When I started my fourth grade year I was once again starting from scratch. New in town, new in school and new to the kids surrounding me. I managed to make a few friends easily enough, but my favorite for the few months that I attended that particular school wasn’t one who was able to play with me on the playground with all of the other children.

I don’t think I placed it at first with other paranormal events in my life, probably because it took a while to realize that Sam wasn’t a living kid like all of the others. He sat in a desk sometimes, in other moments he wouldn’t be looking out the window while the teacher stood at the head of the room talking. I had heard nothing of the school before hand and if it had a reputation for being a haunted school, I saw nothing of it. I have looked back since and can find no reports of a death there, so why Sam liked to hang around…well that’s between him and the walls I guess.

The point is that during that time I was still becoming familiar with the concept and I still sometimes mistook the haunting and ghosts, or other paranormal beings, for part of the normal world that everyone else would also be aware of.

It took a couple of weeks for me to speak with Sam. It happened in the large closet where all of our cubbies for coats, gloves and such were kept. I was the last one in the room at the end of a bitterly cold day. I was having trouble buttoning the large jacket I needed to wear for the walk home.

Sam stepped inside and asked me if I needed help. I told him I did and he proceeded to help me, though he seemed to have as much trouble as I did and eventually I took over the job again and managed it. Whether he was able to actually touch my coat and buttons or not, I have never been absolutely sure, but I do think he tried.

With my task finished, I was able to look at him more closely as we talked and it was then that I noticed, up close for the first time really, that he didn’t look quite right. No gashes or gaping holes or bloody injuries, nothing of that sort, just…off somehow.

We spoke for a little while, normal chitchat. When I finally set off for home I asked if he would like to walk with me. It was then I think I knew for sure that he wasn’t on the attendance list. The look he gave me wasn’t sad, but surprised. He said he didn’t walk home and I left it at that.

I started staying behind whenever I could after that to speak with Sam. I never asked him if he was dead or not being like the rest of the kids. He told me about his family, his favorite toys (which I now realize were fairly outdated,) and his favorite television shows (also a bit on the older side.)

I often watched his behavior in the class when we were all working and quiet. Sometimes he would sit at his desk and work with the rest of us, he even appeared to have a pencil and paper, which I now know must have been some kind of an illusion as I believe other students may have noticed the moving pencil without a hand to guide it.

Most of the time he fit right in, but occasionally he would just get up and walk into the closet or sit on the window sill, something I should have noticed before as it undoubtedly would have caught the teacher’s attention if he had been one of her students.

Eventually I think we became friends. Not the sort that can go to the park together and we never did breech that subject of “Are you a ghost?” Still, he was kind and interesting.

Years later I tried to find out if he had attended the school at any point in time. I could find nothing that could confirm it, but there was one photo, a class picture that I could swear included him. No way to be sure, but perhaps.

What I can say is that though Sam did seem to be stuck in the school, I don’t think he was unhappy. In so many cases people believe that if ghosts are hanging about it must be because they are upset about something, but I don’t think that is always the case.

What he did in the hours when those halls were vacant, what he thought of the time when there were no children to watch, or even ones like me who he could, once in a while, chat with…I don’t know. I hope that he is happy and that some day he might move onto wherever it is he needs to go. In the meantime I will think of him as I do many childhood friends I passed from town to town and wish him well.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

Jumping ahead again to one of the most haunted places in my home anyway, the two overstuffed armchairs in front of my sitting room fireplace. It is a perfect spot for curling up with a good book, or good conversation and I have come to think of it as rather the perfect little nook.

I have had several experiences in which something akin to a fire ghost might be drawn to flame, often the bigger the better, but I wouldn’t say that is what draws back a regular friend of mine who has been hanging about in that spot for years now off and on.

I believe the real cause of the paranormal activity in this location is my own feeling about it and my regular stays in that one spot.

I have on many nights found myself in the middle of so much activity that it seems too small a space to hold so many different beings, though certainly they are not restricted to the same special confinements we are. On other nights I get only a few minutes of a little oddity here and there and then all is quiet.

On one night, a little over a year ago, a paranormal friend (not exactly a ghost,) came to visit and was quite excited though he would not reveal the source of his jubilant mood. He merely told me to make certain that the wood in the fireplace was good and dry and then to get comfortable and wait, he even invited me to read while he went off to do whatever it was he needed to do in order to accomplish his task.

