The spirits played rough with this post, so I'll apologize for weirdness in the spacing, font size, etc. By the time I get it up on the blog, I will have gone through at least a dozen different "fixes" to make it work! Hang in for some great stories today.
Before we get started, I have to ask...Have you got your candy ready for the little ghosts and goblins?...or did you have to sample it all to "make sure it was still fit to give out?"
We NEVER have Trick-or-Treaters. I miss seeing all the kids in costumes. Going out to Trick or Treat through the neighborhood is a good childhood memory for me.
Well, it's time for part two of my ghost stories. The ones for today are really good. I hope you enjoy them...and maybe get a little thrill.
First up is Shada Royce
My daughter see's dead people...
Ok, maybe not literally, but she says enough to give me the heebie-jeebies. My daughter, Madison, just turned three years old this July. She’s everything a mother could ever want in a daughter - loving, smart, and beautiful (I’m not biased, really). But when I say ‘smart’ I’m not talking about the ability to read and do math. My child can talk with the best of any thirteen year old at a slumber party. That’s right; I was blessed with a storyteller.
Now her teachers say she’s ‘special’, which to me translates to ‘we can’t shut her up, she talks all through nap time’. My mom, her MeMe, tells me she’s gifted, which I am sure is grandma talk for ‘she’s a jabber mouth’. And my friends say things like “Oh, she just cracks us up with what she says.” Yes, she does do that. Most of the time I have no idea where she gets her mind wonderings from, such as her latest tale about an alligator, a unicorn, and an ogre. Mixing fairytales I suppose.
Now at this point you are wondering why I say my child sees dead people. Well, ever since she could walk and talk she has REFUSED to go into our guest room. She says “There is a mean witch in there”. Madison tells us where the mean witch is sitting in the room, about how the mean witch throws sheets over her head at night, about how she stares at her from the curtains in her window. She is very adamant about ‘the mean witch’, to which we refer to as our first resident ghost.
That’s right, I said our first ghost. Although the mean witch is a great story to tell, I have one much more heart-warming I’d like to share.
Let me stop here and talk about my belief in afterlife. I do believe that sometimes our souls get trapped on earth, that we wonder around places or people we loved, longing for just another glimpse. I think the deceased miss us just as much as we miss them, and why wouldn’t they?
My grandfather, Charles William Johnston, my mom's dad, was a fantastic grandfather. He was my hero and I think about him every week. He was a great bear of a man with a huge booming laugh and laughing eyes. He wore cowboy boots until the day he died (actually think he was buried in them), a western string tie, and a button up dress shirt. He could two-step with the best of them and he hunted or fished just about every day he could. He also always carried a buckeye (for good luck) and a pocket knife everywhere he went. Also a retired master drill sergeant from the
My story starts many years ago, a few weeks after my much loved PawPaw passed away. I remember huddling under my blankets one night, afraid to stick my head above the covers. I always felt safe with my grandfather so I remember saying out loud, “PawPaw, if you are near, I’m scared.” I don’t think I felt any sudden sense of peace or anything, but I did eventually fall asleep. The next morning, while dressing for school, I found the words “PawPaw” etched into the wooden door frame of my closet. I never had trouble falling asleep after that because I always knew he’d be near.
Now fast forward to a few weeks ago. My daughter, the storyteller and future
I run and get a towel, screaming “
She looks at me kind of funny and says, “That man told me to spit it out.” She points toward her stool.
“What man?” I ask, looking over at the stool where she was just sitting.
She says "That man who I was sitting with. Charlie."
I'm sure at this point I had the "dumb-struck" look, mouth agape, mind reeling. All I could think about was my grandfather and the possibility that he was with my daughter, protecting her. I finally managed, "Who are you talking about?" just to clarify.
My daughter looks back at the stool and points again. “That man. Charlie.” She says.
“Why did he tell you to spit out your milk?” I asked, thinking maybe I gave her bad milk or something and my grandfather was really looking out for her.
She says, “He said there were bubbles in there and that I should spit it out and make you get me more milk."
I was floored. A joke, my three-year old daughter had just spit out milk because she’d blown bubbles in it. I wanted to laugh and I wanted to cry, so I cleaned up the rest of the milk and immediately called my mom and told her the story. She starts laughing as I finish and says "That is exactly something my dad would do to you. You know how he loved practical jokes."
