A Personal Near Death Experience.
Copyright 2002 ©. Morgana T. Taylor
The Purple Hippopotamus
Summer of 1971. "Let It Be" by the Beatles was playing on the radio at the beach:
And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music,
Mother Mary comes to me,
Speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be...
I was thoroughly ecstatic over the hippopotamus that my Mother had purchased for me earlier in the morning at our local five-and-dime store because it was rare she was able to indulge either my sister or myself in such a capacity. Funds were limited since she was a twenty-something widow with two daughters. Even at such a young age I was cognizant of how trying it was for my Mother to toil at two jobs simultaneously, yet, barely manage to make ends meet nonetheless. This made my hippo all the sweeter to receive because it meant she loved me enough to sacrifice even a bit more.
I thought he was just the prettiest hue of neon purple! And the voluminous, multicolored polka dots which adorned his torso really made him stand out from the rest of the inflatable critters on the beach. The more garish the coloring, the more aesthetically appealing the toy, in the mind of a five or six year old. That alone made me feel extra special. As if, not only would the other children be compelled to take notice of my hippo but, certainly, they would all examine my new friend with great longing as well.
I decided to name him Charlie. After all these years I cannot recall precisely why. Most likely he reminded me of a friend of the family whom I was fond of. I huffed, and I puffed, until Charlie was fully inflated and prepared to sail across the waves. Spending a carefree afternoon at the ocean was my idea of heaven! In fact, we resided so close to a beach during my youth back east that we even visited it on rainy days and during the winter prior to the water becoming solidified. When the acrid winds of that season made it too unbearable to go swimming we could still easily spend hours creating sand castles and playing on the swing-set...
The Collision
I had always possessed a special affinity with the water and envisioned myself a sea captainess on a secret quest for mermaids and other mystical creatures. Deep within the dream prevailed that one day I would encounter a mermaid who would be so adoring of me that she would bestow me with the "gift of transformation." This would allow me to become a mermaid, too, upon whispered words of enchantment. I grabbed Charlie the hippo and vigorously ran to the water's edge. My Mother called from behind that I need be careful as I had just consumed fried pizza topped off with a snow cone for dessert (not to mention the box of Good-n-Plenties I hid from Mommy's view!) and, as such, I still had a bit of a full tummy.
Careful? Of what? I dismissed her warning.
Why, this is going to be funnnnn!
Charlie and I plunged into the water and I straddled his back; taking full command of the plastic reigns and - like Queen Nefertiti presiding over the Nile - I adeptly steered us toward a more isolated area of the beach so I could initiate my explorations. Once I arrived at a distance from the shore, my hippo collided with a rather brisk wave and began to teeter to-and-fro. In my mind, however, I had determined that Charlie was just being ornery so I spanked him mildly on the rump which only served to make him more unstable. We both toppled over into the water soon thereafter. Panicking, I reached above my head in a futile effort to grasp onto my hippo and pull myself upward but he simply popped out of my hand and bobbed further away from me. I flailed about for what seemed like an eternity until I grew fatigued. Just as I finally relinquished struggling altogether due to the "headache in my tummy" (as we children would say), a larger wave - like a gaping, frothy mouth - devoured me...
Spiraling Into The Abyss
Initially it felt as if I was being drawn under by some unseen force, but my attention quickly became more fixated on the fact that the sounds of the other children squealing and splashing were becoming barely audible. I also became acutely aware that I could no longer breathe which prompted me to hastily ingest several gulps of water that pierced my lungs unmercifully. As my lungs began to fill with yet more of the icy fluid I cast my eyes downward; mentally frozen by the concept that I could not visually detect what might lurk in the tenebrous waters beneath me. There was but a limited ray of sunlight sparsely breaking through the surface of the water above me at this juncture. I could vaguely hear that Beatles' song playing in the back of my mind, "Let it be, let it be," and for some reason felt this was a message for me to let go.
I continued to waft downward in a subdued, tendril motion until all sight and sound completely dissipated. I could no longer see the pale flesh of my hands even if I placed them immediately in front of my eyes. In their place I discovered a bluish-white "cotton candy" swirling about and - although this did not cause me any alarm - I did not comprehend what it was. My curiosity was piqued more than anything because somehow I sensed that this cotton candy was a part of me, yet, I could not fathom how or why. It was then that a sense of calm diffused throughout my entire being. The quietude and the blackness now proving to be strangely comforting. There I remained, motionless in time, until I saw her...
The Mermaid Finds Me
The most beautiful mermaid I had ever seen! Her hair billowed out from behind her like rainbow-colored seaweed. Her eyes were a vivid, coral blue. I could not see beyond her translucent torso as the darkness enveloped her lower body, tapering into the distance like a magnificent tail.
She's incredible! I excitedly proclaimed to myself. Yes, she was. Certainly more glorious than any mermaid I had ever found in any of my popup books. She smiled at me with lips as red as the nocturnal reef fish and, without uttering a sound, the mermaid explained to me that she was in actuality an "angel." I could not physically speak in response, however, I discovered that my thoughts had a voice of their own.
