife woke the neighbors. They came to assist the frantic couple. Suddenly, a sharp-eyed farmer gave a shout and pointed towards a strange light at the edge of the woods. A few townsmen followed him out into the field and saw Bloody Mary standing beside a large oak tree, holding a magic wand that was pointed towards the miller's house. She was glowing with an unearthly light as she set her evil spell upon the miller's daughter.

     The townsmen grabbed their guns and their pitchforks and ran toward the witch. When she heard the commotion, Bloody Mary broke off her spell and fled back into the woods. The far-sighted farmer had loaded his gun with silver bullets in case the witch ever came after his daughter. Now he took aim and shot at her. The bullet hit Bloody Mary in the hip and she fell to the ground. The angry townsmen leapt upon her and carried her back into the field, where they built a huge bonfire and burned her at the stake.

     As she burned, Bloody Mary screamed a curse at the villagers. If anyone mentioned her name aloud before a mirror, she would send her spirit to revenge herself upon them for her terrible death. When she was dead, the villagers went to the house in the wood and found the unmarked graves of the little girls the evil witch had murdered. She had used their blood to make her young again.

     From that day to this, anyone foolish enough to chant Bloody Mary's name three times before a darkened mirror will summon the vengeful spirit of the witch. It is said that she will tear their bodies to pieces and rip their souls from their mutilated bodies. The souls of these unfortunate ones will burn in torment as Bloody Mary once was burned, and they will be trapped forever in the mirror.

     BURNT CHURCH

     Here's a story I've never heard of before, but I'm sure you'll find it as horrifying as I did. It is also retold by S.E. Schlosser.

     She was sophisticated, poised, and cultured. In retrospect, this should have made them suspicious. A teacher like her should be presiding over a girl's school in London or New York, not seeking a position in a small town in Georgia. But at the time, they were too delighted by her application to ask any questions.

     "It will be good for our daughter to learn some culture," the attorney's wife told the pastor's wife.

     "And our boy may find some table manners at last," the pastor's wife responded with a smile.

     School was called into session in the local church shortly after the arrival of the teacher. And soon, the children were bringing glowing reports home. Teacher was special. Teacher taught them manners and diction as well as reading, writing and arithmetic. All the children loved teacher.

     The parents were delighted by the progress their children were making at school. Teacher had been a real find. A God-send, said the preacher's wife.

     But not every one in town was so satisfied. The local ne-er-do well - called Smith - had more sinister stories to tell.

     "That woman ain't natural," he told the blacksmith, waving a bottle of whisky for emphasis. "I seen her out in the woods after dark, dancing around a campfire and chanting in a strange language."

     "Nonsense," the blacksmith retorted, calmly hammering a headed iron bar on his anvil.

     "They say she's got an altar in her room and it ain't an altar to the Almighty," Smith insisted, leaning forward and blowing his boozy breath into the blacksmith's face.

     "You're drunk," said the blacksmith, lifting the hot iron so it barred the man from coming any closer. "Go home and sleep it off."

     Smith left the smithy, but he continued to talk wild about the Teacher in the weeks that followed. During those weeks, a change gradually came over the school children. The typical high-jinks and pranks that all children played lessened. Their laughter died away. And when they did misbehave, it was on a much more ominous scale than before. Items began to disappear from houses and farms. Expensive items like jewelry, farm tools, and money. When children talked back to their parents, there was a hard edge to their voices, and they did not apologize for their rudeness, even when punished.

     "And my daughter lied to me the other day," the attorney's wife said to the pastor's wife in distress. "I saw her punch her younger brother and steal an apple from him, and she denied it to my face. She practically called me a liar!"

     "The games the children play back in the woods frighten me," the pastor's wife confessed. "They chant in a strange language, and they move in such a strange manner. Almost like a ritual dance."

     "Could it be something they are learning at school?" asked the attorney's wife.

     "Surely not! Teacher is such a sweet, sophisticated lady," said the pastor's wife.

     But they exchanged glances.

     Smith, on the other hand, was sure. "That teacher is turning the young'uns to the Devil, that 's what she is doing," he proclaimed up and down the streets of the town.

     "Don't be ridiculous," the preacher told him when they passed in front of the mercantile.

     "I ain't ridiculous. You are blind," Smith told him. "That teacher ought to be burned at the stake, like they burned the witches in Salem."

     The pastor, pale with wrath, ordered Smith out of his sight. But the ne'er-do-well's words rang in his mind and would not be pushed away. And the children continued to behave oddly. Almost like they were possessed. He would, the preacher decided reluctantly, have to look into it someday soon.

     That day came sooner than he thought. The very next Monday, his little boy came down with a cold and his mother kept him home from school. When the pastor returned from his duties for a late lunch, his wife came running up to him as soon as he entered the door. She was pale with fright.

     "I heard him chanting something over and over again in his bedroom," she gasped. "So I crept to the door to listen. He was saying the Lord's Prayer backwards!"

     The pastor gasped and clutched his Bible to his chest, as goose bumps erupted over his body. This was positively satanic. And there was nowhere the boy could have learned such a thing in this town, unless he learned it...at school.

     At that moment, the attorney's wife came bursting in the door behind him.

     "Quick pastor, quick," she cried. "Smith is running through town with a torch, talking about burning down the school. The children are still in class!"

     The pastor raced out of the house with the two woman at his heels. They and the other townsfolk who followed them were met by a huge cloud of smoke coming from the direction of the church, where the school children had their lessons. The building was already ablaze as frantic parents beat at the flames with wet sacks, or threw buckets of water from the pump into the inferno. Smith could be heard cackling unrepentantly from the far side of the building, which was full of the screams of the trapped students and their teacher.

     The fire blazed with a supernatural kind of force, and the pastor thought he heard the sound of the Teacher laughing from within the building when it became apparent that no one could be saved.

     The church burnt for several hours, and when it was finally extinguished, there was nothing left. Mourning parents tried to find something of their children to bury, And Smith wisely disappeared from town, his mission against the works of Satan completed.

     The teacher's burnt body was buried deep in the ground and covered with brick tomb. The children's smaller bodies were interred beneath wooden crosses. Of all the student's in the school that fall, only the pastor's small son survived.

     To this day, voices can be heard in the graveyard at Burnt Church, chanting unintelligible words, as the school children and the teacher once chanted in the woods outside town. Sometimes apparitions are seen, and dark walkers who roam the graveyard at night. And they say that a brick taken from the grave of the evil teacher can set fire to objects on which they are place.

WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GHOSTS AND SPIRITS?

2011-09-09T23:04:00.000-07:00

     You know, I didn't even know there was a difference between ghosts and spirits. I figured they were words that meant the same thing. My niece, Kim, sent me some information from http://wiki.answers.com/ that shed some light on the subject. It still confuses me somewhat, but I thought I'd take this information that I read and relay it to you. Perhaps you can grasp it better than I can.

     A ghost is a personality or a piece of a personality of someone who has passed that is left behind because there is something that is keeping them here. There are many possible reasons of why they would stay behind here are the most likely reasons - they don't know they have passed. This can happen if they were killed or died suddenly and usually tragically. They could have been a murder victim or even possibly died in an accident that happened suddenly. One haunting that I can think of to be a good example is the Villisca House haunting. In the Moore home at Villisca, Iowa, 8 people were brutally murdered in the middle of the night. The whole family, including two children that were staying the night with the Moore children were killed in their sleep with an axe. The man who killed them was never found, leaving this gruesome murder a mystery. The house is now said to be haunted by some of the victims of that tragic night.

Another reason a ghost might have stayed behind is because they feel an attachment to a place, object or even a person. If they are attached to a place, it could be because it was what they considered to be their home, or even just a place that they had their happiest moments in their life. If they're attached to an object it is usually an object that they held very dear to them. If it is a person they have an attachment to, it is usually because they have such a great love for that person. They may feel like that person still needs them. Or they just might not want to leave that person behind. An example of an attached haunting would possibly be the White House ghosts. Former presidents are said to still roam the halls of this great house. If you think about it being the President of the United States would most likely have been the happiest time of their lives and you most certainly would love for that to be your home I'm sure. I know I would have certainly loved to live there just from all the history that has taken place there.

     Unfinished business could be another reason that a haunting could occur. The ghost might feel the need to continue so that something could be finished or taken care of before they will pass on. Winchester Mystery House comes to mind immediately for this one. Sarah L. Winchester wanted her home to be built with many odd things built into it. She hired carpenters to work on her home day and night. Construction would never cease on the home until her death. She was the widow of the inventor of The Winchester rifle, William Wert Winchester. After the deaths of her husband and daughter, she contacted a medium for guidance. This medium told her that the spirits of the victims of the Winchester rifle were wanting vengeance and the only way she could escape the curse that had befallen her husband and child was to build a home for herself and those spirits. She must continue to build or she would die as soon as the building stopped. In her home she had doors to nowhere, windows that were built to open up to a wall. There would be many entrances to a room, but only one exit. Stairs led to a ceiling and there were many other oddities. This house was definitely a mystery. Some of the carpenters worked on the home until their deaths. Their ghosts are said to still be working on the home. The noise of hammers sometimes will be heard and one phantom carpenter has been seen. He is supposedly there guarding the home and overlooking the construction still being done even in the afterlife. Sarah Winchester is even said to still be there.

     Then there are the residual haunting. These are the hauntings that have no intelligence. These hauntings are like a recording that has been imprinted on the land or home in which it takes place at. They will happen at a certain time or date or just random. It will be almost like a scene that is the same all the time. It could also take place as noises or smells. The perfect example of this is the Civil War battlefields. Most of the hauntings that take place at these battlefields are sounds and smells of the ghastly war that took place on its grounds. Cannon and gun fire have been the main residual hauntings from the battlefields, but there are reports of fleeting apparitions of men who still seem to be fighting the war as if it were still going on around them.

