It’s been a while since the paranormal (cue OOooOooOOh sound) has been mentioned around here, but that doesn’t mean it’s been forgotten.
Shockingly, although my life has been one strange event after another (so much so that my next book will be on it), it’s been oddly quiet around this usually not-so-quiet house. No bumps or thumps in the night, no magical uterus tossing toys around, or children claiming there are people living under their beds, or having angry conversations with … well… no one, no words scratched into the floors, nothing! So much nothing that it was a little too much nothing, if you ask me.
Now, I don’t know what your beliefs are, and to be honest I don’t much care. Not because I don’t respect other people, absolutely I do, but because I know that I haven’t been imagining the past 27 years. I know what i’ve seen- and no matter whether or not people believe in ghosts, the afterlife, spirits, poltergeists or vortexes to a parallel universe or the fiery pits of hell- it can’t be taken from me.
I BELIEVE IN GHOSTS. Yep, i’m not even slightly ashamed of it. I not only believe in them, but i’ve seen them. I am sure of a lot of things in life, and this is one of them. I most certainly didn’t spend years of sleepless nights due to brain trickery and eyeball suckiness. Not even mental defect, since I have witnesses I can be pretty damn sure of that.
Kind of like the calm before the storm, I knew that because it was SO quiet, that meant that when the activity did return, it was going to be something even bigger than usual. Don’t look at me like I have 4 eyes, if you have EVER in your life experienced any kind of paranormal activity (and we’re not talking about that crap-ass totally unrealistic to most hauntings movie), you know that i’m not just trying to blow smoke up your ass. I just knew, kind of like a 6th sense, that something was coming down the pike.
What that was, whether it be more creepy hand prints, scratches in the carpet, footsteps down the hallway, moving chairs? Not a damn clue.
This might make you think I am even more crazy if i’ve already lost you down that path- but I have always considered myself a sensitive. Not a psychic, who can see, talk, or feel the dead (sometimes a combination), not an empath who just feels their emotions, but a sensitive: someone who just has a thinner veil when it comes to knowing there is something else in the room when they are seemingly all alone. I’m more likely to experience paranormal activity. Why me? I don’t know, it’s always been this way. Many children are incredibly sensitive and eventually grow out of it or close the curtain when they’re told repeatedly that ghosts just don’t exist. It’s a mix of belief and natural ‘ability.’
Thomas does experience things in this house, but not nearly as often as I do. And considering that i’m too much of a big fat fucking baby who’s afraid of the dark- I only experience things here since I don’t do ‘Ghost Hunting’- y’know, plus I really like sleep.
Friday night, bath time. It was Thomas’ turn to bathe the kids. I’m trailing behind him on the stairs when I hear him call to me, “Why is the bathroom window open?”
This isn’t a new question to me. When we moved in, the window would open OVER and over again. We tried debunking it by jumping on the floor (y’know, like the asshat kids who won’t stop jumping around like wild fucking animals) and it wouldn’t budge. We would shut it hard, lock it- and it would somehow unlock itself and open again. That somehow should have been a sign, but I suppose it had happened so much before I didn’t give it much thought.
On Saturday morning, Thomas the kids and myself drove up to Richmond to meet with some other bloggers and visit the historic Hollywood Cemetery. Yeah, I know, a cemetery! SO FUN FOR KIDS! My kids are weird, they were excited. I had not stepped food into one since my mother’s memorial service- not that it bothered me to enter one- but because in nearly 10 years I had no idea what really to expect. Especially since I had learned to embrace my weird paranormal-ness.
Walking through the gates was fine, the sun was shining, it was a hot day but not SO hot that it was overbearing- i’ve walked all day in higher temperatures with less shade- so I figured this was going to be a great time with great people…
And then we hit the beginning of the graves. Instantly I felt a change inside of me. Something unlike anything i’d felt before. There was a hard pressure on the base of my neck in the front. Try pressing on that, makes it hard to breathe, right?
I tried to shake the feeling off, but the deeper we got, the more pressure I felt, only not just on my neck, but my chest as well. It quite literally felt like when I was little and my brother would sit on me hoping to make me pass out while I screamed at him to get the hell off.
I was not only finding it hard to breathe, but hard to speak and kept feeling like I had to clear my throat to get anything out. I may not be the most in shape person on the planet, but typically I can handle the combination of hills and heat and I was PANTING and feeling like I was going to pass out- and not a single other person in our group of 13 was.
It occurred to me very quickly- the fact that I was in a graveyard and feeling horribly oppressed? Uhhh, duh. Sensitive. No, I didn’t see any ghosts or hear anything or anything else like that- it was just that overwhelming feeling of suffocation I felt that told me that it was the energy of that area. Needless to say, I was SO happy to get the hell out of there- and as soon as I got back into my car, the weight lifted and I could breathe easily again.
Coincidence? I think not.
We’d taken the dog with us, and as soon as we got home- he went straight into the bath. It’s one thing to have a dog, it’s another thing to have a dog that SMELLS like a dog and has your whole house smelling like one, too. Hell naw! Not in my house! So scrub-a-dub he went, and came out smelling fantastical.
We went out somewhere- I forget where now- and left the dog at home, locked in the kitchen. He has NEVER gotten out of the kitchen before and we’ve had him for months.
When we got home, not long later, I walked up to the front door with the key and got smacked in the face with the overwhelming smell of dog. VERY strong. Like i’d stuck my nose into a dirty dog’s fur and took a huge whiff. And I don’t even have a strong sense of smell.
That’s when I said out loud, without even really thinking about it: “The dog got out.“
And wouldn’t you know it, when I opened the front door- the dog came running out.
I’m not gonna sit here and tell you, OH MY F’ING GOD Y’ALL, I’M PSYCHIC! COME TO ME AND I’LL TELL YOUR FORTUNE! or some stupid shit like that- what I am saying is that shit is weird again, super weird, and only affecting me.
I really don’t want the next step to be going all Haley Joel Osment and seeing some dead barfing chick under a bed somewhere, but somehow not realizing my therapist, aka Bruce Willis is also dead. I would hope i’d be a little bit more intelligent than that- y’know, being that I have about 20 years on that kid (give or take. WHAT? he was fucking tiny in that movie, I don’t know how old he was)- but one never really knows what’s going to happen until they are in the situation for themselves.
Hmmm… I think i’ll stick to sniffing funky dogs and staying out of graveyards from now on, thanks!
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