After about two hours he returned and told me to be ready. As I watched, I saw sparks begin the flutter here and there in the logs. Eventually there was smoke and finally a good flame. Within a half an hour I had a roaring fire that had seemingly come from nowhere.

When I congratulated my friend on his accomplishment he informed me that he was not responsible for the fire at all, but had found another being that could perform such tasks. Though I had great difficulty communicating with that other being we managed between the three of us.

That was the only night I have ever witnessed that particular act, but every year when the weather turns cold I wonder whether or not I will once again be treated to a fire show and the wonder that such an amazing feat can be performed by a being I might not otherwise even know was present.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

One of my best Halloween experiences happened early on in my childhood, probably around seven or eight years old.

I went trick-or-treating as most children did, dressed as a black cat, which was not terribly creative, but definitely appropriate.

My evening started out with the same wonder and electric excitement as all of those early Halloween nights, when just before dark you set out with your parents (so you felt pretty safe) but all of the unusual sights made the night extremely special and even a trifle scary.

There was a very large house that gave out whole candy bars and another (though I never did find out which) that slipped a twenty dollar bill into my decorated candy bag – that as a nice surprise later on!

The most memorable house however wasn’t because of the treats they gave, or even the decorations they used, which were both lovely but mild compared to some other places. The house was one I remember well because it was absolutely packed with ghost animals.

I remember approaching the door and seeing a black cat, noticing particularly because of the way I was dressed, and feeling delighted. Then I spotted another feline and another and another. Then I noticed a few large dogs sleeping a little ways from the front porch under a tree.

Eventually I saw other animals too, some that had no business hanging about outside of a residential home. One in particular was a flamingo…not something you’re apt to forget seeing unexpectedly!

It took me a few minutes, but eventually I understood that the animal menagerie wasn’t a living one. My parents were back on the street and the trees surrounding the place gave me enough cover to gawk without drawing any attention to myself.

As I slowly approached the porch I took my time watching as one animal would slip through a tree and another would leap in a way I doubt it ever could have in life. If any of them noticed me they gave no real sign of it and though I had been seeing such paranormal beings for some time, because they were keeping to themselves (and there were so many of them) I began to feel a little nervous.

At one point I remember stepping on a twig; the snapping sound it made under my foot scared the dickens out of me and caused me to pause in alarm. None of the animals seemed to notice or care however and I continued on towards the steps to the porch.

The door opened just as I reach the last step and an older woman came out festively dressed as a witch. She had a wonderful, black cane that matched her outfit perfectly, though she relied on it so much I’m not sure it was a prop.

The woman smiled at me and held out a bowl of candy. I took my piece still very aware of the animals behind me (and a few on the porch as well,) and looked to the woman for any sign that she could detect what was all around her. She simply smiled as I thanked her and wished me “Happy All Hallow’s.”

The woman made her way back inside and was shutting the door when one of the dogs let out a loud, deep bark. This set off several of the other animals (including the flamingo) and with in just a few seconds we were surrounded by a chorus of animal voices.

As this happened I watched the woman pause, still holding the door part way open. She looked back at me and I knew my face gave away what my ears (or some other sense) could not ignore. I almost spoke, to say what I’m not sure, but before I could the woman gave me another of her warm smiles. She then raised a finger to her lips and breathed. Though I could not hear the noise she made over the din, I knew the action as well as anyone might: Shhh.

I grinned back at her and suddenly felt no fear at all. She did not seem upset by her visitors or even surprised and this gave me a great deal of comfort.

I skipped back to my parents, only glancing at the surrounding beasts and continued on my hunt for more candy.

The following year I returned to that house, but a man answered the door along with his daughter who was very small. The house looked different, newer and fixed up. I assume now that it was sold between holidays and a new family moved in.

There were no animals, ghost or otherwise and no old lady with a warm smile. The wonder of the place was gone, but I still smiled at it and wished it well, for in those few moments I had learned that though there were many things I did not understand, I was not alone in them.

Happy Halloween to all of you out there and may your night be filled with wonders, perhaps some that even allow you just a glimpse of the other beings and worlds that we share our own with.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

During one of our longer stays in one place (they were few and far in between I assure you,) I often visited a park that was a short walk from the back of the property we lived on. The park had been designed by a brilliant landscape artist who had a passion for water and had thus created a walking area filled with the music of falls and slow moving streams.