     Now this brings me to Spirits. Spirits are different from ghosts because they are not bound to this earth. Spirits are actually the passed on personalities of a living person. Spirits will come back for a time. They can come back for many reasons, but the most common is to tell a loved one a message or to help a loved one cross over. There have been many accounts from people of a loved one coming  back to warn of impending danger, or simply to just let the loved one know that they are okay and happy. There is also a belief that they will come back to comfort a loved one who is dying and make the transition of death a little easier on them. Most spirits will return to where they came from after they have done what they came to do. There are many personal experiences and I can not thing of a famous instance of this although I'm sure there most likely is. One story I know of is a personal experience of my mothers. After the birth of her first child she was sitting in her room brushing her hair as she looked into a mirror. Suddenly, her face transformed into the face of her mothers, who had died when she was a young girl. As she stared into her mother's face, she got the overwhelming sense that her mother was proud of her. Her mother said nothing, just merely gave her that feeling. My mother really truly believed that that was a visit from her mother.

     It would be nice to hear your views on this subject. Do you believe there is a difference between a ghost and a spirit? How would you translate the information above? It is a subject I might research furthermore later on. Anyways, that's all I got for now.

CAN A GHOST ATTACH ITSELF TO A FAMILY?

2011-09-05T00:18:00.000-07:00

     It's not the first time I've wondered if it is possible that a spirit could attach itself to a family. Like Kim and Tracy in the last two entries of this blog, Kim's daughter Natasha entertains the same idea. They have all had experiences dealing with the paranormal. With Kim and Tracy, it all began in Ontario. Now that Kim has moved all the way across the country to Williams Lake, B.C., those paranormal experiences have not subsided, nor have they stayed hidden from her immediate family. It seems anybody connected to Kim and Tracy becomes a believer fast enough. I, myself, haven't experienced anything with Kim out of the ordinary as of yet, but I've only been in Williams Lake for about four months, so only time will tell if I will have the honor, or the horror - however you look at it, of witnessing first hand the entity that clings to her and her family. I've been around taps that had a mind of their own, but that just about sums up my experiences.
     Natasha tells a story that begins several years ago when she was a child. Although it is difficult to be certain 100% whether it is the same spirit Kim and Tracy dealt with in Ontario, there is some proof to that effect. If you've had the chance to read the last two accounts, you will understand. You can draw your own conclusions.

     Here is an account from Natasha. I will not interrupt it one bit with editing - this is word for word, which is the same courtesy I extended Kim and Tracy.

     I think that we never really die. I think that we either go somewhere bigger and better than our simple minds can even begin to imagine, or we stick around for whatever reasons. I can't honestly say that I know for a fact that there is a heaven, however, I can honestly say that I know that we never truly die, and perhaps some parts of us stick around long after our body has disappeared. The only reason why I say that so confidently is because of the things I have seen and heard throughout my lifetime, which is more than the average person can say. I suppose I should do my best at telling my stories in order, but it's a little difficult. I'm going to start with the things I remember as a little girl.

     My mom, dad, brother, and I lived in a town house on Gibbon Street in Williams Lake, B.C. It had four floors. The basement on one, the living room, bathroom and kitchen on another. Above that was my parent's room, and then on the very top floor, with another bathroom, was my brother's and my room. I remember some things very clearly about that house. I recall how in the kitchen area, against the wall that you see as soon as you enter, my mother had porcelain masks hanging in a row. One of those masks was painted to look like a cat. It had ears and black fur around the face. I remember the smile that was painted onto its face like it is a photograph stuck in my memory. It had a very mischievous smile. Although it was a mask, every now and again when I would walk by it, I remember there being eyes staring back at me. Although it sounds a little crazy and difficult to believe, but the memories have stuck with me for fifteen years.

     That's not the only thing about that house that I remember. We went through a lot of babysitters because after one night, they never wanted to return. Tamara, who lasted the longest, was cleaning our kitchen, and was moving all the chairs out of the way so she could mop. The last chair that she tried to pick up, would not be budged. She couldn't move it. I was sitting on the stairs and could hear her telling my mom "It felt like someone was sitting in it."

     My brother and I used to get in trouble all the time when we were living at that house. But what stands out in my mind is when we were accused of biting on the blinds of all things. They were white and plastic and there was always little teeth marks in them, but never once were we the culprits.

     Another recollection I have is when my sister Makayla was visiting for the summer. My brother and I had to share his room while she stayed in mine with one of her friends. She woke me up in the middle of the night and begged me to stay with her friend, Shay, while she took a shower. By then, everyone was starting to get used to the house, but Shay still didn't want to be alone. I was lying in the room with Shay and we were looking at a magazine, when my sister tried to come back into the room. I remember her saying: "This isn't funny guys, open the door." Shay started to panic. There was no lock on the door for us to lock, and we were across the room, nowhere near the door. The door would just not open for her.

     A lot of freaky things happened in that house, from hearing people talking, to hearing them run up and down all of the stair cases. I have a tape that we left recording one night when we all went out. The house was completely empty, but on that tape that is currently sitting in a box in my bedroom, you can hear a child's voice clearly, screaming for his dad, drums being played, footsteps, and more footsteps. We didn't live there long after that. In fact, we have moved twice since then and have experienced further paranormal activity.

     On one occasion, my Grandma had given us Disney character toys for Christmas. I had a Goofy toy with a string that you could pull and make his say different things. My brother got a Mickey Mouse toy that was similar. One night, after we were sent to bed, I kept hearing my brother's toy. It was repeating the words "I love you," over and over again. Figuring it was my brother playing around with it, I yelled at him to put the toy away. He told me he wasn't playing with it. Alarmed, we both started screaming for my mom. Having horrifying experiences with toys before, she was quick to take the batteries from the toy, and toss the thing into the garbage. Even then the toy still confessed it's love to whoever would listen.

     In our current house, a nice house on the corner of a busy street in Williams Lake, nothing has gone on here like I have experienced before, or maybe I'm used to it by now. There is still an entity or two I'm sure. I do hear people talking in the house every other night after we have gone to bed, but I think the only two things that have happened here that have come slightly close to the things I had experienced in the other houses would be the day me and my mom got into an argument the night we were talking about my great grandmother Jean(Jessica). I don't remember what we were fighting about, but I was about to leave the house. I was standing at the bottom of the stairs and she stood at the top. Just before I was about to open the door, still screaming at my mom, a small doll that was sitting on top of a shelf by the door flew off the shelf and hit the wall on the opposite side, before hitting the floor. And I have seen a little blond boy out of the corner of my eye run around the house and vanish. Both my mother and I know who it was, but I will tell of that later.

     The other little incident that I recall, involved my great grandmother, Jean. I was sewing with my mom at the kitchen table. I was asking her questions about Jean. I don't remember her very well and wanted to know more. I was asking my mother if she remembered being at my grandmother's house for a dinner. I was telling her about my only memory of Jean, and how I thought she was a scary woman. Not long after those words came out of my mouth was my hair yanked on. Mom started to laugh while I sat there kind of shocked.

     My mother and my Aunt Tracy as well as other members of the 'Oliver' family tree have told me their fair share of stories and about our history. Most o the strange stories I have heard about begin on that farm, a piece of land that once had a house that my grandpa built on it. I have heard stories of other houses on that land, but not as many as I have heard about my grandpa's house.

     The first time I had been there, as soon as wee pulled into the driveway, I did not feel so good. I suddenly felt upset, depressed, and just did not want to be there. That was the first time I had seen the little blond boy. I was coming out of the bathroom in the old house, and I had seen a little boy out of the corner of my eye run into a bedroom. My Grandpa told me about Alfie, the little blond boy, who was my third cousin, who drowned in a river just behind the land the farm was on.

     When I left that day, my grandma gave me two candle holders with faeries on them. As much as I loved those candle holders, having them made me feel wrong. All I can say is that even after living in the townhouse that seemed to have many spirits staying there with us, I had never felt so much wrongness in a house before.

     After thinking about all that I have seen and heard and felt, it makes me believe that it isn't so much the houses we have lived in, or the land the houses are set upon, but the family that is effected by apparitions. Can spirits be attached to a family? How else can you be on one side of Canada and see the same spirit on the other? Nonetheless, my family seems to share different, and the same paranormal stories. It may have come from the old farm in Ontario, but it is now linked to our family. I'm sure of it.

Natasha.

AN ANGRY GHOST IN ONTARIO

2011-08-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

     This story is directly related to the story I wrote in the last entry, on August 27. In that entry was an account of paranormal activity in Ontario told by Tracy. This next story is told from her sister, Kim's, which coincides with some of the information Tracy has already divulged, plus some tantalizing extra insights. So again, this is a word for word account by Kim.

     I think for anyone who might read this to really understand the experiences that my sister(Tracy), and I have wrote, it is important to also touch on some of the family history and also of the area. The majority of occurrences take place in a rural northern Ontario community on a family farm that had been passed down through the generations beginning with my great-grandfather Alfred on my dad's side of the family. Although it isn't clear how much land Alfred had purchased. I am told Alfred and his wife Ella Mae chose to raise their children on one small lot that later became my home.

     From all the information and statements that I gathered over the years, I believe that Alfred had divided the land between two of his children, son Jack, and his daughter Grace. Jack with his wife Jean later lived on the same piece of land as Alfred.  Grace, married to George, built a home on the far western corner, not far from a fairly large creek that ran down the length of property. Grace and George had three children, the eldest daughter, Edith Jane, son, Alfred George, and youngest, Frederick James.

