The Paranormal & Supernatural

Apr. 27, 2018

We spent the evening watching a series of hauntings and ghost stories on TV one night. As we sat watching I was shaking my head in disbelief. I knew I would do things very differently making me an unusual kind of paranormal investigator. I could almost hear the responses coming from me.

The thing that amazed me the most was the investigators would call out the spirit and when they got a response they all acted surprised.

Me: Really? You told it to show itself and then you’re surprised when it does?

On one episode, they were investigating an abandoned asylum. The female investigator said she saw something on the camera they had positioned in the patient’s bathroom and was going to go check it out.

She got to the bathroom door and pushed it open. Tentatively, she stepped inside and immediately said, “Nope, I don’t see anything. Do you see anything on the camera?”

Her coworker denied seeing anything even when the woman insisted she “felt a presence.” She turned to go, pushed on the door, and then stopped. Suddenly, she started hollering, “Help! The door won’t open. What do I do?”

Me: Pull … pull the door, not push.

There were several shows that featured a haunted item. People who brought these things into their homes suddenly became victims of paranormal activity. The host of the show, “John,” would take his team in to investigate and try to locate the haunted item.

Just about every time something happened, the other investigators would say, “Go get John.”

John would show up and they’d tell him what happened and with a befuddled tone, John would say, “Okay…?”

He was probably thinking the same thing I was: You’re in a haunted house, what did you think was going to happen?

My favorite episode began with the investigators calling out the ghost. “Show yourself. Let us know you’re here.”

A sound off in the distance manifested. It sounded like a door opening and closing. The investigator that called out the ghost says to his partner, “What was that? Did you hear it?”

His partner’s response as he looks around was, “What in the hell is going on here?”

Me: … (blink, blink) Really?

I realize a lot of this is for show, but seriously, can’t they make it just a little more believable?

Feb. 20, 2018

When I was a young girl of about twelve or thirteen years old, we moved into a two-story house on Glenwood Avenue. The Old West End of Toledo was reputed to have many homes that were haunted so I thought we were safe since we only lived on the West End and not the Old West End. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Although, I never saw her, I felt her presence throughout the house many times, especially near the attic door. I have caught glimpses of something out of the corner of my eye, like a sudden movement. I would glance up or turn my head quick to see what it was and nothing would be there or it would already be gone.

As an adult, I often wonder if possibly she had died in the attic which was located at the very end of the hallway. My room was across from the only bathroom and closest to the attic door.

She liked the kitchen area, too. There were countless times, I would be at the sink washing dishes and feel her in there with me. Whenever I felt her, it was always accompanied with a sense of sadness. She was sad.

Apparently, I was not the only one who noticed our female ghost. Our German Shepard would often suddenly lift his head and follow someone or something with his eyes as they went from room to room. Sometimes his haunches would be up and he’s bark or growl. He usually stayed close to us children and on guard protecting us from anything human or paranormal.

One of my father’s friends mentioned it to my dad one night. “You know you have a ghost,” he said quite casually.

“How do you know that?” my dad asked.

“I saw her last night,” he answered. “She was going from the dining room into the kitchen. I went in there to look, but she was gone.”

I was clearing the table and overheard their conversation. I stopped for a minute and said, “It’s true, Dad. She likes the upstairs attic the best.”

“Have you seen her?” my dad asked me. I shook my head that I hadn’t seen her. “Then how do you know it’s a woman or that we even have a ghost?”

I thought a minute and then answered, “I can just feel her. I call her Mildred.”

Usually Mildred did not bother me. I didn’t like feeling her presence, but it wasn’t threatening so I could handle her well. The place I hated more than anything was the basement. For years, whenever I thought about that house, I always wondered why Mildred did not like for anyone to be in the basement.

It was obvious this was not a place to be. The feeling was so ominous that my stepmother refused to step foot in the basement and forced me to go down there and wash their clothes or to get them out of the dryer for her.

The dog refused to go into the basement. Several times I tried to take him downstairs with me. He’d make it to the landing where the backdoor was, but that was as far as he was going. Like my stepmother, he was afraid of the basement, too, and hated it.

A few times, I took my little brother down there with me and he always stayed close to me. For a curious boy who liked to explore, he did no exploring during those times. He would stand with me and stare into the back of the basement as if he were looking for something in the darkness and then run up the stairs when I was finished with the laundry.

Years later, I realized it wasn’t Mildred down there. There was something else, something dark and malicious. Mildred was sad and unnerving, but she was not ominous.

We moved when my father and his wife came home one night and met Mildred face-to-face. They were coming up the stairs to go to bed when Mildred made her presence known.

“She was just standing there, by the attic door,” my father recounted. “She was looking right at us and then she turned and floated into the attic door.”

“What did she look like?” I asked.

He thought about it before he answered, “She wore a long white dressing gown. She must have been going to bed when she died.”

“She floated?” I asked referring to his previous statement.

Dad nodded his head and with a shudder added, “We moved right after that. I wasn’t living there with a ghost.”

We moved from that house to a house on Highland Street. That house was also haunted, but I didn’t bother to tell him that. That’s a story for another time anyway. 