My first visit to this place was with my parents, we often took strolls around the neighborhoods of our new homes before they would each disappear into their busy lives. I suppose you could say it had become a ritual, a way of blessing and enjoying our temporary residence while taking in the new sights around us.

On that first day we arrived at the park at just about twilight and I ran ahead as I so often did to admire one of the streams that cleverly fell into a small pond below. The sound of it will to this day be one of my favorites in the world and I think I might have stayed there mesmerized forever had I not heard someone humming close by.

I stood up, for I had been kneeling close to the bank, and looked about expecting to see my parents approaching. I did spot them, but they were far off on the other side of the park. As I continued to look around me I finally noticed a woman, very slight and unearthly looking, tracing the water in the pond with her bare feet. She was across the way from where I was and fairly well hidden by the taller grasses that ran wild back from the paths.

I had not expected to encounter any ghost activity that day, but I suppose in a way I was always ready for it. After enough paranormal experiences it takes a great deal to truly surprise you, although I’m not sure you ever completely get over the slightly startled feeling.

I waved at her, still not certain that she wasn’t a living person…but knowing that she didn’t look quite right.

The woman smiled and waved back at me without breaking her soft humming. She then drew a water lily from the pocket of her dress and set it a float on the water. It moved right to me and I plucked it out before it reached the bank.

It was a beautiful flower, not crushed at all from its previous owner, but full and bright and soft to the touch.

When I looked up again the woman was surrounded by them and had moved into the water. She was only about calf deep when she suddenly laughed and sank all the way under. The fading light made it difficult to see, but the floor of the pond beneath was clearly visible…she was gone.

I waited for a few moments watching the lilies, but she did not return.

A few days later I went back to that spot, on my own this time. There were few people about the park and after a short time even they left leaving me to myself.

I waited for some time, enjoying the sounds and feeling of the cool rushing water, but nothing happened that day. Or the next, or the next.

It was a friend of my father’s that gave me the help I needed. I overheard them discussing that my parents might want to warn me against swimming in any of the shallow pools for a woman had drowned there and she quite the swimmer.

It was the flora at the bottom that had grabbed her, tangled her up and prevented her from otherwise easily finding her breath.

The event had taken place sometime ago and rumors of her haunting the park that had once been well known were by then all but forgotten, but my father’s friend did mention that people spoke of it when he was young and especially of the tune she would hum during these encounters..

Once I had the name of the song I asked my mother for a copy. She purchased the album for me and I learned it by heart. I even learned to play it on the piano, though not terribly well, as always.

Armed with my knowledge of her favorite song and a name, Anne, I returned to the park and the very spot where I had first seen her. I hummed my heart out and sang and whistled hoping to gain the interest of the musical ghost and perhaps even speak with her.

After a little while of this I noticed a lily in the water, then two and then many. Again, the light was fading, but was still plentiful enough to see that the small pond had been filled with them. I hummed louder.

Eventually my ears picked up on not one voice but two, humming in unison. It lasted for maybe twenty minutes or so and then I was alone, with a dry throat that begged for relief from my unusual new practice.

I returned to that park many times over years, even after we had moved away. The woman’s descendants still live in the nearby town, but they were reluctant to discuss the connection or the subject at all. I have found that this is often more true than not and though I can’t completely understand it I try to respect the wishes of those who would rather not know.

I never saw the woman again, but even visiting a couple of decades later I would still see the water lilies and be able to enjoy a chorus of humming. I have even brought along a few choice friends to witness it, adoring the expressions on their faces when they begin to see and hear the stories I’ve told them come to life.

I have heard people speak of ghosts who continue to haunt as if something were wrong with them and in some cases that might be true. As for Anne, I never felt that she was unhappy or lost, simply acting on an impulse that I had myself on that first visit: to stay forever near the sound of the tiny falls.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

One of the most amazing houses I ever lived in as a child was on a little farm road called Birch Lane that was dappled with beautiful greenery down the entire stretch and almost made you feel as though you were heading into a secret world.