I replied, skeptically, that angels don't live in water and she looked more like a mermaid anyway because she didn't have any wings or a halo. I expressed that, out of deference to her, I wouldn't mind referring to her as Angel the mermaid - since Angel is such a lovely name - but to me she was still a mermaid. I believe this genuinely amused her because she had the same gleam in her eye that my Mother was notorious for. That all-knowing look that indicated, "You are just a baby. You don't understand." This creature further explained that I was not witnessing her true form but, rather, one that she thought would be pleasing to a child such as myself. She floated toward me a bit and then halted at a safe distance, as if she could not inch any closer without my explicit consent. Her hand summoned me to view an area beyond her whereupon a beacon of light was beginning to invade the shadows...
Come Into The Light
Angel asked me if I wanted to go into "The Light" with her. I was not certain what The Light was precisely but at that instant her mermaid encasing dissolved; exposing a cotton candy swirl much like my own, whereas, hers was more of a golden-white hue. She radiated the purest, most unconditional love and acceptance that I had ever experienced in my brief life. One that penetrated every fiber of my being until I thought I would disperse in a rapturous explosion. This exquisite phenomenon was certainly enticing enough for me to desire to remain with her indefinitely and go anywhere she requested of me. I reached out to her now ethereal form, eagerly anticipating a new life with my loving friend. At that very moment the water began to wrench about me and I felt myself being callously extracted to the surface, causing the vision of this mysterious entity to diminish.
No! No! I protested.
Let it be! LET IT BE! But I sensed that the only two souls on the planet who could hear my pleas were me and my Angel...
Journey Back Home
I was overwhelmed by the sudden impact of physical sensations. It felt as if an elephant was lambasting my chest with such great force that my rib cavity would be reduced to nothing more than a heap of fractured bones. I was blinded by the distorted features of those peering intently into my face and deafened by their shouts, "Is she OK?! What happened?! Is she dead?!" I was intensely aware of my anger. Yes, anger. It was brief yet ardent nonetheless. I was angry that I had been removed from a warm, loving, safe atmosphere and returned to the harsh reality of the mundane world and the wracking pain of my body as it continued to spew forth liquid from its lungs. I no longer felt airy and free like cotton candy but, instead, thought I would collapse under the weight of the human vessel that restricted my truest essence.
Upon seeing my Mother's face, my sister's, and that of a few friends my ire abated. I soon was delighted to be in their company again. However, I will never forget that day on the beach. It has served to be a constant reminder throughout my lifetime that there is indeed another "life" aside from the one we are accustomed to. There is an existence whereupon the emotion of love is so magnanimous that it pervades our spirit to the very core. This love we shall all encounter upon our passing from Mother Earth into the spirit realm. I find this knowledge sublimely comforting, and hope you do as well...
Blessings...
And take care of you!
Morgana
~ Man's power of choice enables him to think like an angel or a devil;
a king or a slave. Whatever he chooses, mind will create and manifest ~
Frederick Bailes
Me and my cousin Marti were home alone in her new house a few days before Christmas. It was early morning and we were watching a movie downstairs in the living room. I heard this loud creek coming from upstairs but thought that it was just the cats. A few minutes later I heard footsteps from upstairs. They sounded as if they were running through all the rooms. That time Marti heard it too, we both stared at each other for a few moments and our breathing got faster. We were home alone, in a new neighborhood, and everyone was either at work or out shopping. I started laughing saying that it was probably just their new psycho cat freaking out and running into the walls. We both started laughing nervously and continued watching our movie. We heard it again a few minutes later and then we both stood up yelling for the cat to come downstairs.
Then, something smashed into the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, we jumped and turned, it was the two cats. They had been under the Christmas tree the whole time sleeping and our yelling had woke them up. When we realized this Marti started shaking and said 'something's upstairs, what're we gonna do?' I grabbed a wooden baseball bat that belonged to Marti's younger brother, grabbed onto Marti's sleeve, and pulled her towards the bottom of the stairs. 'Look, this is your house so you're going with me.' We slowly walked up the stairs and peeked in the first room, it looked the same as it did earlier. I walked over to the closet and quickly opened it. There was nothing there. 'We are so paranoid.' I said, even though I was terrified out of my mind. We glanced into the bathroom, her sister's room, and her mom's room but everything was where it was earlier; it all looked fine.
When we got to her room however, all the closet doors were wide open, as was her bathroom door, and the windows. I ran over and slammed shut the windows and started yelling that whoever was in the room better get out or I was going to beat the crap out them. We ran downstairs as fast as we could, turned on all the lights, and sat huddled together on the corner of the couch, our movie still playing. We sat there all day and watched movie after movie with the bat between us. We heard the footsteps every now and then but when we did we stood at the foot of the stairs and just yelled a whole bunch of stuff because it released some of the terror that was filled inside of us.