Oct. 29, 2017

I worked in a nursing home that was once an old Civil War hospital. I’ve written before, that for me, it holds the number one spot for the most haunted places in South Carolina. There is so much I could say about this place even though I only worked there for about six months.

One of the more disturbing things was the elevator. Because there were two floors, sometimes the staff was required to use the elevator, especially the kitchen when taking or picking up meal trays from floor to floor.

The elevator would mysteriously “breakdown” on occasion trapping whomever inside for an undetermined amount of time. It could be for two minutes or for two hours. As a rule, no one was allowed to use it once maintenance was gone for the night as no one would be there to “work” on the elevator to get it running again should it breakdown.

In fact, there was an incident where one of the maintenance men used it to bring his cart down from the second floor and he was trapped for about two hours. Just as suddenly as it stopped, the elevator started up again and released him.

“Aren’t you afraid to use it?” I asked one of the kitchen workers one morning as she prepared to load the elevator with a cart full of breakfast trays.

“Naw, I’ve been stuck before,” she answered. “I just said out loud that I needed to get the food upstairs to the patients before it got cold and next thing I know, it started working again.”

While maintenance insisted the problem was something electrical, she was of the belief it were the ghostly wanderers that caused the mysterious breakdowns.

The last night I worked there was graveyard shift. I was walking to a patient’s room when I saw a man standing in the doorway of a room. He was looking right at me and followed me with his eyes the whole way past him. He was just standing there with his crutches watching me with a lot of curiosity, so I greeted him.

I felt something was out of place with this man when I stopped briefly and asked him, “Are you having a hard time sleeping?” He didn’t answer. Knowing that most of our patients have sleeping pills ordered, I offered, “Would you like me to bring you something for sleep?”

He was about three feet away from me, but he continued to stare at me and not answer. I promised I’d check in on him on my way back to the desk, however, while I was in the other room, it occurred to me what was out of place. The patient had no legs and not through amputation, either. There were no legs there only his upper torso from about the knees up! I shuddered when I went past his room back to the desk.

I asked the CNA. about it when she came up front. She laughed and said, “You must be talking about the soldier. Several have seen him standing in his doorway just watching everyone. He had crutches?”

“Yes, he was on crutches,” I answered numbly.

“That was him.”

I called the nurse, Hettie, from the nurse’s station down the hall. I guess I was visibly shaken because she came right away.

“Oh it happens all the time,” Hettie said. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen in this place, especially that second floor. It’s the worst floor in the place for ghosts and haunts.”

I agreed: the second floor was so terrible that I almost clocked out and went home one night because they tried to assign that floor to me and I refused. I reminded her of that night, as Hettie was the one who saved me and agreed to work the floor for me. Yeah, I knew.

She asked if I knew about “Pink Night” at the nursing home. Hettie explained that it happens whenever it rains. She chuckled when I said I had not heard of it before. That was about to change, though. Several minutes later, we heard the first indication of a thunderstorm coming and shortly after, we heard the rain as it poured down from the heavens.

Hettie, who was leaned at the desk-counter with her hand on her hip, stood straight and walked to where she could see the hallway in full view. With another light chuckle she said, “Michelle, come here. I want you to see Pink Night.”

I stood and walked to my co-worker who turned me around and pointed down the hallway. There had to have been twelve to fourteen different specters roaming around in the hall from that back stairwell all the way up to about five feet from where we stood.

Some were full-bodied apparitions, most were partial or just a head and neck. I don’t think any of them left the hallway other than to go in and out of the rooms. The most uncanny thing about them was the fact, they were all a transparent pink, hence the name “Pink Night.” 

Jul. 17, 2017

I went to interview a couple about their haunted Rhem house for an up coming story for Halloween. We went into this particular room and I snapped this picture (the first picture). I chose the back corner becasue my hostess informed me it was a haunted room. Five minutes later, the man of the house realized he was in the photo so he asked for a retake: the second picture.

After we'd toured the whole house (about 30 minutes later) and we're coming down the hall back toward this room, she adds that her sister insists there is a demon in the corner behind the plant. I step back into the room and take the third picture.

Later, I was going through all of my snapshots and I noticed something odd about the third picture. Look at the plant and on the wall next to the fireplace. Can any of you see it?

The first thing I noticed was the last picture was much brighter than the other two, but...there are other things there that were not in the first two snapshots.


I swear it is not doctored as I am not savvy enough to do those things. I blew up the picture to make sure, too. My husband looked and he sees it. Does anyone else see it? Please tell me I'm not crazy.


Jul. 17, 2017

I was touring an old Confederate (inside a fenced area) and Slave (in the woods) cemetery that is now overrun with grass, tree, and other forest debris.

This graveyard is so old, it dates back to the late 1600's, pre-Revolutionary War days as well as pre-Civil War. Some of the headstones are just leaned up against the trees. Over time, tree roots have pushed the headstones up and dislodged them so people respectfully laid them against the trees for preservation purposes.

I snapped this picture of one of the 1685 (year) gravestones. When I came home and downloaded the pictures, I saw it. I did not see it when I took the snapshot. Do you see what I see?