The Paranormal & Supernatural
The first time I ever met Wanda, I picked up on several things. The first being, I noticed she was measuring me up with her clairvoyant abilities. I could feel her doing it.
I turned to face her and said, “I can do that, too, you know.” I knew what she was doing.
She smiled and said, “I know you can.”
Wanda was so clairvoyant that during the 70’s following the Vietnam Conflict, the government used her clairvoyance to locate many POW camps and rescue the survivors. She was very strong, indeed.
Although, I was not nearly as strong as Wanda was, I did have my own abilities, too. I sensed a presence in her home. It was so benign, so light, I almost didn’t recognize it. Like many other times, I just blew it off until one particular day:
Wanda and Papa Joe, as we called him, had gone on vacation one year, my husband and I were given the pleasure of tending to her fur baby. He was a little skittish of people, but he loved my husband and me so we got asked to look after him.
I had gone over one morning to feed him and take him out to potty. I heard him barking when I was unlocking the front door and was quite shocked that he took off running from me when I came in. I followed him into the bedroom where he was hidden under the bed afraid to come out.
I got down on all fours and called to him. He came toward me, stopped, and looked at something next to me. I absolutely felt something, or someone, next to me, on all fours, looking at what I was doing with complete curiosity.
“I’m trying to get the dog so I can take him outside to pee,” I explained to the unseen entity.
The presence moved away and the dog came to me. I took him out to do his thing, then brought him in and fed him. Before leaving I went to the bathroom myself and while I was in there, there was an unmistakable feeling of someone in there watching me again.
Since it worked the last time, I tried it again. “I’m only here to take care of the dog for Wanda and Papa Joe, now can I please have some privacy?”
The presence went away again. When Wanda came back I went over there and told her, “You have a ghost! He kept following me around.” I told her what happened.
She laughed and explained, “Yes, I know we have a ghost, but honestly, I thought you had met him already.”
She went on to tell me his name was Harold and he used to live there. Sometimes they knew he was there by the cigar scent they would sometimes smell other times they simply felt his presence.
“How do you know his name is Harold?” I asked, as I had not had conversations with spirits before that time.
“He told me,” she answered. “We’ve seen him, too. He’s an old man.”
Since then, I paid more attention when I was over there and whenever he came around, I’d just say, “Hello, Harold,” and he would wander off.
Papa Joe and Wanda are gone now, but when I drive past their old house I always think of that time and am reminded of their ghost. I can’t help but wonder how the new owners like Harold and does he like them.
I was standing in the kitchen cutting strawberries for my two-year old granddaughter. Meanwhile, she hijacked a bag of chips and was sitting in the hall behind me eating them. They were mine, or Momo’s, as she calls me.
Suddenly, I hear, ‘No, mine. Holly’s chip.”
I stop what I’m doing and think, utoh, not again, as I know their house has a ghost. I asked my granddaughter, “What did you say?”
She says (not to me, obviously), “No! Momo chip!”
She got up and brought them to me before going back into the living room.
I brushed it off, like I do most of the things I see, hear, and feel. However, an hour or so later, we were watching Boss Baby and I starting hearing a tapping noise as if someone were taking their finger and tapping it on a table. The OCD in me forced me to count the taps: 19 taps.
It stopped and I truly thought nothing of it more than something in the duct work of the AC and vent. Then it happened two more times, then tapping again, and again. There was no rhythm to it, no pattern… just random taps. All the more reason I was sure it was coming from the vent.
I got up and went to the bathroom and when I came back “it” started again only this time, it was across the room. Within minutes, it was back to me in front of the chair I was sitting next to.
It was so annoying that I turned up the TV to drown out the tapping sound. The TV was loud enough that had my daughter and her husband walked in, they would have asked me why the TV was up so loud.
The other thing that went up in volume was the tapping noise.
When I told my daughter and son-in-law about it, they brushed it off. My son-in-law said he hears it sometimes too but it’s all in the duct work underneath the house.
“You hear it coming up through the vent,” he says casually.
“Really? Where’s the vent?” I asked pointing to the fact there is no vent near the sofa (it sits in the middle of the room) or by the wall adjacent to the couch and coffee table.