Finally, my dad came over with Marti's brother, sister and my sister. We turned the whole 'footsteps' thing into a joke to scare the little ones. It worked. They were all scared and my dad was just cracking up laughing and told us that we were just being paranoid and that nothing was in the house. We all gathered around the t.v. to play the PS2. Marti's sister got upset about losing and went upstairs to her room. About two minutes later she came hauling down the stairs and jumped on the couch next me. I looked at her and laughed asking her what in the world was wrong. She said that when she went to walk across her room to turn on the light, she heard someone dragging something like a box across the floor. We all got scared again, especially me and Marti so we made my dad go upstairs and check the rooms, all of us trailing behind. He thought that we were being ridiculous and that we're just scaring ourselves over nothing.
When we got to Marti's room, the vcr had been dragged across to the other side of the room. My dad thought we were all tripping out and told us to go back downstairs. Everyone went downstairs except me and Marti. We asked each other why would a ghost or whatever it was, want to run around like mad and then drag a vcr all around a room. We walked out of her room and as we passed her sister's room, we heard someone giggle. I turned to Marti in the doorway of the room and asked her what was so funny. 'That wasn't me.' she said and with the look she had on her face, I had to believe her. We looked into the dark room; I said 'This is stupid', and ran across the room to light and turned the switch. The light started flashing like crazy and we heard the giggling again. When I ran back out of the room, the light went out and the giggling stopped. Marti was too scared to move and I didn't want to go any where alone, even if where I wanted to go was downstairs with everyone else.
I stood in the doorway once again and said, 'That's it, I'm tired of you trying to scare us, if you think you're so bad, why don't you show yourself or are too afraid?' Marti told me to shut up and leave it alone but, right when she finished that sentence, the light flashed one more time and there was the transparent form of a girl that looked as though she was in her mid-teens. She had long black hair that was wrapped around her neck, her eyes are what I'll never forget, she had these eyes that looked like they could pierce inside your mind. They were squinted into this hateful look and there were bags under them like she hadn't slept days. She was wearing what I think was a long white nightgown. She didn't have any feet or lower legs that I saw of because that part of her was faded and misty. When the light went back out me and Marti screamed our heads off and ran down the hall and stairs screaming all the way.
I ran right to my dad and refused to let go of him because I was so terrified. When my aunt came home Marti and I told her everything. She got on the internet and looked up the houses history. It turned out that the girl we had seen had died in the closet of the room that we had saw her in; she had been neglected and died of depression and starvation. Her parents had never let her out of her room and hardly ever fed her. The neighbors were the ones who reported them to the police when they said they kept getting glimpses of a girl in the window and that they heard frequent crashes from within the room. In court the parents had said she was a problem child and took in enjoyment when she would terrorize and frighten them. They went to jail for child neglect and abuse. I'll never forget that day and now whenever I sense like there's someone else in the room with me, I just say hello and go about my business.
On my 11th birthday party, a very strange thing happened. I had my three
very best friends over that night. We were in my room upstairs and we were
getting ready to go to bed. We were already in our pajamas and we were all
sitting in my room, just clowning around. All of a sudden, the temperature
dropped and an eerie feeling filled the room. At turn, each of my friends
would feel a little pinch or a hug. We didn't pay much attention to it until
one of my friends, Eileen, told me "Melissa, somebody's choking me!" At that
very moment, all four of us were seriously spooked and we didn't know what
to think. We just ran out of my room and went down stars.
About ten minutes later, we returned to my room. The temperature was back to
normal, but that eerie feeling still hung heavily in the air. We ignored the
feeling and sat on my bed and were sharing our stories of the rumors we'd
heard or the things people we knew had done. All of a sudden, we heard
somebody stomp up stairs. I thought it was my father, so I said "Hi, dad!"
Nobody responded and that was weird because my father would always respond
to me. So we went downstairs again and asked my father, breathlessly, if
anybody had come upstairs. He said no. So, my friends and I decided to do a
Séance.
We went back upstairs and sat in the middle of the second floor hallway. We
held each others hand. I was next to Melanie and Eileen, Jessika was in
front of me. Then slowly we said "River to river and Sea to sea, if you are
here.. show yourself to me." Then a little girl about seven years old walked
out from behind Jessika and stepped into the middle of the circle. She was
wearing a white t-shirt under hot pink overalls and she was grasping a
little brown teddy bear as if she was afraid somebody would take it away
from her. She had her shoulder length curly blonde hair pulled into
pigtails. She looked at all of us for a moment and her eyes seemed to dance
back and forth between me and Melanie. A warm smile crossed her lips and she
continued to look at both of us. Finally, her lips parted each other and she
slowly opened her mouth.
"You... you are my sister.... what are you doing here? Come back home! Mom
is worrying.." She said slowly to me. Her voice was like honey, sweet and
gentle, as she spoke and her eyes gazed at me affectionately. THen she
looked at Melanie and said quickly:
"Auntie! How long has it been since I've seen you!? Come over someday soon!"
Then her sweet stare turned into a look of hatred as she looked upon Eileen
and Jessika. She told them:
"What are you two doing here? My mother told you to never come back! I hate
you two! You're evil! Evil! Have you not done enough to destroy my mother
and sisters lives? BE GONE WITH YOU TWO! Banish! Back to the portals of Hell
where you belong!" We realized at that moment she was a child with strong
beliefs of God and The Devil. What had her mother been teaching her was
beyond me.
