Coming from a family that always had a ghost story to tell I grew up not only intrigued by the paranormal and supernatural I would even say I also dabbled in it a little from time to time as I got older.
As a child it seemed like every adult I knew, especially that one aunt of mine (you know who you are!) did their best to scare me out of my skin every time I turned around. There always seemed to be a room with a doll being pulled by fishing thread slowly and terrifyingly across the room or the many tales of ghosts leaving footprints behind or the curious rattling in my grandmother’s kitchen that was so loud that every living soul was awakened from sleep to give testament of the occurrence; coincidentally these incidents always seem to come up just before one of those inevitable sleep overs at Nan’s house. My mom and at least one of my other aunts “read cards” for people they knew, like tarot cards but with a plain deck of cards. I always begged for her to read mine, but mom always told me “you can’t read children cards” I’m not sure where all this interest in the occult came from on my mom’s side of the family but it was definitely there.
Coming from the East coast of Canada the bright summer nights allowed us plenty of sunlight and long days. As a child of the seventies all of our free “play” time was spent outside as there was nothing to do inside and the outside world had plenty of overturned rocks to roast marshmallows on; when it did get dark at night it was like a scene from any creepy movie ever made. The absence of streetlights cast dark shadows on every street corner between my grandmother’s house and my own, and besides the shadows the depth of darkness in between the houses left me guessing at the many horrors that might possibly lurk within, waiting to swallow me whole. The short ten minute walk home would quickly become a fast five minute run when the sun fell below the water’s edge around the small island I grew up on.
Throughout my childhood I often heard of the stories how other extended family members experimented with séances, Ouija’s boards and many other things. I knew to keep quiet about these things in our family as we were raised in a Catholic upbringing so you can imagine why it was a hush, hush thing. Our family moved when I was twelve years old leaving behind the island however the stories remained with me as did my memory of having our house blessed by the local priest for who knows what as my mom was pretty tight lipped about many things back then.
Some of the common ghost folklore on the island included tales of a White Woman, a vengeful, beautiful ghost who would haunt anyone after dark, her long flowing white gown floating high in the air above everyone; I dared not look up at night, and of course let’s not forget the Fairies. I remember feeling terrified a fairy would grab me when reaching into the neighbors patch of rhubarb to snap off a sweet ripened branch to chew, sadly this was a regular treat for me as a child and one I could not resist as the secondary reward was a new rhubarb hat for my successful venture. I’m certain as a child I thought “I bet some fairies sneaked aboard those boats with my grandfather” who immigrated from Ireland back in the early 1900’s; everyone knew Ireland was full of fairies and leprechauns.
As I grew older I still hung on to some curiosity about the occult but mostly it dwindled down to a pack of expensive tarot cards in my twenties that I never did learn to read, I guess I didn’t have “the gift” my mom had when it came to reading cards, God knows I tried. I also tossed my money too much out to money out to promising fortune tellers, palm readers and physics during my twenties and thirties in search of something profound, which I did not find. They all seemed fake and nothing more than a bunch of entertainers looking for a quick buck, no one with the real gift I longed to witness. Not until my second son was born that is.
By the time my baby was able to muster together his first sentence just before he was two years old; one thing that stood out most was his incredible desire to tell me about the “man” who lived in our basement crawlspace; terrifying yes! It didn’t stop there either as for the next six months the toys cackled in the corners turned on by invisible hands as new sounds crept inside the rooms in our home proving loud and clear that we were not alone! No these sounds were not from those that lived inside, these sounds were from somewhere else. When my son was able to put a few more words together and form a longer sentence I taught him to scream down the basement stairs “man this is my home go away”, we practiced this every time he seen the “man”. He would come screaming “the man, the man” leaping onto my lap stuffing his golden brown tussled curly hair deep under my secure armpit as he trembled. I too shook from the fear of the unseen man; it seemed whenever my son pointed to the location of “the man” the invisible entity appeared to move closer and closer from our downstairs crawlspace to directly behind my screaming two year old on our main level living room area one night. My son’s sightings of the man seemed to last for about six months , stopped for about three, and again for another few months eventually the sightings stopped. I was sort of relieved when a new play friend my son called “Mister Nobody” came around shortly after. Mister Nobody stayed in our attic where he would come down and play with my son and sometimes take the blame for misplaced items around the house but it was fairly non scary stuff, Thank God! I thought whether Mister Nobody is really or an imaginary friend I dont care, just dont be scary.
By the time my child was five years old a move from our house to a new apartment began to stir up a whole other mixture of excitement and activity which one might call paranormal activity. The whispers in the vents at night from Mister Nobody who apparently left the attic from the old house and now followed us to our new place months later whispered through the vents to my son and once told him “love her, take care of her.” I began to wonder if this was his guardian angel or something. Soon things changed again and my son began telling me how he was witnessing many different forms of ghosts just walking around our house, usually quietly floating in and out of the walls, some transparent, some dark shadows and one who looked just like his brother. Of course as a mom I believed him , who wouldn’t as prior to him being this five year old seeing ghosts I remembered only too clearly the two year old he was that experienced this same phenomenon. I knew in my heart of hearts he had no way of even comprehending what a ghost was before he was two and neither did I really. His gift of seeing those who have passed was not just his experience alone as these seeing occurrences were also followed by strange noises and other disturbances in our house, like the TV and stereo coming off and on by themselves and much more. Someone at my workplace knew a renown radio host who claimed to be a medium. I called her she told me my son was a medium as she was, she also called him an “indigo child.” her only advice was to be careful as all that he may see may not be good, and use Saint Micheal in case of emergencies, you know like when the small girl slide out from under his bed one night and smiled at him, yes Saint Micheal was called on then. She also told me to develop my own medium-ship so I could help him, “right who would do that, I was already terrified!”
Things have begun to quiet down in the last couple years after we had a couple of good scares, it would appear the smudging helps.
Boy do I have a few good ones of my own now to tell, maybe even some stories of my own emerging gift too, late bloomer I guess.
😉
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