     On June 15, 1950, the children were playing by the creek, when the youngest boy Freddie had fallen in. Alfred George, named after his grandfather, is believed to have went to the aid of his brother first and quickly headed into the water, and his sister, Edith followed. Tragedy struck, and after a thorough search, all three bodies were found in the creek that evening by my grandfather, Jack. Edith was 11 years old, Alfie was 9, and Freddie was just 7.

     Now the stories I have been told about the first house that stood on the farm are chilling o say the least. I wish at times I knew more about the history of the house, and whether or not it was actually built by my great grandfather or if it had already been there when he required the property.

     Jack and his wife Jean lived in this along with four of their children before their marriage ended. From what I understand, Jean moved west and unable to take the children, Jack remained in the house with two daughters - my dad and his younger brother, Jackie.

     Reports of this house from my dad and grandfather Jack, ranged from hearing voices, numerous people running up and down the stairs or having conversations, and it escalated to items being thrown at the kids. This seemed to happen on a daily bases and it didn't seem to matter what time of day or night. My dad's oldest sister, Claudette, seemed to take the worst of the damage. My grandfather told me that once during a heated argument between Jean and Claudette, a hot frying pan sitting on the stove violently threw itself at Claudette and hit her in the back, leaving a terrible burn and a bruise.

     There was also an old barn on the farm that had an old style door latch for a handle. The youngest child, Sam, was so little at the time, she was unable to work the latch open. She'd rattle it back and forth to no avail.  She could not force it open. When Jean left to move to the west, Sam went to live with a friend of the family until Jean was able to send for her. Even though she was gone from the house and property, The boys, who remained at the old house, could ofter hear the door handle rattle and click as if Sam was on the other side trying to get in.

     The only real memory of the first house that I have is in 1978-79, when I was about 8 or 9 years old. My father had saved up enough to start building his own home on the farm and I remember going with him and my mother to the farm to pick out a spot for the new house. Just as we were getting out of the car, my dad told me to stay out of trouble and I was not allowed to go in the old house. As my dad roamed around, I remember peeking through the old glass windows and seeing all sorts of neat things in the rooms. I remember thinking that although everything was tarnished with dust and dirt, it was almost inconceivable that it was empty. I got this notion that people should still be living there. I recall seeing pictures still hanging on the walls and cups on the table. Then something shiny on the floor caught my eye, and I knew right away that it was money. It looked funny to me. I had never seen this type of currency before. They were shiny new, and large and so many of them. I remember wanting them so badly that I figured if I begged my dad long enough, he would let me have them.


Calling for my mom first, I hoped that she would go into the house and get me this money. I pointed through the window at the money on the floor for my mother to see. She hollered for my dad(Boyd) to come look. "Boyd, you got to come see this. There is a pile of silver dollars on the floor!" I remembered getting so excited. I was jumping and dancing around my mom, entertaining the belief that we had suddenly become super rich. My dad peered through the window and to my disappointment, he didn't seem to care one bit.

"Can I have them dad, please dad, can I have them?" No sooner did that come out of my mouth did I regret it. The expression on my dad's face changed so quickly. His good mood suddenly plummeted and anger and hatred took its place. With his face all twisted, blackened eyes, and his voice deep and low, said: "I said no. No one is allowed in the house."

     My father never got that angry with me. In fact, that was the first time that he actually scared the hell out of me. Running back to the car in tears, I heard my mom yell with panic in her voice: "Boyd! What the hell is wrong with you!" Immediately after that, we left and that was the last time I seen the old house still standing. Or so I thought. I actually did see the old house once more after that, but it was years after my dad tore it down. Yes, I'll explain that later.

     A few weeks after the silver dollar incident, my dad and his brother went to the farm to start tearing down the old house. My dad was persistent, calling hydro several times to make sure it was safe - that the power was turned off before they begun to dismantle it. My dad then climbed on the roof and started disconnecting wires. I don't know if he did get a jolt or if he luckily figured it out first, but I remember him coming home mad as hell. He called hydro and after a lot of swearing and yelling, he asked them if they were trying to kill him. Although Hydro swears that the pole was dead, and the work order was completed, mysteriously, the power still ran live to the house.

     After the house was only a pile of rubble, the construction of the new house began. The new house was built directly across from the old, several hundred yards apart.  Some lumber was salvaged from the old house, which was also used in the construction of the new house. I am not completely convinced that using old building material for the new house could be the only explanation for all that happened, but I am sure it didn't help matters.

     A year later, the house was completed. My dad's brother, Jackie bought a trailer and moved it to the south side of the property across from ours. Only the Trans Canada highway divides the two pieces of land. I only mention this little fact because the experiences in Jackie's home, although mild in comparison to ours, adds further credence to the idea that it could be the property as a whole that is disturbed. Or...maybe it's a freakishly weird family curse that knows no boundaries. There were so many experiences that I find it hard to know where to start. It's impossible to list all the events chronologically. In fact, this is my third or fourth attempt at even writing this paragraph. As soon as I recall one experience, another memory even more unbelievable than the first creeps into my mind.

     I think I'll start with the clown. I hate clowns. I cannot remember exactly how old we were. I was maybe 11, Tracy 5 or 6, and my brother Kevin was about 2. My grandfather Jack bought Kevin this red stuffed musical clown. The ones with the wind up red ball nose, and would play a tune when it was wound up. One night I heard Tracy and Kevin screaming from the bedroom - a high pitched blood curdling scream I will never forget. I must have been sweeping up the floor, as the next thing I remember is being in the bedroom doorway with the whisk broom in my hand. The kids were sitting in the middle of the bed. I got this tingling sensation, and numbness all over my body. I followed the children's gaze to the corner of the room to my left. Still in the doorway, I then heard the laughing and giggling. There it was, the clown, on the ceiling, spinning head over heels in circles. Then it stopped upright and violently shook while continuing its incessant giggling. Somehow I mustered up a good dose of courage, and in an instant, I was underneath it, and beating the abomination with the broom. With each strike I kept telling myself that it wasn't hard enough. I'm not sure how long it took - maybe a few seconds, or a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime to knock that little red bastard off the ceiling. I don't remember what happened to the clown in the days to come.

     There were two other incidents that took place involving toys that would take on a life of their own. There was a yellow toy telephone that would ring and roll its eyes when pulled by a string fastened to the front. If left out, we were certain to be woken in the middle of the night, hearing it ring up and down the hallway outside our bedroom. It wasn't until the phone chased my sister down the hallway did my mom finally get rid of it.

     As far as actual spiritual manifestations in the house, there were not too many that I can recall. At times, strange figures I could see out the corner of my eye, or a glimpse of their reflections in windows or mirrors. The only spirit I can honestly say I have clearly seen was that of a little blond haired boy. It wasn't until my dad saw the little boy that we started to call him Alfie. My father reassured us that Alfie had been around for years and was quite harmless. Dressed in blue coveralls and tousled dirty blond hair, Alfie seemed to be a little shy, as he was either peeking around corners or running from room to room. On one occasion, my cousin Dwayne was visiting at our house with the intention of staying the night but he had quickly changed his mind after he followed Alfie down the hall into one of the rooms believing that he was following my brother. Neither my brother or sister were home at the time and even though I tried to convince Dwayne that everything was fine, he still insisted that he wanted to leave. Dwayne wasn't our only house guest to report that they had seen Alfie, and over the years, my dad became proficient in calming people's fears and keeping the panicked reactions to a minimum. I saw Alfie four times on the old farm and at least three times years later after my own move to B.C.

     Unfortunately Dwayne wasn't the only person who left our home after a paranormal experience, stressed and scared. One evening while my parents were out, the neighbors had sent their youngest son, Dave, over to sit with me and watch the kids. The reason for this was because there was a terrible lightning storm coming through and I was really too young to be alone with the kids and without a phone. Ontario lightning storms can be the most amazing and frightening experiences. The night was as black as could be, but with the flash of lightning you could see clear across the fields as if it were a mid-summers day. The sky would light up for fifteen seconds or so, and it would be long enough for your eyes to adjust and clearly see your neighbors home across the highway. As Dave and I stood watching the light show through the big picture window, the wind picked up and was tossing a wheel barrel down the lane. At first it looked like a scene right out of the Wizard Of Oz, and I laughed at Dave who had to go outside to case the barrel down before it caused any damage or reached the highway. Still at the picture window and Dave outside, we both waited for the next flash of lightning to see where the barrel was headed. Just as the sky lit up, Dave was gone, suddenly running directly across the driveway toward the barrel, which was being held against a tree by the wind. Just before he reached it, the sky went black for a second or two, and then another flash lit up the sky even brighter than before. The wheel barrel was still against the tree and right behind the tree stood the first old farmhouse. It was tall, grey and weathered looking with windows that appeared to be staring right at me and watching like it was alive. I heard a loud scream and I witnessed Dave stop dead in his tracks, and then he stumbled and fell backwards on his butt as he tried to turn and run back to the house.  Back in the house and white as a ghost, Dave started flashing the outside light on and off which was our safety signal to the neighbors that there was trouble and to come to their aid. Without saying a word and visibly shaking, he waited for his brother Stan to pull up to the house. When he did, Dave jumped on his dirt bike and left. Although we never talked about it later, I can only assume that Dave saw the same image of the old house as I did.