Calmly, I explained to her that I was not her sister and I wanted to know
what had happened and what her name was. She said her name was
Alexandria(Alexa) and explained that before my house had been built on this
ground, her house used to stand tall. Alexa had a serious disease.....one
that could not be treated yet.... and so she died at age eight while she
was playing with her sister, Myleena, in a field not far from her house.
After that, apparently her mother went a little crazy. One night, while
preparing dinner, she wasn't paying much attention and the fire she was
using to cook jumped and sparks flew. The house, being made of old wood,
caught fire easily and her father, mother and sister died...
When my friends and I decided we had enough information, we wished her peace
and let her go. For a few nights after that I would see her in my dreams,
playing in that field she loved so much. Until one night I told her:
"Alexa, you must go in peace. Let me rest.... You haunt my every dream, it
depresses me when I think of you and your story... let me rest... go in
peace..." She started and apologized for "being a nuisance" and left... I
haven't heard from Alexandria since then... She is finally in peace.
Witnessed by: Melissa Kaziberdov, Melanie Pabst-Leonidas, Jessika Pellerin
and Eileen Karvouniaris. On the night of March 28th, 2003
I haven't noticed many amazing events occur in front of myself but one did on Sunday. Having seen this there has to be angels. Sundays usually find me jogging at my local fitness center. Many people simply walk. Such was the case for a younger couple and their (?) 1-2 month old in a stroller. I don't have children but this baby was so tiny and sound asleep that one can't help but say 'awe.' I stopped along my jog to add in a few spot exercises but suddenly stopped because of a loud "thud" behind me. Turning around, I saw this couple and their stroller & baby--20 feet from me--and we were staring at each other. I proceeded to look on the floor not more than 2 feet--not 20--in front of them. From the very high ceiling, which was weighed down with wetness from
the weather and flatness of the roof, came crashing down at lightening speed a large, soaked piece of the roof. The baby would not have survived as there was no way to see the accident coming and the baby was too small and totally 'exposed' to the disaster.
That has to be more than just luck. Angels are wherever they are, I guess...
Maureen
Two and half months ago, I had encountered something rather strange. I was not sure what it was. It started out as a small walking noise. This was at night mind you, so I was extra jumpy. The noise grew louder, enough to have an idea what it sounded like, It sounded as if someone was walking, with one shoe on, and one shoe off. It was downstairs, in the foyer which was by the stairs. The noise became louder, and louder. I thought it was just my grandfather, up in the middle of the night just to go to the bathroom. After a while, I knew it wasn't him. I did the first thing I could think of, and that was to pray. To try and vanquish the evil spirit, or whatever it was, out of my house. I kept hearing the noise, as it approached up the stairs, and my room became very cold, causing goose bumps on my skin. Finally, I got out of my bed, and closed my door. and ordered it to leave quickly with anger, and tried using some of my spiritual power. The chill in my room perished, and I went back to sleep. Two weeks later, when I was on a trip to Washington with my Sophomore class, I heard the same noise and everyone in the hotel room was asleep. This was the last night at Washington, and I had no sleep at all that night. The footsteps were heard out side of the door and would not leave. I still occasionally feel chills, and I don't know how get rid of this ghost, or what ever it is.
My grandmother and I were very close when I was a young child. I never understood how much she meant to me until I lost her. She died of a heart failure when I was 10 years old. I will never forget seeing her in her coffin, how much she really did not look like the vibrant woman that I knew as my second mother and best friend.
I must tell you a little about this woman before I go further into my tale. She was smart, not just smart in that she could figure out numbers, even though she could do that too, but smart in the matters of the heart. She was beautiful, not so much that was noticed upon a glance, but when you got to know her, her spirit lit up any room, and you could sense her beauty.
She was funny, there was never a moment that she did not make you laugh. She was energetic, always chasing after me. She was the best cook in the world, and I am not just saying that, it is quite true. She was always there for anyone who needed her, no matter what time of day it was or how much she had to do.
The only bad thing about her was that she was very ill from the time she was a young woman (she was young when she died at the age of 49). She was blind and she had almost every health problem that I knew of at my young age.
And here is where my story begins. On the evening that she died, she was watching a comedy show, and she was laughing to the point of tears. All of a sudden, she couldn't breathe and she asked for a glass of water. When my aunt returned with the water, my grandmother was on the floor, already dead. She died with a peculiar smile on her face.
Days later, we had the funeral. I cried hysterically the whole time, as I loved her very much. The night of the funeral, I slept in her old room, in her bed. When I began to cry for the thousandth time, I felt a warmth creeping around my side as though someone were giving me a hug. It was my grandmother, I knew it to be her because only she could give a hug that made you feel that good inside. Then I heard her laugh, that strange laugh she always had that wasn't quite a laugh because she was doing it so hard that she could barely breathe. I felt her all around me, urging me to sleep.
For several months this happened, and afterward I would sleep. When I slept, she visited me in a rose garden. Her favorite flowers were red roses. She told me that I needed to let her go, that she couldn't feel at rest until I was safe and happy again. I always told her that I would never be ready to let her go, I didn't want her to go. Finally, one night, I could tell that she was troubled, the only time I had ever seen her in that state.
