Then of course, Alae had to do a blog post about some of her supernatural experiences. Ghosties, ghosties everywhere.... I hesitate to share my tales of the Otherside, but since it is still daylight out I might be persuaded...
The very first experience, was not really a ghost story but more of an out-of-body experience. In the house that I grew up in, the basement door was three feet in front of the back entrance door. If you were in a hurry and clumsy (like a young kid...) it was quite possible to barrel through the entrance and go right on through the basement door. When I was younger and less experienced with the paranormal, I insisted that my younger sister had done exactly that: bounced into the basement door and down the steps. My mother maintains that my sister never did any such thing; so of course I had to tell her about how I remembered the event. She gave me a sidewise look when I was done, because without thinking about exactly what I was saying, this is how my recollection went:
"I came in the back door in a big hurry, and tripped against the basement door. It flew open, and the next thing I remember is standing there at the top of the stairs and seeing a young child at the bottom of the steps. I guess I yelled for Grandma, because she came running. The next thing I remember is sitting down at the bottom of the stairs saying "yes, I'm alright" and trying to figure out how I got to the basement when I just came in the back door..."
The entire twenty-plus years that I lived in that house, I was never entirely comfortable in the basement; if I was doing laundry (the washer being in the room immediately at the bottom of the stairs) I would make sure that the doors to every other room were closed, and I would actively avoid looking down the hallway to the extra bathroom. I still can't say exactly what I was feeling, except that I was convinced that if I were to turn around I would see someone--- usually no one in particular, but sometimes I felt that if I turned around I would see my sister's father (this is twelve or more years after he was killed in a car accident when I was six years old). I wasn't ready yet to see the shades, with my eyes anyway; apparently I was seeing them with something else at that time. (I learned later that my sister had seen her father there, so it looks like I was right. There are a lot of ghost stories to tell about Danny, her father!)
But more stories occur about the house. My great-grandfather lived in an apartment next door, and he would come in to our home to use the bathroom or shower. One time, and I was too young to even recall how old I was, he came over very late (I think) to ask my grandma (his daughter) to take him to the hospital, he didn't feel good. I am fuzzy on the details, but it seems that this would be his last trip, he passed away at the hospital. For years after, until her death as far as I know, Grandma would still hear him knocking at the door some nights, calling her name. While I never heard the knocks or the calling, I don't doubt for a second that Grandma did hear them. Being of good Irish stock there was a long string of fey in the family, and Great Grandma Smith was fey as well. All I remember about the funeral for Great Grandpa is that I was scared because I had no idea what was going on, all I knew was that Grandpa was dead and I would never get to see him again (or so I thought, I was just a little tyke). I remember being furious because my aunt wouldn't let me go in with everyone else to the room with the casket, she thought I was "too young" to view Grandpa's body. Have to tell you, this instilled a huge fear of death in me for many years. I didn't understand why I couldn't say goodbye to my gampaw, everyone else was. And I knew it was a very important occassion, this funeral, because my grandma was wearing a dress. That scared me more than any thoughts of seeing a dead body! Anything important enough to get Grandma to wear a dress was
Partly in response to this first exposure to funerals, when my children were born I had no hesitation in taking them to visitations and funerals at a young age. I got flack from some people, but I really didn't care, because I was not going to let my kids grow up afraid of death and dead bodies. And they aren't.... afraid of spirits, maybe, but not of the bodies. Therein lies a tale or two, as well!
But I digress...
My two favorite stories about the house, though, are the ones about the angel, and Molly McGillicuddy. But since this has turned out to be so long, you have to wait for Ghost Stories - part 2 for those tales!
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