The home was old and drafty and we didn’t stay there very long; just long enough to unpack and repack the boxes that followed me throughout my childhood. The house was another thing as well: Big! I remember running from room to room trying to see how fast I get around the main floor; flying upstairs (not literally, but almost) to do the same on the floors above. It was a wonderful old place.

As it turned out, the three of us were not the only residence of the place, though we were almost certainly the only legal tenants. In our brief stay there I encounter many different beings, some I would call ghosts and others would fall into that unknown category I have haphazardly tossed together over the years.

One in particular I became quite familiar with and by the time I left I might have even said we were friends, in a way. His name was Henry and he definitely fell into that unknown bracket. I couldn’t exactly call him a ghost, because he had no recollection of ever being a person. Now, while one can’t assume that this means he didn’t at one time have a life, it is important to note that I specified person, not living. From Henry’s description the term alien might have been more appropriate, though he certainly didn’t appear to be a little green man, to use the cliché.

Henry claimed he had come from the stone in the house, not attached to it as many paranormal stories go, but actually of the stone. On this point he was very clear. Henry also claimed that the stone had not come from the earth, but that shards of it had come from places too far to imagine and had too long ago to remember landed here in fragments so small they had become part of the earth.

I can tell you at the time I believed him. Years later I didn’t. These days after everything I have seen, I just can’t be sure. I think Henry believed his own story and that was good enough for me at the time. I really only know one thing; there is so much we do not understand that I don’t feel comfortable dismissing stories that seem strange simply because they don’t fit into a traditional idea of what a paranormal being should be like. Think of how preposterous that is after all…of course then again so is the very idea of the supernatural to so many. Last time I checked the numbers were somewhere around 45% of the world’s population believing that such things even exist! I am losing track here, forgive me.

One of Henry’s favorite pastimes was compiling stones into what he called “marches.” I have done a bit of digging on this and found the word march linked to many different things: from hammer to boundary to the etymology of the month itself which is linked to the Roman god Mars. So as to why he named his stone piles this, I do not know, nor do I know that it was relevant.

Henry’s marches would appear all over the house and in the yard; often in small piles of rocks no larger than dimes and on a few occasion boulders too large to be carried even by a strong man, though thankfully those were always outside.

It was around this time that I think both of my parents truly began, perhaps not to believe, but to become more comfortable with the idea that I could see, hear and sense strange things. I told them the rock piles were okay, and because Henry always cleaned up his creations within a day of constructing them, the inconvenience was often minimal, so my parents didn’t inquire much further than that. Of course these days I have given them much more detailed accounts (my but some people become inquisitive with age!) but back then I believe they were both so busy that anything short of life threatening didn’t make the agenda for taking out time to understand.

I was the only one who ever really went into the attic, which was where Henry liked to be most often. Up there he built and rebuilt many of his marches and on a few occasion I even helped out. There was another ghost in the attic, or perhaps the only ghost, but that one was far less friendly. When the other one was present, I never did get a name, it was more of a scary paranormal experience because it always appeared to be upset. When Henry was around however, his presence seemed to either keep  away or at least keep it from being known to me.

The same was true around the rest of the house. Though Henry was just about as friendly as I could have hoped for, he seemed to drive off other beings in the house. I remember asking him why, but I don’t think I understood his explanation. Over my head at that age I suppose, or perhaps any age given the circumstances.

I spoke with Henry often while we lived in that place. He often asked about simple things while I would pummel him with larger universal questions that I didn’t even understand myself. I wish I had written it down, but when asking similar questions today I am only a little more enlightened or well informed, so perhaps it’s just as well.

Now as to some things you may be wondering about, I will try to answer the questions I have most often received when remembering this tale to others:

• Did I see Henry: Yes and no. His form was always a bit wobbly. I might have said he did look human at the time, blurry, but person shaped. Today I believe I would have to say I think he tried to look human, perhaps even for my benefit.
• Could I hear Henry: Most often not with my ears, but on occasion he would speak out loud. My parents were each witnesses to this, on more than one occasion, but we did not really speak of it then. They both remember hearing the voice, though not the exact words, to this day.
• When Henry made his marches did I or anyone else see the stones move? Yes. I did see what essentially looked like foggy images lifting rocks. On one occasion my mother also witnessed Henry putting a final stone in place in the kitchen.
• Do I have any pictures of Henry: No. My family did photograph some of the stone piles at the time and I debated about whether or not to place those here, but in truth they are not particularly interesting nor do they give any validity to this story for anyone who wasn’t present at the time. It isn’t as if I have video of Henry putting his creations together, now that would really be something!