When I asked her what she was upset about, she told me that she wanted to move on to that better place, that she needed to move on, but couldn't because I wouldn't let her go. I thought about how selfish I was being, so I told her that it was all right for her to go on, and that I would be fine. I told her that I would always miss her, but I would be fine and eager to see her again someday. She smiled and told me that I would have to wait a long while for that, but she would be there for me when it was my time to go.
That was the last night that I ever heard or felt her again.
That is my story. I remember it all like it was yesterday. My grandmother was my only comfort, and she made sure that she stayed that way until I was ready to let her go. I miss her, but I am glad to know that I will see her again someday in the Great Beyond.
I had an appointment with an elderly woman while doing hospice volunteer work. When I arrived, the front door of her house was open. I went in to find her covered in blood but her pillowcase was fresh. She told me her deceased husband had come to her and brought the pillow off his bed which was at the rear of her house. I knew it was true because she was hemorrhaging from the lung, and she died two hours later. The angels were at the bedside she told me. That is the story and I will never forget.
When I was younger my step-father used to tell me the world would end in the year 2000. Of course, me being a worry-wart, I believed him. This tended to eat up a lot of my time. One night I went to bed and the next thing I knew I was sitting on a wooden fence, surrounded by the most beautiful garden I'd ever seen. Then my grandma and grandpa appeared out of nowhere. They both looked about thirty-something. My grandma never said anything and left. Grandpa came and sat down beside me on the fence. He said, "Don't worry." I responded, "Well, it's hard not to." He added, "Everything will be all right." I asked, "How is that?" He then said, "I can't tell you anything except that everything will be okay, so don't worry about it anymore," and then I woke up.
I am not sure my story is a ghost story, but definitely it is an experience that has marked my life in many more ways than one. The relationship between my grandmother and my father was always very close. They both were always there for each other. Dad could have been her pet son but, above all, she had always been his inspiration, his guide, his friend and of course his loving mother.
Maybe the close relationship was extended naturally to his kids. We all cherished my Grandmother's love and care, and we had the rock who supported us during times when everything seemed shaky. Time went by and, as law of life, she passed away one fine day. Great loss for the family, but obviously great sadness for my father. Everyone in my family had built their lives and, although we all kept Grandmom's memory alive, she had made sure my father and his kids would feel her presence for eternity.
Many years after her death, I had a rough time coping with the loss of my so expected and loved first child. I had a problem with the pregnancy and as a result I delivered a stillborn baby three weeks earlier than my expected due date. I was torn into pieces; my heart bleeding and my soul devastated. The night I was undergoing induced labor - I was in a lot physical pain but much more emotionally dead - she came to me. I was lying on the hospital bed and suddenly I could smell her scent; an old lavender soap fragrance she always used. I also felt her hand on my forehead trying to comfort me. I just closed my eyes and let the feeling invade my transparent soul at that moment.
The relief I felt was unique. I can't really explain it with words but it helped me to heal. Five years later I finally had my baby daughter and, although the situation was different, in the middle of the night I felt her presence again. Only this time she spoke to me. I heard her voice close enough to my ears saying, "Well done. You made it," and then I felt her hand on my forehead. Ever since then I know she is around every time we need her. It isn't due to just the fragrance of lavender that suddenly invades the area around me, but the feeling of comfort I so well feel in my heart, that I know she is there; watching us from wherever she is and whenever we need her. Thanks, grandma, for your love and care.
It was summer in the year 1975. My family and I frequented a park called "Sunnybank Park." We would meet with my Godparents and their two daughters, Adele and Violet. This was a weekend tradition that we enjoyed for five years. The park was located beside the Grand River in Ontario Canada. We would get there in the morning and spend the entire day swimming, skiing, sunbathing and just having fun. It was a wonderful time for us.
On this one particular visit to Sunnybank Park my Godparents' daughter, Adele, had brought a friend of hers with her. They invited me to spend the night at their place for a sleep-over. I was so happy and really looking forward to it. We spent the evening horseback riding and then swam in the pool. Adele, and her younger sister Violet, Lynn (Adele’s friend) and I were all ready to camp out in the family room. We were to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor. I wasn’t too pleased about it because I kept finding potato bugs in the shag carpet. I was fourteen and squeamish.
The girls wouldn’t let me sleep on the sofa because they decided it was a camp-out and we should sleep on the ground. I just couldn’t sleep. I decided to go into the kitchen and read. I had just found interest in reading novels at that time. I sat down and read for a good while. I noticed it was close to 2 AM. I thought I would finish the chapter and then try to sleep.
I had noticed the living room light turn on. No one had come downstairs, and no one walked into the room. Where I sat I would have noticed any movement. I shrugged my shoulders and figured a faulty light bulb was the culprit. A few minutes later I heard footsteps on the marble tiles walking towards me. I saw no one - just heard the sound. They entered into the kitchen where I was sitting reading. They walked around the kitchen table to the exact spot I sat and stood behind me like they were reading over my shoulder. All the hairs on my body stood on the ends. I ran into the family room where my friends slept. I jumped on the closest sofa and pulled a cover over me covering my head.