Now to clarify, my daughter has seen maybe one picture of my grandfather and she has never met him, considering he passed away close to 12 year ago. And even if she’d seen more than one picture, where would she come up with the name like Charlie after I just yelled at her for spitting out milk? She’s three!
Needless to say, I’m convinced. My grandfather, always so protective of me, has moved on to his great-granddaughter, teaching her all the practical jokes and laughing ways that he taught me all those years ago. And all I can say is I’m grateful he decided to hang around.
I have slept in this room (I think it was this room) at Shada's house. No grandpa. No rocking chair. Of course, my deep sleep could have been related to Peach Bellinis! Thanks Shada.
The next story comes from Rita Scott, one of my buddies from another blog.
The entity where I'm living now, her name is Leona. After I moved in, I would smell things cooking, even if I hadn't even eaten anything here in a week, much less cooked! I would find the back porch door open in the morning, when I knew I had locked both the storm & inside door the night before. I started asking the neighbors questions and found out Leona was always cooking something and went out to tend her flowers early every spring & summer morning. She never had children but was 'grandma' to all the neighborhood kids. She died in this house when in her 70's. She gives a very peaceful feeling.
It's a different story when my brothers and husband are around! The lights blink on & off,in sequence! And the aroma of pot is in the air! (some things don't change! LOL)
I LOVED this story when you told me this in August. I knew right then that I want to share it! Thanks Rita.
Another blog buddy, Becky Hutchison volunteered this story:
I've had someone talk in my ear, and I've had strange things happen in my house. My dining room hutch has a locked section that holds my mom's china. A few years ago, two Fridays in a row, I left for work with all doors to the house closed and locked. When I came home, the doors to the locked portion of the cabinet were wide open. Both times I fiddled with the lock to make sure nothing was wrong and stamped on the floor to see if it would dislodge the doors. Everything was okay.
Just last week I took my laptop computer down to the kitchen, along with its headset, wireless mouse and power cord. I walked out of the room for something, and when I came back the headset was missing. I went upstairs to double-check if I left it in my bedroom, but I didn't see it anywhere. I checked downstairs again...nothing. I went back upstairs and noticed a lump under my bedcovers...that HADN'T been there when I made the bed. I pulled back the sheets and saw my headset! I was surprised to say the least!!
I do believe you have a poltergeist living with you!
And finally, a touching story from a good friend, Teresa Reasor
My grandfather passed away when I was 10 after a prolonged battle with lung cancer. My grandmother was by herself at the house about 4 weeks after his death. She'd laid down to rest and dosed off. She woke to the feeling that someone was lying beside her in bed holding her hand. She said she lay there for about 10 minutes waiting for the sensation to go away but it didn't. She got up and went into the kitchen. About that time we (my mother, brother, and I) pulled up in the car. The front door openned and closed on it's own, like someone was stepping out of the house to greet us. Then a minute later we I came in.
I would sometimes wake to the same sensation after that. And I always knew it was my grandfather just holding my hand to let me know he was there.
I was home by myself with all the televisions and stuff around the house turned off so i could have some quiet time. My father had just passed away and I had really had a hard time with it.I still am. I was reading a book and just trying to relax. Daddy always called me doll. He'd always say, "Where you goin', Doll or What you been doing, Doll? In fact in the hospital the last words he spoke to me were to ask where I was going. My grandmother was ill with bladder cancer and I was going across the street to her house to check on her. He said, " Where you goin', Doll?" And I told him I'd be back in a few minutes. He was never able to speak after that.
Anyway, while sitting in a completely empty house, I distinctly heard my father say, "What's wrong, Doll?" And sat there for the longest time just waiting for him to say something else, but he didn't. I just said, "I miss you, Daddy?"
Now that you've read all these ghost stories, see how steady your hand is with this little maze. Can you keep the dot between the lines and make it to level 4? Thanks to the Scarlet Pumpernickle for the link.
I hope everyone had a good time yesterday and today. And to my new blog buddies...I'm so glad to be here!
Until Next Time here or visit me on either of my other sites
http://cynthiadalba.com/ or Cynderella's Castle