I believe that covers the basics. When we moved away I asked Henry to visit me. He said he would try, but I never saw him outside of that house. I returned years later to that place as an adult, but the house was gone. The road was no longer a sleepy entrance to another world either. It was quite sad and I found no whisper of Henry or his marches. I also did a bit of research about the house and found nothing about Henry and only one old account of the home being reputed to be haunted.

The experience helped me to come to terms with the  idea: that even a concept as difficult to believe in at times as ghosts can be, there is so much more to the paranormal than that. I doubt I’ll ever even see the tip of the iceberg, but it sure is interesting to think about how far that might very well go.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

The first of my Ouija board experiences were much like those of many other people in some ways and in others not at all. To begin with it seemed to be a game. I went with a friend and we looked around hoping to buy ouija board toys for her birthday party and that is what they seemed to me: toys. We found ones that glowed in the dark and some that came in funny colors; others looked much grander (and were far more expensive,) having that mystical, aged appearance.

I think the one we settled on was some massed produced piece, after all we were kids just looking to have fun and I never actually thought that such a device might work. For one thing I could already talk with ghosts, what need had I for a communication device? For another, it just seemed silly!

Being surrounded by paranormal events so often I guess I didn’t share the excitement of the other girls at the party, but I wanted to fit in…as I so often tried (and failed) to do. So I joined in the fun as we darkened the room and tried to make the atmosphere as befitting to spirits as possible.

When the planchette began to move I was interested, but I also assumed someone was moving it. Assumed that it until I noticed that just outside of our giggling, oooing and aahing circle was what appeared to be the ghost of a little boy. He was just behind two girls about halfway around the circle from me and he was watching board intently.

I looked very deliberately at him, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, he in fact seemed to be enjoying himself with the toy we had in front of us. So I kept on with the game.

We asked all sorts of silly questions as young girls will and after a time somebody’s sweet tooth won out over paranormal curiosity so the group fell apart bit by bit. I was at the end left with just one other girl and of course the boy.

Her name escapes me all of the years later, but I do know she was wearing a yellow hat. It was a bright, loud piece of clothing that I never would have worn for fear of drawing too much attention to myself. This made me like and admire her boldness.

The girl was leaving on a trip the very next day, camping if memory serves. She asked the board about the trip, nothing too outrageous, just questions about the weather and what she might see. It was at this point that the boy got very upset and repeatedly told her not to go. He would not say why and judging from the look on his face, I might venture to say he didn’t know exactly.

When, after a time, the board continued to repeat this warning over and over, the girl finally shrugged and said she was tired of playing. I knew she hadn’t taken the warning seriously and even began to fear that she would think that I had asked this of her. We both let go of the planchette and I asked her if she was still going to go on her trip. She said something about the entire experience being silly and how naturally she would still be going. I remember she looked bothered, but as young as we were how would she have gotten out of it anyway? Most parents would not take such a message very seriously and most would be right not to.

After she spoke, the planchette began to shake on the board and finally rose up off it maybe a few inches. It stayed there, shaking just a bit in the air before falling back down again. Both the girl and I were silent during this little display. I, because I had seen such things before and understood this to be a way of getting attention; she because she had not and I believe it scared her.

We were the only two in the room when it happened. Once the planchette dropped the girl got up, gave me a funny look and left the room to join the others. The boy sighed and looked at me. I thought he might explain, but he made no move to speak. Someone called me from the next room after a time and I joined the rest of the girls who were raiding the kitchen for treats. The boy was gone when I peeked in later.

The experience was not terribly noteworthy in itself. In time I would have many more that were far more amazing and of value to me. In the end I took two things away from it: One that I really had to be careful about what I shared with others. If a moving piece of plastic is frightening, the rest is simply unimaginable.

The second thing came days later when a friend of mine called to tell me that the girl’s family had been in a car wreck. No one was killed, but the girl did get her leg broken along with some other minor injuries. Though I was sorry to hear it, I still didn’t feel as though it was quite the catastrophic event that the ghost boy seemed to feel it was. That night he had seemed to be to be filled with dread and I couldn’t quite see this accident as being the cause of it.