     I wish I could better describe the feelings and emotions that a person could experience just by being on this farm - isolated, depressed, feeling a heavy burden and often guilt. Many times there were bursts of anger, which led to a lot of violence. Of course with the alcohol abuse that the family endured for so many years can be blamed for a lot of those incidents, but sometimes I wonder if something else didn't bring it on. There were many moments when the two least likely people would turn violent and angry toward each other over something so minuscule that you might consider that there were other forces at work. Once, my dad's brother Jackie, who is the most calm and easy going man in the family, came home one day after work to find out some family were visiting from Cochrane for the weekend and he was less than impressed. You see, while Jackie was at work, one member of the visiting family, Richard, stopped in to see his family and with Jackie's wife's permission, took the kids for a little ride on Jackie's four wheeler. When Jackie found out he became uncharacteristically angry and violent, beating the hell out of Richard. My dad was called over to calm Jackie down, and he was quick to send the family away before further trouble brewed. This seemed like further evidence to my theory that something more going on than anyone could possibly fathom.

     Both the land and the house had a way of taking things and giving back. It was normal to have items disappear for long periods of time, only to show up later in the most unusual places and sometimes not even in the house. Missing items such as books, dishes and once even a toothbrush, turned up in the barn. There were times items that we had never seen before would just appear amongst our things - cutlery even of all things. One time a strange butter knife appeared, which almost drove my mother crazy with fear. The image on the handle was of people crawling up a ladder or rope with flames and the devil beneath them. For years, my mother had a garden and every fall and spring either my dad or my mom would turn over the soil to have it ready for planting. One time, my mother uncovered an old rock foundation while working that was the same size as her entire garden. A year later in the same spot, she dug up an old button up shirt and a pair of denim pants.

     As kids growing up in that environment, we all had made a vow to each other that as soon as my parents no longer needed that house, we were going to burn it the first chance we get. I have since moved my parents into another house in the same town, and my father insisted to be the one to tear the farm house down. It took him the last two years to do so, and just this last spring, he applied for a permit to burn what remained. Two weeks before he was to burn it, it is believed that a vehicle passing by on the highway tossed out a cigarette which started a grass fire on the property. The fire quickly spread down toward the house and in the end, the old barn, and stretched to the hay fields beyond. What was left of the old house was the foundation and floor, untouched by the flames and still remain.

     Although we laugh about it now, it does play on the question that because things happened to us while living on the farm, is it the land or some kind of family connection.

Kimberly

JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES AND COUNT TO TEN

2011-08-27T23:08:00.000-07:00

I finally got a Canadian story, an I am very grateful. It comes from Ontario, and the sender happens to be a relative. Her name is Tracy, and she has seen enough ghostly sightings to make one cry, piss their pants and babble like monkey. I won't use her last name because I failed to ask if that was alright. I must say that I was a little surprised to hear of such a story that directly affected members of my own family.
Although I've never had the opportunity to be close to Tracy, she seems to be an honest woman and not one to exaggerate. Her sister Kim also has a story to tell that I will be documenting on the tail of this one, and is directly tied to this one so make sure you keep reading.

This entry is one written from Tracy herself.

During my early adolescence, I wrote numerous poems about a house that would claw and bite. It was a separate entity. It wasn't until many years later, as I sat across from a city psychiatrist, learning about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, that these poems became significant.

Armed with this new found knowledge suggesting I was super-sensitive, dissociated and suffering from PTSD, I began to severely question my experiences with the highly speculative 'paranormal.' Was everything I had witnessed a massive illusion?

I am 34 years old now and there isn't a section of my life where I don't recall an event that can't be deemed as extraordinary. Whether the memory is twenty years ago or yesterday, I have learned to trust my instincts and believe in myself. After all, how likely is it to have only a tiny slice of you be crazy?

My family history is thick with confusion and the stories I've heard paired with my own personal experiences have always held the question: "Is it the land or the family?" In this situation, I believe it to be both and I have arguments for each suggestion. Foremost is the evaluation of our land.

My great-grandfather(on my father's side) travelled to this country from England as a pre-teen. He eventually purchased land which has since been passed down a few generations. This land once held native walking trails leading to small lakes, namely 'Grave Lake,' which still holds a native burial ground. It is said that natives passed on during their travels and often were laid to rest alongside these trails. There is no guarantee that the farmhouses built here were not resurrected upon grave sites.

The land was eventually sectioned and given to a few of my great-grandfather's children. Farmhouses were built within miles of each other and although the house my father was raised in was tore down before my time, I have never doubted the paranormal stories I've been told. The presence living on the land was so extreme and obvious, that it would move objects and often injure those in its path.

As the old house was demolished, my father retained some of the material and built a home directly across the driveway. I don't recall moving into this house, but this is where my older sister Kim, younger brother, Kevin, and I were raised. Seemingly, each individual family that built on this land experienced tremendous hardship. In particular, my great-aunt suffered the loss of all three of her young children as they drowned in a nearby pond. To this day, many people have witnessed a small child with blond hair and faded blue coveralls roaming the land. Even I saw him once, as he walked from a bedroom, down a hallway to stand at our wood stove. It wasn't until years later while looking at a photograph that I shockingly realized that I was staring at the same little boy who was haunting our house, or at least one of the entities. His name was Alfie, and he was one of my great-aunt's children who had drowned in the pond.

Whatever or whoever was there with us took to purely tormenting everyone all the time. There was such heaviness over the land that as soon as we stepped off the school bus and hit the driveway, it felt as though a thousand pounds was put on our backs. The dread, depression and tension were insurmountable. I often bypassed the house and continued on into the field. I would sit for hours and watch the masses of cotton-like orbs roll around the house, seeping in and out of the windows.

One evening while Kim was babysitting, Kevin and I were sent to our room to play as she cleaned up our never ending mess. Sitting on the bed together, we played with a small bag of plastic green army men. In the corner was a red and white clown doll my grandfather gave to Kevin. It had black eyes and a bright red, wind-up nose. Cranking the nose allowed a light, music box-like tune to play. As Kevin and I battled with our army men, the clown started to sing. I sat in total fear, squeezing a plastic man so hard that it cut my palm. Kevin's eyes grew wide, and let out a giant sigh as tears spilled from his eyes. The clown's legs started twitching, and its arms began to move. The clown was dancing. In one raspy breath, Kevin and let out a piercing scream. As Kim came rushing in, the clown made its way up the wall and rested on the ceiling. It continued to sing and gyrate even as Kim beat it down with a broom.

Not long after, we had a similar affair with a toy pull-along telephone that I had. When tugged by a string, the eyes on the phone would dart around and it made a chug, chug, ring, ring, noise. The telephone ceased to exist after it chased me down the hallway.

Very often, the morning routine consisted of telling each other the noises we had heard during the night. One of us had the bright idea to set out a tape recorder in hopes of verifying the night time sounds. I think it was an idea that we all came to regret when the playback revealed whispers and snippets of conversations held by a dozen voices. The memory of those sounds coming through the speakers still haunt me and causes my skin to crawl.

Not only did our farmhouse and the house before hold unexplained events and feelings, but the land had a way of flexing its muscle. If there was an accident to be had in the township, regardless of the season, it occurred on the highway, literally at the end of our driveway and was most likely fatal. I personally had two very, very close calls with transports.

Our house and land also had a way with making things appear and disappear without reason. Considering the home was built by dad when he was young, my parents were very much aware of what went into the walls. I recall a day when a knife appeared in the house. It looked like a regular butter knife, but it had an eerie twist. On the handle of this golden knife was a carving of men climbing a ladder as flames licked their legs. It didn't take long for my mother to dispose of that knife, along with and old paper Ouija board we found.

Years later, as us kids had grown and left home, my mother found herself alone one summer night. She was awakened by a massive presence in the doorway of her room. She recalls that there was no form and no words were spoken, yet this being engulfed her doorway and she knew he was looking for something. She said: "I couldn't see him nor did he say anything, but I could feel him and I knew that he was seeking out something." He left as quickly as he came, heavy footed down the hallway, and out the door. Months later, a visiting neighbor shyly confessed that he was seeing things. "It is weird," he said. "I heard heavy footsteps and someone stood in my doorway, but I couldn't see him. I knew he was there because I could feel and smell him. I think he was looking for something." Over time, more neighbors who lived on my great-grandfather's original land came forth with the same story.

We are all adults now and question our memories and still live with the odd visit from the supernatural world. Even 4th generation children are experiencing events that cannot be accepted as coincidence. Herein lays the suggestion of being attached to the family.

At 18, I walked into my apartment and was smashed in the face with a heavy 'Captain Jack' pipe tobacco scent. As I entered my kitchen, my recently deceased grandfather(on my mother's side), greeted me. He put down his pipe, smiled at me and evaporated into the walls. Soon after, I took a flight to British Columbia to visit my sister, Kim. As I stood in her kitchen against the sink, I suggested to her that I could feel things in her house. "They don't like to be talked about," she told me. We jumped and ran out of the house as a fluorescent light bulb behind me flickered and snapped. After a few nervous giggles, and she assured me it was okay, we re-entered. In her bathroom, I admired her wall of clay masks and pointed to one - "that is my favorite mask," I said to her. As I stepped out of the bathroom, a loud bang and shatter took place behind me. That one mask that I was taken with, fell off the wall and broke into pieces on the floor.

I spent my time at her home moving from room to room, eventually sleeping on the floor beside her bed. I was poked, talked to and all around bothered by a force I could not see. Turns out that I wasn't the only visitor to her home that ended up sleeping on her bedroom floor.

To date I still experience things that I trust to be beyond this world. Every home I've occupied during this life has been met with visits from external forces. Individuals within my family have each been faced with things they can't reckon with. Even those married in, who once didn't believe in that sort of thing have changed their minds.