I heard the door that leads into the garage from the hallway open. I saw the family dog enter the house with a tall man. I couldn’t see the features of this man, the kitchen light was on behind him and so he stood in the doorway as a silhouette. The dog came over to me, sniffed me, and by that time the blanket was just resting over my nose and the dog sniffed my forehead. He then went over to sniff my friends asleep on the floor. It didn’t seem to wake them. The man in the doorway moved his hand that rested at his sides. I’m not sure if I really saw him move his hand. It happened so quickly. The dog ran over to him and they left through the same door they had entered. I had eventually fallen asleep from exhaustion.
The next morning I asked my Godmother about the light in the living room. She said the light wasn’t on when she came downstairs this morning. She also said that she hadn’t come downstairs at all to turn it on. I asked her about the dog coming into the house. She said the dog was never allowed in the house. I asked my Godfather the same questions when he came down. He said the same as my Godmother.
I sat and finished my breakfast and called my parents to come and bring me home. It took a few years before I went back into that house. I never slept over after that. I just visited with my Godparents. The area where my Godparents live is Ancaster Ontario. There were many battles fought in that area. I had heard later that there are several haunted homes in Ancaster.
When my father died of a heart attack on his 60th birthday, I felt as if my heart had been torn from my body. The next evening, as I listened to the recording of classical music I’d bought for his birthday, I could feel his presence around me. “Dad, don’t come back,” I whispered, frightened. He didn’t. Not for 11 years. At 25, I was surprised that life even went on after my beloved father’s death, but slowly my mother, my siblings and I got on with our lives.
My good-natured and loving father was raised in a London orphanage and ran away at 15 to join the Royal Horse Artillery. He was wounded 6 times in W.W.II and earned many medals, including The Military Medal, awarded twice. His last wound resulted in the loss of his left leg. He was thirty. He lived another 30 years, despite his doctors predicting he would not see 40 and he worked until two years before his death, experiencing each day with joy, despite the pains from his wounds, which were constant companions. Three years later my mother moved from our small Ontario town to Vancouver.
My brother lived there and Vancouver provided opportunities that weren’t available in our island town. We visited each other and exchanged long letters. The years passed and 7 years after she moved west, we enjoyed a month together in my home in Toronto, where I moved after my marriage ended. It was obvious that something was wrong with my Mum during that visit. A brave, high-energy and high-spirited woman, she'd been raised in the London slums, built a successful "West-End" fashion business, nursed my father though many illnesses and moved from Canada to Australia at 55 to run a blouse factory, only to return when my father who was selling up, came down with a serious bout of malaria. She was a marvel. But now, she suffered vertigo, her hands trembled and she used a cane for balance.
Two months later, she called to say that she was moving into a seniors’ building. Her health was worse and she could no longer write. Writing had been her passion. It was what she wanted, she said, “I’m old and sick Lynne and I want to be with others who are the same.” She was 72. She didn’t even spend one night there. She suffered a stroke and lost her sight almost immediately. She was hospitalized as she couldn’t walk, and her memory was affected. Six weeks later my sister and I flew out to see her. We took the elevator to her floor and she was sitting outside her room in a wheelchair, her intelligent face turned slightly to one side as if she were listening to someone talking from afar. She was wearing her glasses as if to encourage her sightless eyes to see. My heart broke and I ran to her.
“Lynne!” she cried, turning her head towards me. I don’t know how she knew it was me, but each visit she knew where I was. I sat at her feet, touching her face and kissing her, holding her hands as she sat in her wheelchair. Later we learned that a large tumor had robbed my mother of her sight and was pressing on nerves that robbed her of current memory. Sometimes she would be back in the days when I was a baby and though tears streamed down my face, I felt great joy watching the expression on her face as she talked to us like she must have before memory -- for me at least; I was the youngest. Despite a challenging life and a difficult dying time, she kept saying, “We are such a lucky family. Such a lucky family.”
On the flight back to Toronto the film “On Golden Pond” was showing. That was all I needed. I wept throughout the 5-hour flight, wishing the plane would go down and take me with it. Each night before I slept I would try and contact my mother mentally, 3,000 miles away in a Vancouver hospital and I pleaded, “Let me know when you go, Mum.” My mother lived on in a twilight world for another four months. My brother and his wife visited her daily as she slowly slipped into a coma.
One day in late April I awakened, feeling very cold. My housemate suggested I stay home that day as I couldn’t stop shivering. I had a temperature and it seemed obvious that a cold was coming on. Rather than going to bed, I wrapped myself up and lay on my long, comfortable couch in the living room, trying to keep warm, dozing on and off all morning. Around noon I opened my eyes and there was my father, standing at the end of the couch with arms crossed as he used to when he was wearing his false leg, and he was smiling down at me!
He was bathed in a golden aura and it warmed me. I said, “Dad, it’s you! And you’ve got both legs!” He threw his head back in that old familiar laugh and I could see that was younger. He was in his early forties and was the Dad I remembered from my young childhood. His gaze was full of love for me and I felt immersed in it. He didn’t move from his position, but said, “I’ve come to tell you that everything is going to be all right.”