Years later, in my teens, I had the opportunity to speak with the girl who had broken her leg. We were at a party and she had been drinking quite a lot. It was one of those moments when a familiar face, any familiar face seems like cause for celebration and she shocked me with a hug and a very warm, if not somewhat clumsy welcome. We talked for a while and she got to telling me about what a bad place she was in.

As she explained her unfortunate circumstances she eventually made her way back to that night and filled me in on the accident I’d heard about. She explained how she had been unable to play soccer that year after her injury and hadn’t gone back to it once she’d healed. From there she seemed to steadily lose interest in school and other activities and had managed to drift down the path she was currently on, which made her very unhappy.

In the end, in a round-a-bout sort of intoxicated way, she pinpointed that accident as the beginning of her fall. Though she never specifically brought up being warned by the board, I could tell she was thinking of it and the possibilities if she had managed to follow the advice.

Now I personally don’t believe that one accident can be held accountable for all of life’s misery. We make our own choices and I would bet that the girl had plenty of opportunities to get herself back on track. I do however wonder, not about the warning or the domino of events that took place, but at why the boy knew what he did. Was it the boy at all? If so, did he see it stretching out that far, or was it simply the accident he tried to warn her against?

I have received some answer to these questions over the years from beings involved in similar situations, but they vary and leave much to wonder about.

Moving around as much as I did I only ever got fragments of people’s lives and seldom even that; but last I heard the girl was fine, on her way to becoming a veterinarian and engaged to a friend of her brother’s.

Did it matter in the end? Who can say. But I certainly thought of Ouija boards a bit differently, though I have some different theories on just how that all works. That is for another time and another section, so for now be well and be careful.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

Over the years I have found that one of the most frustrating aspects of dealing with paranormal experiences is the inconsistency, especially pertaining to the ability to move objects.

Now as my understanding of how telekinesis works goes I believe that what paranormal beings achieve when moving objects may be more closely related to that talent than actually touching the material things of our world, but who can say for sure?

The point is that the ability to ask a being to move an object and actually have the event take place is a difficult task. It can happen, has happened and will again, but in many cases they seem to be either unable or unwilling to perform such tasks and for those looking for some hard evidence of a supernatural occurrence I know this can be very frustrating.

When I was young and first experimenting with what paranormal beings could do I got into the habit of playing board games with them. I would wait for a ghostly encounter of some kind and then request that the being present try to play along. For a short period of time, I was even able to include a trusted friend in this experience and the results for a time were amazing.

Though I am fairly certain most people would not consider a board game the most efficient piece of paranormal equipment I can assure you watching a piece move around a board or dice being overturned by an invisible force is a great deal of fun.

During one such instance my friend and I were lucky enough to get a few paranormal beings together to play the board game Life. It was such a delight to watch those brightly colored cars move about the board, though at times they toppled over once the pegs representing children were in place. The spinner seemed to present  a bit of a challenge for them, the turns were weak at best and in the end we offered to spin for them so they could achieve better turns on the wheel.

The experiences were important to me because they seemed to take away that barrier between our living world and wherever, or whatever, those beings were. For just a little while we were all just happy to be playing a game and having fun together. This gave me an unusual glimpse away from the way the paranormal is traditionally thought of into a possible future where these events aren’t so shrouded in mystery.

It has been an age since I was able to play a game with a being, but in remembering that brief time when we played so often I am compelled to attempt it again. I will let you know how it goes and I encourage you to give it a try the next time you have a visitor stop in who has some time to spare.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

Growing up we often went to our summer house just a week or two after school let out and I was often allowed to bring a friend. I have many happy memories of these summers; how they seemed to stretch out forever like completely separate countries where all of the rules changed. Bedtimes were extended and desserts more indulgent. There were no school uniforms and few plans, except the ones my friends and I would make the previous night in whispers, forgetting almost all of them by morning.

Each day could be a new adventure there and often was. So go the memories of childhood.

===> Click Here Professional Paranormal Equipment Click Here <===

One summer was particularly eventful for me for two reasons: one I was given a task to accomplish over the summer (which I was none too pleased about) and two, I saw paranormal activity close to our summer home, which had before seemed an escape from anything of the kind.