The older we all become, the more dates become obscured. Yet one thing remains true to each. Whether it was the house or the land, spirits do linger. When shadows rush past our eyes and whispers invade our ears, we are silent enough within to know these are not coincidences, but visits. Thankfully, our experiences now are far less violent than what they were while living in that farmhouse. Then again, children are much more susceptible.

A tiny relation of my experiences is a far cry from the whole story of course, but this was my story nonetheless.

Tracy

The Warrior Wanted His Head Rejoined To His Body

2011-08-20T22:39:00.000-07:00

     For whatever reason, stories of ghosts or anything involving supernatural phenomena are scarce in Williams Lake, B.C. This doesn't mean, however, that there aren't any valid stories. I've heard bits and pieces here and there, but have never had the opportunity to listen in full. That's where you come in. I'd like to hear stories from you, the reader, on personal experiences with the supernatural in Williams Lake B.C. I would also gladly welcome stories from anywhere else for that matter.
     Until then, I will keep passing on stories I've read from a few researchers, especially the great Brad Steiger. Now lets get to the story.

     Brad Steiger 'Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places

     In 1964, a museum in New Mexico assigned a pair of young archeologists to undertake what had been planned as a very ordinary examination of one of the countless early Pueblo villages that dotted the flat lands of New Mexico. No extraordinary finds were expected, but investigation at the site was overdue. The two young archeologists would be working side by side with Navajo diggers hired to aid in the project.

     Work was proceeding as anticipated when a Navajo workman doing rough excavation on a refuse pit at the edge of the village hurriedly approached the team leaders with news of a curious discovery. His shovel had partly uncovered a piece of bone among the rubble that had been deposited there nearly 1000 years earlier by the inhabitants of the ancient village. Unwilling to touch the bone for fear it might be human and bear a curse, the digger alerted the archeologists to the find and stood back at a respectful distance as they took up the digging. What emerged, to the archeologists' surprise, was the skull of a Native American man whose body had apparently been thrown without ceremony into the garbage pits. It was a strange find considering the reverence with which the New Mexican tribes were know to bury their dead.

     After the two archeologists had searched for hours without finding the rest of the skeletal remains, they returned their attentions to the skull and came up with a gruesome explanation. Death had probably come to the man from a blow to the back of the skull. The shape of the head suggested that it was not a Pueblo tribesman, but probably the skull of one of many Apache invaders who had filtered into the area during a wave of migration in about 900 A.D. A piece of cervical vertebra still clinging to the skull showed marks having been hacked through by some early weapon similar to an axe.

     The aged bones that lay in the refuse heap had belonged to a captive Apache who had been killed and beheaded by the Pueblo, then consigned to the garbage as a further degradation. No further attempts were immediately made to unearth any remaining skeletal bones after the first search of the nearby area had proved fruitless. They were of no great archeological importance, and more urgent work in the heart of the old village required all of the hours that the summer dig would still permit.

     But then strange events began occurring at the old Pueblo ruin. What appeared to be the work of vandals suddenly began causing havoc at the dig site. When the archeologists and Navajo workmen slept, someone entered the village and smashed unearthed pottery and kicked in carefully excavated trenches. Events took on an even more macabre turn in the week that followed. Frightened worker swore that they saw the glowing head of a man appear before them in their bunkhouse at night. Utter nonsense, the archeologists laughed, until they slept with the workmen one night and saw the faintly phosphorescent glow of what might have been the head of a man. There was no rational explanation for the sight.

     Panic at the site reached its peak when the workers became certain they were hearing words in a tribal dialect that they did not understand carried on the winds of the inky desert nights. As a last resort the young archeologists turned to an age-creased shaman at a nearby Navajo reservation to explain what was taking place at the dig and restore progress to the work at the village. The shaman said that the head of the long dead Apache was seeking his body because he could not enter the spirit world without it. The ghost would haunt the excavation until head and body were joined together in burial. Native superstition, the archeologists agreed, but in order to calm the nerves of the jittery workmen, they would see what could be done about finding the rest of the restless Apache's bones.

     Because the Navajo workers reasoned that the vandalism had been a sign to help the diggers, the search for the missing remains centered on the area of the village where the vandalism had occurred. As digging proceeded in the area over several days, the team could not help noticing that the vandalism had stopped. Was it a sign the ghost was pleased? As workmen softly prodded the earth from an old ceremonial circle, a wall of dirt fell away and revealed a set of bones protruding from the soil. When the bones were laid out, they were found to be of a young male missing his head. When the skull that had been discovered earlier was brought out for comparison, the severed vertebra were an exact match. The bones of the doomed Apache brave reposed together once more.

     With the aid of the shaman, the young archeologists gave a reverential burial to the yellowed skeletal remains, and the troubles that had plagued the summer expedition ended at once. When the final report of the diggings at the site was made to the museum, the scientific background of the young arheologists did not permit inclusion of the strange events that had taken place at the site. But they were willing to share those experiences with friends, who puzzled as earnestly as they did over the curious happenings that led them to help a long dead Apache find peace in the next world. Not a scientific achievement, but a very human one of which they were proud.

Salem Witch Hysteria

2011-08-05T23:24:00.000-07:00

From Brad Steiger's 'Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places.

     Because of the accusations of a small circle of prepubescent girls, an entire community in the Massachusetts Bay Colony became crazed and allowed themselves to get caught up in the fear that many of their neighbors were secretly serving Satan.

     A strong case might be made from the argument that the famous Salem witchcraft hysteria of 1692 is an example of poltergeist phenomena that got out of hand. The young girls, who claimed to have been bewitched by invisible spirits under the control of various elderly women in the village, complained of being pinched, having their hair pulled and being stuck with pins. All these classic symptoms of witch's wickedness we now recognize as familiar manifestations of poltergeists.

     The madness at Salem began innocently enough in the home of the Reverend Samual Parris, when his slave Tituba began telling stories of voodoo and restless spirits to his nine year old daughter Betty and her eleven year old cousin Abigail Williams. Soon the exciting storytelling sessions in the Parris household were attracting older girls, such as sixteen year old Mary Walcott, and eighteen year old Susanna Sheldon, who wanted Tituba to tell their fortunes and predict their future husbands, as well as tell them ghost stories. Although Parris and the other preachers fulminated from the pulpits about the dangers of seeking occult knowledge from spirits, the girls of Salem ignored such warnings in favor of a thrilling pastime that could help them through a long, cold winter.

     Perhaps the psychic energies grew stronger when Ann Putnam, a fragile highly strung twelve year old, joined the circle in the company of the Putnams' maid, nineteen year old Mercy Lewis. Ann had a quick wit, a high intelligence and a lively imagination, and she soon became Tituba's most avid and apt pupil. Perhaps while a part of Ann's psyche was thrilled with the forbidden knowledge that Tituba was sharing with them, another more conservative religious aspect was racked with guilt for having flirted with devilish enchantment. Undoubtedly this conflict of conscience and the fear of discovery also affected the other girls.

     As the winter days passed in Salem, little Betty Parris became distracted from her chores, subject to sudden fits of weeping, and was often seen staring blankly at the wall. Shortly thereafter, Abigail got down on all fours and began barking like a dog or braying like a donkey. Mary Walcott and Susanna Sheldon fell into convulsions. Ann Putnam and Mercy Lewis also began to suffer seizures. Something evil had come to Salem.

     When members of the Salem clergy began to ask the girls who ti was that was tormenting them, Tituba was the first to be named by the 'possessed' children. Nor did anyone doubt the naming of Sarah Good, an unpleasant woman who smoked a foul smelling pipe, and who had been suspected of spreading smallpox through witchcraft. But when Sarah Osburne was also named by the children, the village was shocked. Mrs. Osburne was a wealthy woman who lived in one of the most substantial homes in Salem. Nevertheless, warrants were issued for all three women.

     From such a dramatic beginning, the list of names of the Devil's disciples who were tormenting the girls grew steadily longer. Two magistrates, John Hathorne and Jonathon Corwin, were sent out from the General Court of Massachusetts Colony to hear testimony that included tales of talking animals, dark shapes, red cats, and a Tall Man, who was undoubtedly the Devil himself.

     When the pious, saintly seventy-one year old Rebecca Nurse was arrested for witchcraft, the townsfolk of Salem began to realize that no one was safe from such accusations. Although the jury initially acquitted her, the judge ordered the jury to reconsider, and she was found guilty. She was hanged on Gallows Hill on July 19, 1692.

     Massachusetts governor William Phips became outraged when his own wife was accused of being a witch. He ordered that there should be no further imprisonments for witchcraft in the state, and he forbade any more executions for the crime of witchcraft in Salem. Because of the governor's actions, the nearly 150 men and women who were still chained to prison walls were set free, and many who had been convicted of witchcraft were pardoned.

     You have a story, please feel free to respond.

Spirit Parasites That Posess

2011-07-24T22:57:00.000-07:00

This is from Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places, by Brad Steiger.

     Many people have been blessed with seeing the ghostly image of their loved ones pass to the 'other side,' or received comforting messages from recently deceased individuals, have often told us that those souls were met by angelic beings or more advanced spirits who assisted them in evolving to higher planes of awareness. As these souls progressed, all of their ties to their prior physical existence faded into irrelevance.

     But on occasion, something goes wrong on a souls evolution into the light. If hooked on sensual pleasures, soul personalities may experience the same hedonistic drives after death. They may undergo traumatic shocks when they realize they no longer have physical bodies, and may attempt to return to all their old pleasurable places. If there were additional negative factors in an individual's life; such as a bitter dispute, an old score left unpaid, or an argument left unresolved, then these restless spirits might hunger to return to the physical world to take revenge. These disembodied entities will seek out vulnerable humans to attach themselves to.

