Real Life Ghost Stories
Remember the movie The Sixth Sense? That was me. When my mom saw the film, she called me and said, Wow, now I understand! I was that kid hiding in a closet surrounded by my toy horses, my fingers in my ears to shut out the voices of the hovering spirits. I was the little Jewish girl on my knees in every Catholic church, covering myself with holy water and genuflecting in the hopes it would keep the ghosts away. But they kept coming and they scared me nearly to death! Of course they didn't look like they did in movie. Ghosts look like they did in life, unless they are quite distressed and then they are kind of a ball of chaotic energy.
Took me years to come to terms with the fact that I see and hear ghosts. They come for a reason - because they have unfinished business that they want me to finish. I generally refuse. It's not that I'm not sympathetic, it's just that...well...exactly how would you approach a complete stranger and say...uh...I just spoke with your dead brother and uh... I can't bring myself to do it. I have only passed on messages on those occasions when I knew I could make a difference and the person I was asked to contact wouldn't be likely to call the police.
Over the years, I've lived in three haunted houses - one in Iowa, two in Utah - that darn Utah - and met some pretty interesting spirits out here in Cali. My favorite is this very handsome Native American man I see when I hike. I see him on one particular trail in one particular place. He's caught in time, stalking a deer, just beyond a pile of fallen rock. He always appears in the autumn, just before the rains begin. I stand still and watch him. He's bent over, walking silent as a big cat, all his attention focused on whatever is ahead of him. His chest is bare, he wears deerskin leggings and moccasins. His hair is long and braided and tied with a deerskin thong. I wish he could see and hear me, but he can't, so my dog and I stand and watch until he vanishes into thin air. Oh yeah, my dog can see him too. Nothing stirs with his passing aside from my heart. It's such a poignant moment and I wonder why he's stranded there, in the midst of this one act. Did he die that day? Or is this simply a reflection of what was? Perhaps one day, if only in a story, he'll stop and turn and see me. And I'll know the answer.
Took me years to come to terms with the fact that I see and hear ghosts. They come for a reason - because they have unfinished business that they want me to finish. I generally refuse. It's not that I'm not sympathetic, it's just that...well...exactly how would you approach a complete stranger and say...uh...I just spoke with your dead brother and uh... I can't bring myself to do it. I have only passed on messages on those occasions when I knew I could make a difference and the person I was asked to contact wouldn't be likely to call the police.
Over the years, I've lived in three haunted houses - one in Iowa, two in Utah - that darn Utah - and met some pretty interesting spirits out here in Cali. My favorite is this very handsome Native American man I see when I hike. I see him on one particular trail in one particular place. He's caught in time, stalking a deer, just beyond a pile of fallen rock. He always appears in the autumn, just before the rains begin. I stand still and watch him. He's bent over, walking silent as a big cat, all his attention focused on whatever is ahead of him. His chest is bare, he wears deerskin leggings and moccasins. His hair is long and braided and tied with a deerskin thong. I wish he could see and hear me, but he can't, so my dog and I stand and watch until he vanishes into thin air. Oh yeah, my dog can see him too. Nothing stirs with his passing aside from my heart. It's such a poignant moment and I wonder why he's stranded there, in the midst of this one act. Did he die that day? Or is this simply a reflection of what was? Perhaps one day, if only in a story, he'll stop and turn and see me. And I'll know the answer.
.jpg)