The task was to continue practicing my piano lessons for an end of the summer event in which I was to perform.  A piano had been brought in to the lower salon just for this purpose and I remember eyeing it with disdain. It seemed a dull and ridiculous thing in a place where freedom came in abundance and being lazy was almost a rule.

It was certainly not the first time music had been played in our home, I know the radio had been on during many warm evenings and my parents had hosted several small gatherings in my time which may have had musical accompaniment as well.

This was certainly the first time I had played anything in the house, being miserably unskilled at anything but the piano forte (and not much talented there either.) So it was that on the first evening when I sat down to practice that the strangeness began.

Now at this point in my life I had already experienced seeing ghosts a little, but that mainly consisted of animal spirits. The haunted locations we had lived at from time to time had never become active enough to be thought of as normal.

So there I was, relatively new to the world of ghosts in human form and frowning at the keys even as my hands swept over them.

===> Click Here Free Psychic Reading Click Here <===

I was practicing Beethoven, the piece I was supposed to play. I liked it plenty when listening to it, but to actually play it made it lose its appeal. Each note was so familiar to me by then and yet I kept making mistake after mistake. I remember complaining aloud, especially because I was the only one in the room.

It was then that I noticed a piece of paper that had been laid on top the piano moving about. I glanced around me, but none of the windows were open and no fans were on in the room. I continued to play (badly) for another few minutes as I watched paper moved to and fro in time with the music. It seemed to be dancing.

In the shadowy room this moving paper took on an eerie quality that I don’t believe would have been so if it had been full daylight. I stopped all at once, bringing the notes to a harsh and abrupt ending. The paper fell immediately.

I waited for a time. Staring at the paper. When nothing happened I returned to my practicing and grumbling. The paper flew up again, twirling on only the edge of the sheet, spinning around and around and then sliding all of the way to the edge of the glossy wood.

I kept playing and watching. I knew the notes and keys well enough by then not to need the music entirely.

The paper floated from the piano and began whirling around the room. I kept playing.

As this continued for some time I began to see something around the paper and to notice that if one looked closely it did not appear as if the paper was dancing, but that something attached to it was.

After a while longer I could see the outline of a woman, holding the paper and dramatically spinning about the room. It was faint and difficult to see as the room became thick with shadows, but it was certainly there.

===> Click Here Professional Paranormal Equipment Click Here <===

I became aware after a few more minutes that I could hear someone, or something, humming the tune along with my playing and though I couldn’t be sure it was coming from the being dancing around the room, I guessed that it was.

In truth this all seemed like something out of a story book at the time. The shadowy room, the music, the whirling ghost. Only the paper in her hands kept making it real. You see it was a flyer, an advertisement that had been left by the moving company and the color was a shocking green that had no place in a story book ghost story.

Eventually I stopped playing. The ghost vanished and the paper fell to the floor.

I practiced again the following evening and the one after that. The being reappeared each time in the same way only varying her dance a little each time.

On the fifth night I asked my friend (who usually used my practice time to call home and check in with her own parents) to join me in the room. I should have warned her, but for some reason I thought it might not work if I did.

I played the song. The being whirled around the room with that same too bright green paper (I took it with me every night to keep it safe.) My friend was more than shocked, she ran from the room screaming. It took me a half an hour to find her and when I did she didn’t want to talk about it.

The next morning at breakfast my mother informed me that my friend had asked her if she could go home early and wanted to know if we had quarreled. I said we had not, but that perhaps it was too hot for her. This was easily accepted.

For the rest of the summer I practiced and the ghost would appear. I’m fairly certain it was a ghost, rather than some other sort of being. The way she seemed to remember the music made me feel as though she had once lived.

We never spoke and she never came at any other time of day. I practiced in the morning and as late at night as I was allowed, but it was only that late afternoon time of long shadows that would summon her to dancing, and the music that could keep her there.

This experience led to many more experiments with ghosts and other beings and their relationship to music. It is a fascinating thing that so many other worldly creatures seem greatly affected by it. I stopped playing piano after that year and I never saw the music ghost again, but she opened the door to a wonderful relationship between music and the paranormal that I would never forget.