     Humans are most susceptible to invasion by spirits at the following times: when they are fatigued, under severe emotional distress, turmoil, or anger; when they are under the influence of drugs or alcohol. Young people with their unfettered imaginations and undisciplined lives are also susceptible.

     In addition, there also appears to be discarnate entities that have never been human, but strongly desire to occupy the body of a man or woman to feel the emotions and sensual expressions that are unique to the human experience. They often identify themselves as agents of evil, or traditionally have been called 'demons.' Brad Steiger chooses to call them 'spirit parasites.'

     Brad Steiger writes: 'If someone you know has demonstrated a dramatic alteration in their behavior, and you are certain that he or she does not abuse drugs and has no previous history of mental problems, that person may have been invaded by a spirit parasite. Those who suffer from invasion by an uninvited entity may begin to exhibit the following changes of personality or behavior:

     1 - They may begin to hear voices directing them to perform acts they would have never even considered earlier.
     2 - They may frequently see the image of the spirit parasite as it existed in its physical life as a human. In the case of a nonhuman entity acting as a spirit parasite, the being will appear in its demonic countenance.
     3 - The spirit-possessed often feel themselves lose consciousness, although they are physically able to continue interacting with other people, and people around them believe they are conscious. They often have no memory of their black-outs later.
     4 - On occasions, sometimes even in the midst of conversations, their conscious mind may be blocked, an a trance like state will come over them.
     5 - They may begin walking differently, speaking in a different tone and manner, and behaving in strange, irrational ways.
     6 - They may begin doing things that they have never done before. Friends and family will remark that they are behaving like a totally different person.
     7 - In the very worst cases, the parasite being will consume its victim's life. The evil spell may reach its climax with the possessed individual committing murder, suicide, or some violent antisocial act.

     'Evil or negativity is an imbalanced, chaotic, destructive energy, the opposite of growth and productivity. When an individual is negative, depressed and discordant, he or she opens the psyche to invasion by a parasite from the lower frequencies of the spirit world.

     'One should be wary of an indiscriminate exploration of the occult or "Ghost Hunting," in haunted houses or places. Without proper discipline, study, and discernment, the ill-prepared are liable to interact only with those entities who will seek to deceive and entrap them.

     'If you should have an encounter with a negative being from the more chaotic regions of the spirit world, you will quite likely experience a prickling sensation that will seem to crawl over your entire body. You will instantly be filled with an awareness that you have entered into a very dangerous liaison. If you continue the contact, you will experience a mounting sense of terror or a distinct sensation of unease, depending upon the strength of the discordant vibrations emanating from the spirit parasite. If you should find yourself in such an encounter, utter prayers of love and harmony and ask angelic or higher spiritual guides to surround and protect you.'

The Gift

2011-07-21T21:36:00.000-07:00

Taken from 'Ghost Stories,' by Jo-Anne Christensen

     The Gift

     Dawn Scott considered herself fortunate because not only was she in love, but her father thought highly of her boyfriend as well. It could be because her father also had a close relationship with his own father-in-law. In fact, before he died, Dawn's grandfather had given her father a special gift; a pocket knife. "My father treasured it with all his might," wrote Dawn. "Wherever he went, the knife would be right along there with him."

     During the winter of 88, the knife went missing and could not be found. "My boyfriend and my father liked one another very much," Dawn explained, "and to please my father was something my boyfriend always like to do." So he went to the wharf and searched, but found nothing. Dawn's father thanked him for the attempt.

     Two months later, Dawn's boyfriend was killed in a terrible car accident. Her entire family shared her grief, particularly her father, who felt he had lost a good friend.

     Two weeks later, Dawn and her mother were awakened by her father's screams. His face was white, and he was shaken up. He revealed that Dawn's boyfriend had come to visit him while he slept. He sat down on the edge of the bed and heard him as he said his goodbyes.

     "My mother tried telling him it was just a dream, just nonsense. But my father wouldn't listen," Dawn wrote. And then he told them something even more unbelievable. "He finally said...very calmly and serenely...that my boyfriend had returned his pocket knife."

     Dawn and her mother thought that her father was so upset that he was also delusional. But suddenly, he turned his closed palm-up and opened his fingers. Dawn will never forget what she saw. "In his hand lay the pocket knife my grandpa had given my father as a gift before he died."

     Returning the treasure, and thereby performing one final favour, was a gesture of friendship extended from beyond the grave.

We Call It Casper

2011-07-21T01:43:00.000-07:00

     I wish I could share more stories with you involving ghost experiences in the Williams Lake area, but they are difficult to find. Hopefully one day someone reading this will reply with a tale I can share. I could only find one story so far that takes place in Williams Lake, and it involves a haunted hotel. I came upon it in the book 'Ghost Stories Of British Columbia,' by Jo-Anne Christensen.

     In the late 80's, or early 90's, Anneke Leupin bought a road side hotel in Williams Lake, British Columbia. Under her were four trusted staff whom she enjoyed working with. It wasn't long until they were approaching her with strange stories of what they believed was a ghost that was haunting the hotel. Leupin was reluctant to believe is such stories, as at the time, she was a non-believer.

     Her staff would tell her that sometimes while cleaning rooms, a t.v. would suddenly and quite loudly, just switch on, and there were times a faucet might turn on full board. It was quite disturbing to say the least. On one occasion, two of the staff witnessed an ashtray violently shaking on a table.  On two other occasions, when staff would go down to the supply closet to pick up some clothes hangers for the mysteriously empty closets, they would return moments later to find the rods jangling with hangers.  While on coffee breaks in the laundry room, they'd often hear whistling and footsteps upstairs. Leupin heard this first hand.

     One experience really convinced Leupin of the existence of ghosts. One day, while she was in the basement she suddenly felt hands running up and down her waist. Startled, she turned to see who was there and there was no one.

     Although unsettling, Anneke Leupin and her staff don't believe the spirit means anyone harm. They call it 'Casper' because to them, it seems friendly.

Hierarchy of Spirits

2011-07-19T23:07:00.000-07:00

This next bit of documentation is also taken from 'Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits And Haunted Places, by Brad Steiger. As you've likely already noticed that a lot of material on this blog refers to this book. It is an amazing non-fiction book, only it's more than that. It's like the bible on supernatural phenomenons. It is a book I highly recommend if you are into further educating yourself on the subject.

     Dr. Wilson Van Dusen is a psychologist whose books include 'The Presence Of Other Worlds'(1994), 'Testimony To The Invisible: Essays on Swendenburg' (1995), and 'Beauty, Wonder, And The Mystical World(1999).

     Dr. Wilson Van Dusen believed that the lives of human beings are dependent on a relationship with the hierarchy of spirits. As a psychologist in a state mental hospital, he set out to document his patient's hallucinations. Although he noted similarities between all the descriptions by his mental patients and the views of another scholar, Swedenburg's(1688-1772, an 18th Century intellectukal colossus and Renaissance man, who wrote 150 books in 17 sciences. Some described him as a Swedish mystic who claimed to have communication with Angels, Demons, and other inhabitants of the unseen world), discussions of the relationships between humans and spirits.

     Wilson Van Dusen was able to deal with individuals suffering from hallucinations, schizophrenia, alcoholism, brain damamge, and senility. He found he could communicate with the hallucinations his patients experienced, and discovered that some patients were embarassed by what they heard or saw. On other instances, the hallucinations were reluctant to interact with Van Dusen, seemingly frightened of him. Once reassuring the patient and the hallucination, he attempted to establish a relationship with both his patient and the hallucination.

     Van Dusen advised his patients to give a description of what the voices answered or what was seen, treating the hallucinations as reality because that was what they were to the patient.

     His findings, word for word from Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places:

     'On numerous occasions, Van Dusen found that he was engaged in conversations with hallucinations and that the dialogue was far above the patients level of comprehension. He found this to be especially true when he contracted the higher orders of hallucinations, which he discovered to contain and exist in a symbolical depth beyond the patients normal understanding. The psychologist also learned that in most cases the hallucinations had come upon the patients very suddenly. A consistent finding was that the patients believed that they had somehow established contact with another world, dimension, or order of beings.

     Van Dusen soon learned that all of his patients objected to the term hallucination. Each had coined his own term, such as the Other Order, the Eavesdroppers, and so forth. The voices the patients heard were completely audible and human languages and on occasion would assume the qualities of someone known to the patient in an attempt to deceive them. Such pranks and the shouting of vile and obscene messages and threats were the work of the lower order of entities.

     Members of the lower order suggested lewd acts and encouraged the patient to indulge in them - then they would scold the patient for having even considered such thoughts. These beings sought to find a weak point of conscience and work on it interminably. According to Van Dusen, "They invade every nook and cranny of privacy, work on every weakness and credibility, claim awesome powers, lie, make promises, and then undermine the patients' will. They never have a personal identity, though they accept most names or identitiess given them." Van Dusen found the lower order consistently anti religious and some actively obstructed the patient's religious practices. Occasionally they would refer to themselves as demons and speak of hell.

     The higher order of hallucinations stood in direct contrast to such demonic manifestations, but Van Dusen found that they made up only a fifth or less of the patient's experiences. The higher order respects the patient's  freedom and does not work against his will. While the lower order prattles on endlessly, the higher order seldom speaks. Van Dusen also discovered that the higher order is much more likely to be symbolic, religious, supportive, genuinely instructive, and communicate directly with the inner feelings of the patient. In general the higher order is richer than the patient's normal experience.'