I stared back at this visage of my beloved father who had not contacted me, except for one wonderful dream, in the eleven years since he’d died. In that dream, my siblings and I were young again and my father was standing in our living room, in the same stance as he was that day, and was telling us about the wonderful time he’d been having. We were all listening raptly to what he said, laughing and talking as his face shone with the memory of where he had been. When I awoke, I knew he had visited me from wherever he now exists.
I lay there, looking at my handsome father, hair smoothly combed back, mustache trimmed, his cheeks flushed with pleasure, his hair dark again and he was wearing a crisp white shirt, open at the neck and the charcoal colored trousers he favored. I could clearly see that he had two healthy legs. We simply communed silently for a while and then I whispered, already knowing the answer, “Mum, are you here?” “I’m here, darling,” she replied from a distance, although I could not see her. Again, blissful love washed over me during those golden moments with my parents’ spirits.
I fell into a heavy sleep and was awakened by my housemate 5 hours later. I felt healthy and refreshed and I knew then that although my mother’s heart still beat in her sleeping body 3000 miles from me, her soul had already joined her beloved Bill.
On a July Saturday that year, I was wakened by Zoe, my housemate’s 4-year old daughter. ”Where’s Mommy?” she asked. I realized her mother must have stayed over somewhere and my 6-year old daughter had spent the night at a friend’s house, so I got up, made Zoë’s breakfast and settled her in front of Sesame Street. My boyfriend Eric had stayed over and we figured that unless Susie got home soon, we would have to make up a story.
I leased the first floor of a large Victorian house in the Beaches area of Toronto. As my apartment had once been the main floor of this three-story house, my bedroom opened directly off the kitchen. I got up to make coffee and left the bedroom door open so that I could continue to talk with Eric. As I stood by the table in my compact kitchen, three sharp knocks sounded on the door leading outside. I looked at Eric and mouthed the word, “Susie” with some relief. He nodded and I opened the door. There was no one there. I looked both ways – down the narrow driveway bordered by my house and my neighbor’s house and the other way to our adjoined garages. No one! Eric pulled on his jeans and came out. We looked down on the asphalt drive and up to the roofs of the two houses, but there was no way anything had fallen on the door.
“Hmm,” Eric said, somewhat bemused, “Why don’t I take Zoe and get Megan? That will at least take up some time. Maybe Susie will be home by then.” I dressed Zoë and they left. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. Within a few minutes the phone rang. I thought it would be Susie with an explanation, but it was my brother. “Mum died twenty minutes ago, Lynne,” he said. “Thank-you,” I responded formally and hung up. I sat there stunned for a few moments.
Realizing then that it was my mother who had knocked on my door 20 minutes earlier as she died, I wept in gratitude and in sadness at her passing. I phoned Eric. He was back in five minutes and Susie arrived soon after.
Susie took Megan while Eric and I walked around the Beach and joined friends later in the day in an outdoor restaurant. Part way through our meal I saw a beautiful yellow-orange comet appear. It was the size of a small satellite dish. It soared around the restaurant and hovered beside me, like a brilliant, huge butterfly, filling me with joy, before it moved on and out of the garden restaurant. I asked my friends if they had seen it. They hadn’t but they had seen the look of wonderment on my face. A few days later my housemate told me that she has sensed my father’s presence in my house during the weeks leading up to my mother’s death. Susie had never met my father.
My mother not only let me know when she passed, but her visit as a comet told me she loved and approved of me and whatever I did, I did with her blessing. A few weeks later we put her ashes beside my father in the graveyard of our small town. That was 20 years ago. They are as close to me now as they were when they were alive.
One night I woke up about four AM and saw this man wearing a red and black hunting jacket. He was standing in the corner of the room where the hamper was, facing us. I got very frightened and started to pray. Then a warm and safe feeling came over me, so I knew he meant no harm. I continued to pray and he was gone. This was in the day of the old style shag rugs and behind the hamper I found two footprints facing where we slept. I probably know who he was for in my younger years I was quite wild. One time a friend and I were out gallivanting and I thought I hit a man in front of a church who was wearing a red and black hunting jacket. No news the next morning on radio or TV so I probably imagined it. Only god knows!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
One morning I was working on my computer and I kept seeing flashes out of the corner of my eye in the hallway, like someone was rushing past. This has happened to me before and I was trying to ignore it, but for some reason I had goose bumps and felt very uneasy. Then my dogs who were sleeping in the hallway started growling and became very upset.
One got up and entered my bedroom and started growling at the end of the bed. All his hair was up and he would inch forward and then yelp and retreat. The other dog ran down the stairs at the speed of light. I entered the room and grabbed my dog around the neck and forced him to go forward with me and placed my hands on the end of the bed. As soon as I did that the dog relaxed, and the eerie feeling I had disappeared.