He had no answer for that.
I had a dream that I was with my friend Shellie. She’s been deceased for several years now, but she was very much alive in the dream.
I have never been to jail before in my life, but here we were in jail together and she was my cellmate. I knew that if I were back on the streets, it would be dangerous for me. Equally, I knew if she were released and I were alone in my cell, it would be dangerous for me, as well.
One afternoon, I was sitting (in the cell) while Shellie went off with a guard. I had a paper shredder, which she hated, but I was using it since she was gone. When she came back, I tried to hide it… slide it under the cell’s table, but stopped when she told me that she’d just been to speak to the warden and she was being released, thus putting me in danger.
I have no idea why I felt she was my protection.
The dream ended with Shellie standing there, happy as can be, telling me she was getting released and going home.
As I was rousing from my sleep, I noticed the lamp over me was blaring and before I could cover my eyes, the lamp went dark, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a “click” as it was turned off. Was Shellie really standing there beside me, or not?
We used to have a little old lady with dementia and she was a feisty lil thing; bossy too. I was in the supply closet one night around 1 am, and I heard her behind me telling me 'put that back!"
First, I wondered how she followed me in there without me knowing it, then giggled a little that she was sneaky (and feisty) so as I grabbed things off the shelf, I asked her, "put what back, Mrs A?"
I turned to look at her when she didn't answer and that's when I remembered, she had died 4 days earlier. I never heard her again after that.
I used to let her sit up at night with me so she wouldn't crawl out of bed and I hated the restraints. I wonder if she were coming to tell me goodbye?
I received a call late one night from my sister. I knew it was her before I touched the phone and I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be good so, when I answered, I asked, “What happened?”
She paused for several seconds before she finally answered, “It’s Bruce… he’s had an accident.”
“What kind of accident?” I pressed.
“A motorcycle accident,” she answered. “He’s dead. He was at a stoplight and some young couple ran the red light. The girl was driving and she said Bruce just ran right into them head on.”
I was so shocked. I literally could not think of anything appropriate to say. All I managed was, “Did they charge the girl with anything?”
“I don’t know,” my sister went on, “Karl, (our brother) said the young girl is about eighteen and she was hysterical. The police told him that Bruce went right through the windshield and landed on top of her. She was screaming ‘Get the dead guy off me!’ and, of course, she was covered in his blood.”
We talked for a little while longer and I assured her that in the morning my husband and I would make preparations to go to Arizona. After all, there was nothing we could do until morning anyway. Also, we would have to make arrangements for our kids to stay with someone until we could get back home.
Without question, I stayed up all night. I couldn’t sleep a wink. By 5:00 that morning, I had decided I wasn’t going to fight it anymore and I’d just crash after I got the kids off to school.
My daughter, who was ten at the time, came trudging from her room, yawning, and wiping sleep from her eyes.
“I had a really bad dream last night,” she said through her yawns. She talked using her hands to demonstrate the events of her dream. “It was really weird. I kept dreaming that this man was on a motorcycle and he plowed right through the windshield of a car. He landed on this blonde girl who was driving and she was screaming for someone to get the dead guy off of her.”
“What did you say?” I asked. She had no way of knowing what had happened.
“Yeah, weird, huh?” she said with a laugh.
This was not the first time she’s come out and told me of her dreams and it turned out be something real; something that’s happened so, I don’t know why I was so surprised. “Do you know who the guy was?”
“Nope, I never saw him before in my life, or her, either, but she sure wanted that dead guy off her. She was all crazy and everything!”
Without telling her details of the accident, we did explain that her uncle had passed and we were going to fly out to Arizona the next morning. However, I kept thinking about what the driver said, “Get the dead guy off me!” and my daughter repeating those words verbatim.
Before leaving, I dug an old picture of Bruce out of a box I had with old pictures of my family. It was the only one I had of him and I left it on the table while I went to nap. I was going to show the picture to my daughter when they came in from school.
I heard them when they came in so I got up and started toward the kitchen. My daughter was standing at the table holding the old photograph of my brother when she said, “Hey, Mom, how did you get a picture of the dead guy from my dreams?”