     Van Dusen wondered whether the hallucinations of his patients were 'detached pieces of the unconscious,' as his colleagues would suggest, and that the phenomenon of spiritual possession 'might not simply be two ways of describing the same process. Are they really spirits or pieces of one's own unconscious?'

     Van Dusen was quoted as saying: "Humans contend that we have free will, but in actuality, we could be freely poised between good and evil, and under the influence of cosmic forces most of us don't even believe exist. The decisions made by human beings, believing that they are exercising their free will may actually be resultant of other forces.

The Face On The Tintype

2011-07-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

This next story is taken from Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits And Haunted Places.

               The Face On The Tintype

The personal experience of Richard Aeillo.

     "The old barn on our property was built in June 1863, and it is still intact and as solid as a battleship. We had been installing some 4x4 posts in the barn to build stalls for our two Belgian mules. Now, the holes that we dug for these posts had to be deep, because the mules they would contain are big and powerful. At the depth of about three feet, I spotted something shiny in one of the holes. All three of us working in the barn saw the object fall out of the post-hole digger when it dumped the dirt. I picked it up and looked at it in amazement. It was an old tintype portrait of a bearded man.

     "When I sent an image of the tintype to Eastman Kodak for analysis, they said that judging by the color of the picture and the clothing style of the subject, the portrait would be dated around 1845-1860. Amazingly, the tintype had been under the earth for 140 plus years and the frame had not rusted away, nor had the image disintegrated.

     "But here is the kicker: When we first moved into this house, we often saw the image of a man looking in our large (4x8) window. We still saw it when we had the lights on bright and really lit up the room. The image was so detailed that sometimes I thought I was seeing my own reflection.

     "The image on that old tintype is the same man that we would see looking at us. And here is another eerie thing to contemplate: When we first unearthed the old tintype, its emulsion covering was clear. Now it has started to fog over and there is another image superimposed on the picture over the man's left shoulder. You can see the glint in its eye and the mustache too. And it appears that other images are beginning to form."

               Join Me In The Crawl Space

From the files of the "Ghost to Ghost" website. (http://www.ghosttoghost.com>)

     The personal experience of anonymous: "One day I was working with a friend in a brand new home in Ogden, Utah. We were doing the heating and air conditioning. My friend was checking the furnace and discovered it had a bad transformer, so he left to go get a new one.

     "While he was gone I continued installing the duct work. I got an eerie feeling and looked over my shoulder and saw an old woman standing at the base of the stairs. I figured she was the homeowner. I said 'hi' and asked her if she needed anything. She just shook her head 'no' and smiled. I went about my business.

     "Then I felt the same eerie feeling. I looked over my shoulder and there she was, about five feet from me. I got off my ladder and said: 'Can I help you?' She smiled and , once again, shook her head 'no.'

     "Just then I heard my partner pulling around the house. I turned to see where the woman was and she was already by the base of the stairs, about 50 feet away. I said: 'Are you sure you don't need anything?' She just looked at me and motioned with her finger for me to come with her. Of course, I said, 'no way!'

     "Then I heard my friend enter the home on the first floor. The old woman again motioned for me to follow her. She was backing toward a crawl space just under the stairs.

     "I took my eyes off her for a second to try and figure out where my friend was and when I looked back, I saw the most horrifying old woman motioning to me with a bony, leathery finger. This time she said, 'Get over here!'

     "I watched her disappear into the crawl space. That was it. I got out of there fast. Finally my friend joined me and I told the him the story. He just laughed and told me to stay outside if it would make me feel better. And that's exactly what I did.

     "I did some research on that area, and learned that most of the land had been used as a Native American tribal burial ground. To this day I haven't returned to that site!"

               An Encounter with a Hugging Ghost

Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits And Haunted Places
Brad Steiger

Darnell and her husband ran a small construction business and had been contracted to do a job in an older section of a nearby town. The house was built in the early part of the 1900s, and they were to gut totally the inside of the home and hang new drywall, put in new flooring and paint, as so forth.
     The Personal Experience of Darnell: "One day I was in the kitchen, nailing down the plywood flooring. My children were with me and were busy playing in the yard by the back door and inside on the first floor - all of them nearby so I knew what they were up to. I was working at a steady pace, on my hands and knees working my way backward toward the stairs leading to the second floor off the back of the kitchen. I was tired and had stopped for a moment to catch my breath.

     "I straightened up at the base of the stairs, still on my knees. I was suddenly hugged from behind by a small child. It was such a loving hug that I turned around to give whichever of my children had given me this wonderful feeling a hug in return. There was no one there.

     "I immediately got a cold, eerie feeling and jumped to my feet. I called out to the kids. They were in my pickup truck parked a few feet from the back door, coloring in their coloring books.

     "I packed up my things and left. I told my husband what had happened and the reason that I did not finish my work. He was astonished. He then told me that in the 1930s, a small boy had been playing with his brother, who was emotionally disturbed, and had been accidentally pushed down the stairs and had died.

     "When we returned the next day, the owner accused us of going upstairs in the bedrooms and unrolling rolls of wallpaper and pulling down the window shades and generally making a mess. While we worked in the days that followed, we could hear feet running back and forth upstairs. Tools were missing, and the owner kept accusing us of going upstairs where their personal belongings were and messing them up. We never went upstairs at all. We were told not to. We did not invade their personal space.

     "We finally left the job unfinished because of these strange happenings. I could not seem to stay in the kitchen. I would get goose flesh and feel strange sensations of happiness, loneliness, and love."

Ghosts That Return To Say Goodbye, And A Cautionary Warning.

2011-07-10T00:45:00.000-07:00

     GHOSTS THAT RETURNED TO BID FAREWELL

     When my mother passed away in 1998, I was devastated. I was only 27 at the time and felt cheated of the many years we could have spent together. I wanted so badly for her to return just one last time so I could talk to her, make sure she was okay, and to assure myself that she was finally at peace. It did not happen, but there are instances when people are lucky enough to actually experience a loved one returning for one last goodbye.
     These next excerpts are taken from a fascinating book titled: Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, And Haunted Places, by Brad Steiger.

     From the files of Professor Ian Currie
     Professor Ian Currie, a former lecturer in anthropology and sociology at Guelph University in Ontario, and author of the book You Cannot Die. He shares the following case.

     Early one morning, A United States servicemen stationed in Germany, showed up quite unexpectedly at his family home in a Detroit suburb. His mother, who was in the middle of preparing breakfast, was both startled and overjoyed, and set another plated for her son.
     "Sorry Mom," he said, declining the meal with a gentle smile. "I can't stay for breakfast. I just wanted to say goodbye." The young soldier waved and walked out the door. His mother ran after him shouting at him to return and stay longer, but he had completely disappeared.
     A few hours later, an officer appeared at their door to inform the family that their beloved son had been killed in a training accident 6,000 miles away in Germany. He had died half an hour before his mysterious visit.

     In another case from Professor Currie's files, two friends became business partners and opened a Boston clothing store, but one later skipped town with all of their money. In spite of the partner's treachery, the business went on to prosper. Half a dozen or so years later, the owner of the clothing store was stunned when his old friend and former partner walked in the door. The prodigal partner waved aside all amenities and immediately got to the point of his visit. He said that he had come back to apologize for what he had done. The old friends embraced, and the partner that had been left with the store, forgave his old partner for stealing from him. The long-lost friend's face brightened at once.
     "Thank you," he said, then quickly left the store. It was several days before the businessman learned that his ex-partner had died three hours before he walked into the store to ask forgiveness.

     "Sorry For All The Trouble I've Caused You." (The personal experience of Brad Steiger)

     Years ago, Brad Steiger appeared on a radio show in St. Catherines, Ontario. A young woman called in to relate an experience that proved to her that some part of us survives after death.
     One night she was awakened by her brother standing at the foot of her bed. "I'm sorry, sis, for all the trouble I that I may have caused you. I love you," he told her.
     The sound of someone speaking stirred the woman's husband from his sleep as well, but by the time he had truly awoken, the image of his brother-in-law had disappeared, and only the couple was left in their bedroom.
     The woman insisted that she had seen her brother standing in their bedroom, and she described in detail what he had been wearing. She had particularly noticed that he had been wearing a plaid shirt that she had never before seen him wear. No sooner had she completed her description of the apparition when the telephone rang, and the woman was given the tragic news that her brother had been killed in an automobile accident. Later, when the couple visited the morgue to identify the body, both of them were startled to see the corpse attired in a plaid shirt just like the one that she had described.

                    A Cautionary Note.
This excerpt, taken word for word, is also taken from Brad Steiger.
     There are shadow beings and spirit parasites that inhabit unseen areas at the edge of our material world who take delight in assuming control over humans, or even in entering and taking possession of a physical body. Caution must be taken even when one is led to believe that they are interacting with a departed family member or a dear friend. As I have emphasized repeatedly throughout this text, there are entities in the spiritual dimension that will masquerade as something or someone they are not. They do this for the sole purpose of deceiving us and wreaking havoc in our lives.

     This next case could prove this point.

     "Shouldn't Daddy Be Resting In Peace?" The personal experience of Cindy.