In 1967, we moved into an old, early 1900’s rental house. I was 15, my brother 13, and there were my mother and stepfather. Just inside the front door was an expansive living area with a shiny, golden-brown hardwood floor. A fireplace adorned the west wall. But to the right of the red brick fireplace was a hideous spot, a two-foot oblong shape that was black at the center and faded to reddish-brown toward the edges.
It was grotesque and bothered me, so I told mom that I would try to remove it. "It can't be removed," she said. "Many people have tried and failed." Hearing this, I cajoled her to tell me more, and, with an unusual amount of hesitancy, she finally relented.
The landlord had told her about how the spot had gotten there three years before, she said. He said that a family with children, a boy and a girl, had lived in the house. One night the children heard their parents shouting, so curious they tiptoed down the stairs and peered out into the large room from behind a flimsy, plastic accordion door.
They watched their father leave the house and heard the family car’s trunk door slam. In a blur, he blasted back through the front door wielding a shotgun. The kids shuddered as they watched him knock their mother to the floor and shoot her. Then, without hesitation, he put the barrel of the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger, leaving remains in a small bedroom located behind the fireplace.
I could see my mother was shaken in the telling of the story, but she told me the landlord had offered her a special deal on the rent. So despite the horrific history, she paid the deposit. She hoped that I wouldn't be upset about her choice of living accommodations.
"Freaky story!" I commented with teenage bravado, not really half believing it. But later, I would regret my blasé attitude.
Oppressive adequately describes the atmosphere in that house. Once, when home alone, I tried to scrub the spot with liquid cleaner, Brillo pads, and then sandpaper, all to no avail. It felt as if some unknown entity watched while I labored.
The windows would not allow light to enter the home, so most days the dark interior closed in like a suffocating fog. The house was somber, but the bedroom behind the fireplace that took the brunt of the flesh-and-bone laden shotgun blast seemed the epitome of darkness. On the hottest of summer days, I entered the room and felt an immediate, unexplainable chill. We, unspoken, left the room empty.
As the weeks passed, my family’s personalities underwent a progressive, radical transformation. Once eternally happy, now, night after night my folks fought and quarreled well into the early morning hours. I recall wondering, how could anyone have that much energy to argue so vehemently for so long. Did they ever sleep?
My brother’s face hardened, and he withdrew to his upstairs bedroom and alienated himself from the family. At night, I heard him leave the house through an upstairs window and clamber out onto the roof.
One day I stumbled upon my brother and a couple of his friends in the old dirt basement under the first-floor kitchen playing with a Ouija board.
"Where did you find that?" I asked.
“We found it buried in dirt,” they said, “behind the furnace.” I watched as the Planchette zipped purposely around the board in response to questions they posed.
As time passed a strange malevolence gripped us. Mom fell ill with grand mal epileptic seizures, and an ominous, black boil erupted on the calf muscle of my left leg. I heard noises, and during the evening hours, dark shadows flitted about at the periphery of my vision.
One afternoon, mom cried out, "Come here! Look at this!" When I arrived at her bedroom closet, she swung the door open. On the floor sat a doll appearing surrealistically human. It appeared at least 3-feet tall with porcelain skin that had all the color and nuances of flesh. Bushy, thick hair cascaded in brown ringlets to the shoulders, and its glistening, moist blue eyes stared back at us, penetrating my soul.
Shirley Temple came to mind. "Where did you get that?" I asked. “It just showed up,” she said incredulously. “I’ve never seen it before.”
Bizarre incidents accelerated and temperaments deteriorated, so mom finally said, "We're getting out of here!" We packed everything and moved most of it to a new rental house we had found.
Because of a test, a school project, or it was just too far away, I couldn't move up to the new place with everyone else the first day. I told mom that, under the circumstances, it would be convenient if I spent the night alone at our old house. They could pick me up after school the next day along with the last few boxes of household goods left behind.
After school I hung out at a friend’s until dark, and then decided to head home. I arrived at the house around 9 PM and made a makeshift bed on the floor in front of the fireplace, just a couple of feet from the stained floorboards. I cataloged my surroundings. Nothing stirred; the place was silent as a burial crypt. Seven boxes were stacked near the wall opposite the fireplace and bed. Since the house was empty and there was nothing to entertain me, I extinguished the lights and settled in for what I hoped would be deep, uneventful sleep.
I had no idea how much time had passed, but my eyes fluttered, and I groggily awoke. I focused my eyes on the alarm clock, which read 3:15 am. Then it dawned on me that I shouldn’t be able to see the clock because when I had dozed off earlier, the house was black as an unlit coal mine. Now my mind began to race, pondering the origin of the light.
A muted yellow, pulsating light cascaded across the floor, over the boxes, and up the wall. An ominous gray shadow filled its center. I froze with fear, but soon succumbed to curiosity. I had to investigate the origin of that mysterious light. I rose up slowly on my right elbow and gazed past the malignant spot, past the doorway of the bloody room, and toward my mother's bedroom, from where the light emanated.
In the room’s doorway back-lit and silhouetted by light rays from within, stood the doll facing directly toward me, its arms outstretched, its golf-ball sized eyes glowing red. Needless to say, I couldn’t sleep or move. At sunrise, I jumped up, hastily dressed, and dashed out of the house never to return.