     Cindy's father passed away in 1998. For the first three years after his death she believed to be having physical contact with her father - and seeing him at very close range.
     He makes physical contact with me when I'm sleeping. When he enters my body, it feels like a blob of electrical energy has taken me over. It paralyzes me from my mouth to my toes, but not my brain. When I force myself to say: 'Daddy,' he immediately leaves my body.
     When he enters my bedroom on other visits, I can feel the energy, it's as if someone is in my room. I work the midnight shift at my job, and I've had experiences there as well. They all involve my 'old man.' Sometimes, it is a little scary because he will just suddenly make an entrance. It still takes a little getting used to.
     The experiences of Cindy seem to mostly happen while she is awake. She feels that he is merely checking up on her, to make sure everything is okay. But, she asks "Shouldn't my father be resting in peace by now?
     This is Brad Steiger's comment on this story: I didn't wish to scare Cindy, but I advised her that her love of her father and her open-mindedness to the paranormal may have made her susceptible to the deceit of an astral masquerader who was taking pleasure in entering her body from time to time under the guise of being the spirit of her deceased father. Maintaining contact with the spiritual essence of a departed loved one is something quite different from permitting a non material spirit to possess one's material body. In this author's opinion, one should always resist the advances of any spirit being who attempts to occupy one's body - whether its alleged identity is known or unknown. Nor should a person ever allow a spirit entity to engage in acts of physical intimacy.

     In this book, written by Brad Steiger, he offers a cleansing ritual I found rather interesting. People recite this ritual to rid dark spirits from their dwellings. So, here it is.

                                        THE CLEANSING RITUAL

     First, visualize yourself surrounded by violet light and ask that your sprite protector or guardian angel connect you to the highest vibration of your concept of God, the Great Mystery, or the Source Of All That Is. Visualize and feel the violet light moving over you in a wave of warmth. See and feel it touching every part of your body and spirit, and those of any others who are present. They say aloud to your spirit protector/guardian:

      "Assist me in calling upon the highest of energies from the Great Mystery, the Source Of All That Is. Summon the law of harmony, for I (and those with me) have found myself (ourselves) in a dark place of shadows that resist the light. Permit the violet light of transformation and cleansing to move around and through this dwelling place. Allow this cleansing energy to purify and elevate all negative energies, all improper memories, all entities of evil purpose, all spirits who delight in wrongdoing, all lower vibrations that encourage impure desires. Allow the transforming energy to replace all darkness with light. Remove all chaotic energies and replace them with the purest of energies, the power of love, and the glory of all good and benevolent spirits. Bless us with the light, so that I (we) may go forth on this new day (night) of cleansing, rejuvenated with perfect physical and mental health, perfect joy, perfect illumination, and perfect wisdom. Amen and so let it be!"

Astral Projection/ Doppelgangers

2011-07-08T23:11:00.000-07:00

     This is an interesting topic for me. I've never really understood 'Astral Projection,' or 'Doppelgangers,' and I can only assume that it's because we never hear much about them. If you go to Wikipedia, it claims that Astral Projection is an interpretation of out-of-body experience that assumes the existence of an astral body that is seperate from the physical body and capable of traveling outside of it. Now a Doppelganger, which, if you'll excuse me because I continually mispell it, in the Merriam Webster dictionary is a ghostly counterpart of a living person. If you, my limited readers, have had any experience in this area, please feel free to comment.
     Now here is a story that actually chilled me upon reading it. It involves astral projection, and if it is true, as the author stipulates, it is one of the most amazing stories I've ever heard.
     This is a story I read from a book titled: 'Living With Ghosts,' by Prince Michael Of Greece. So here goes.

     In the 1960's, a wealthy English woman dreamed every night of the same thing. In it she saw a house, a large and distinctive country mansion. She did not recognize it, and often wondered why she revisited this place in her dreams so frequently.
     One day, while traveling through Scotland on a second honeymoon with her husband, she drove around a corner and was shocked to see the very house she had dreamed of for so long. Resolving to solve this mystery once and for all, she approached the house and rang the bell. A surely looking man, whom she took to be a caretaker, answered the bell and stood there, staring at her with horror.
     She asked who lived in the house. Visibly shaken, the caretaker replied that it had been empty for many years. Then he said something that further disturbed her - "The owners did not care to share the house with the White Lady."
     "So the house is haunted?" she asked.
     "You should know," the caretaker replied, "you are the ghost."

     We've all had dreams of flying, feeling the wind caress your face, that feeling of freedom. Sometimes you lose control of your flight and go so fast your stomach sinks like you're falling. Could this dream of flight actually be an out of the body experience? Astal Projection? Many have said that at some point in time, everybody experiences astral projection, and that at least a fraction of these 'flight' dreams are induced by this very phenomenon. What's your thoughts?

What's on the other side?

2011-07-02T23:45:00.000-07:00

     We all fear death. If you've ever heard someone say otherwise, they're lying. We cling to religion, and subscribe, quite easily I might add, to the belief that there is something out there waiting for us when we are laid to rest. It is this fear that ignites our passion to search for answers so that we have a certain comfort as we reach our later stages in life. A belief in the other side allows us to make sense of our lives and not to view it as a complete and utter waste of time and energy.

     I am by no means immune to this. I fit the criteria to a 'T.' So I am here to look for answers, and to hear your stories, to document them, and to make them known to everyone else looking for similar answers.

     Countless sightings are widespread throughout the world, and throughout the centuries; people claiming to see the spirits of loved ones, and so-called victims of horrendous deaths.  Every community, big or small, house many lores about apparitions, haunted houses, poltergeists, possession, demons, dopplegangers, and etc.  All are very interesting, but are any of them true? Surely there must be some merit to the multitude of claims of the supernatural. How can millions of believers throughout the centuries be wrong?

     I thrive on discussion and first hand accounts. I also thrive on research into several lores involving the supernatural world I would like to discuss with my audience on a regular basis so that I might get feedback from you - the eyewitnesses, or even those who wish to interject their personal opinions.

     My only experience, as far as ghosts go, was at my father's place. He told me that his place was haunted and I was quick to dismiss his story. I didn't even ask him how he knew this to be true. I just figured he was full of crap, or just trying to scare me.

     Well, one day, I happened to be at my father's place alone, while he was at work. I was watching television, and just relaxing, when all of a sudden, the taps came on full board. This gave me quite a start. I thought for a moment that my father had come home early, but when I got up to investigate, nobody was around, and the taps were still running. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I was near paralyzed with fear. I think the way in which I felt glued to the floor was more frightening than the possibility I could have witnessed some ghost activity. At any rate, I got out quick, and that was that.

     I know this is a fairly uneventful tale comparitively speaking to the countless others you've likely heard, or witnessed, but that's all I got.

     Now, I got a few stories in which I've researched that you might find interesting. I was reading a book by Jo-Anne Christensen, titled: 'Ghost Stories of British Columbia,' and found some interesting, if not downright creepy accounts.

     The first account I will share with you by Jo-Anne Christensen is called: 'A Soldier's Last Moments.'

     Jo-Anne credits this first story by her own reading of a book called 'A Gathering Of Ghosts(1989),' by Robin Skelton and Jean Kozacari.
     It goes into a story about a roadside apparition that has been seen since the second world war, just past Christie Point on Vancouver Island. The highway curves as you climb a small hill. On the left, about halfway up the hill, is a small pub.
     She documents that for over fifty years, unsuspecting victims, driving at night on this stretch of road, suddenly witness this soldiers last moments. But not before slamming on their brakes and swerving around what they fear is a dog in the middle of the street. When they get out of their vehicle to inspect, they see a man in a long khaki army coat crawling slowly along on his hands and knees, long black hair hiding his face. He seems to be crawling towards the pub itself. Witnesses say that the soldier always appears to be in a great deal of pain. When anyone goes over to assist this unfortunate man, the soldier vanishes.

     Skelton and Kozocari could only offer a few speculations. One, that he could have been beaten and was crawling to the pub for assistance, or had been so inebriated that he couldn't walk. They also figure that it he could have been a victim of a car accident.

     This second tale also occurs on Vancouver Island, which by the way, still houses the most haunts in all of North America. I also found this story in 'Ghost Stories Of British Columbia,' by Jo-Anne Christensen. It is called 'The Chinese Hitchhiker.'

     A Victoriea talk show host was searching for information on local ghost stories and shared this with his listeners. A woman was quick to call in with a chilling tale she experienced with her husband on a stretch of road between Victoria and Sooke, known as China Flats. Before the listener had finished the story, the station's switchboard lit up with calls from others who witnessed the same disturbing experience.

     There are accounts of people driving the China Flats when out of nowhere a shadowy figure will jump out in front of their vehicle causing them to swerve and slam on their breaks. In all cases, when they go to investigate, they find nothing, while other drivers suddenly get the sense that something powerful and unseen has joined them in their vehicle. This feeling is so eerie that they are too afraid to turn around to inspect the back seat.

     Nobody could explain this strange occurrence or begin to guess the origins until one long-term resident of the area shared this tale: He/she explained that in the early 1940's, there was a Chinese couple who actually farmed the land nearby, close to the road. The wife became very ill, and the husband went to find help by trying to hitchhike into town, hoping to return with a doctor. Nobody seemed to care enough to stop for the poor man, so in a desperate attempt to save his wife, he stepped out in front of a car, waving his arms, ensuring he would be seen and the motorist would stop. But, according to the text I read, the driver either didn't see him or was just not able to stop. The farmer was killed.

     When the officers involved went to inform his wife of his demise back at the farm, they found that she had succumbed to her illness, and was also dead.

     So, as Jo-Anne Christensen writes, perhaps her husband thinks she is still in need of a doctor and is still out there trying to find her help, or perhaps he is seeking revenge against the many motorists who refused to stop for him.

     I am looking for stories to post on this blog and perhaps in a book later on, so if you have any accounts, send them to kdeline@hotmail.com., or comment below.   I would greatly appreaciate it.

Every month or so, I would like to explore other areas of the supernatural, and will bring about a subject for which I and my readers can discuss freely.