===> Click Here Free Psychic Reading Click Here <===

To read more fascinating stories of the paranormal being drawn to music and music-minded people I recommend taking a peek at Rock and Roll Ghost Stories. This book is a wonderful read, expertly edited by a friend of mine. It is full of real life hauntings that show more examples of just how much spirits can be drawn to the musical side of life. Look for it in stores October 2010.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

I would like to start out by reiterating that I am not a paranormal psychic, but I do get things from time to time that seem in the same family. You might call them premonitions, but in all honesty it usually comes in a sort of puzzle format that doesn’t become clear for a long time and too often leads to nothing I can understand the point of.

That said, there are moments in many people’s lives when it would seem that they can see the future. A sense of foreboding or excitement, fear or anticipation. Many of these are simply picking up on the subtle signals that people give off and knowing how to interpret them.

I once had an experience of this kind when I was young. It didn’t amount to much, but perhaps it made a small difference.

I dreamt one night of being in a florist shop and clearly seeing one woman who stood apart from the other patrons. She was very sad and I wanted to know why, but in the dream I couldn’t speak. There was a ghost following her through the store as she browsed at the displays and it too seemed just as sad.

The dream ended with my waking to feel that I had missed something; at that time in my life though I didn’t spend much time wondering about dreams and the possibilities of what might try to communicate with us while we sleep. I now know better.

That day my mother and I stopped by the very shop from my dream, a little different as things always are between sleeping and waking, but close enough. I had been in the shop before and I especially liked to look at the porcelain animal figurines…always tempted to touch, but I was usually good. I was also usually allowed to pick out one to take home, if I was good, which probably helped.

The woman in my dream was already in the shop when we arrived and I almost ran into her while heading over to my favorite browsing spot. I remember she smiled weakly at me.

There was no ghost with her that I could see, but I was certain that it was her. I now know that sometimes we remake the images we see in our sleep to fit the dreams we have had. I know that psychologically we look for connections to bring meaning into our lives. I also know, sometimes none of that matters, because you see it all fits together anyway. One explanation does not always eliminate another.

As I watched her, without watching her I kept looking for the ghost. I didn’t see or hear or feel anything and this bothered me. I tried to remember what the ghost in the dream had looked like and all I could really remember was that it too seemed sad.

What I did remember was something about the flowers she’d been looking at in my dream. I didn’t know what to call them, but I did know what to look for. The lady wasn’t standing near any flowers that looked like the ones I had seen, so I left my usual spot and started hunting through the store.

I found it eventually: Lavender calla lily. I took one from the fridge and asked my mom if I could have it instead of a figurine. Then I waited for what seemed like forever, and ever and ever, until my mother finally made her way up to pay. I didn’t want the woman to leave, but I knew I couldn’t just give her the flower.

She left while we were paying. I felt devastated. I had somehow messed it up.

When we left the shop my mother asked if I would like to walk down two doors and get an ice cream. I didn’t much feel like it, but I was a kid so of course I said yes. Sitting on a bench outside, was the woman from my dream.

My mother went in the door and began making her way to the counter and I knew I only had a few seconds at most. I marched up to the woman and held out the flower and said “I think he wants you to have this.”

Her face changed as she took in the flower. It wasn’t wonder, curiosity or even skepticism…which I think is what I expected or at least would today. She looked happy. She looked at the flower as if it was something dear to her and full of meaning.

She looked up at me and said “It was our anniversary flower.” I didn’t know exactly what an anniversary was, but I smiled. Then I ran in the shop and joined my mother who had just noticed that I was missing.

I didn’t look back, I think I was pleased, but also a little nervous about what I’d done. I was worried that the woman would come in to ask me questions in front of my mother. But when we left the shop the woman was gone. I never dreamt of her or saw her again.

As I said in the beginning of this post, I’m not psychic and little events like that don’t really seem to amount to much on my end. Maybe though, it meant something for her, I hope so.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline

I am jumping ahead again a bit and for this I apologies, to all of perhaps…are their even 10 of you out there? I am trying to keep all of these stories in order of age, but I felt in the mood for this so I am going ahead with it.

Now let’s see. I must have been about thirteen years old; I know spooky number, but in all honesty not the most eventful year of my life. I had just discovered the wonderful world of being released from parental supervision while out with a few friends. How hard we all tried to seem mature, while gawking at everything around us.

I remember how we all got cappuccinos. Not because any of us knew what to expect, but because it sounded grown up.  As a side note I remember something hovering close to the barista who served us, but it was vague, couldn’t even say if it was male, female, ghost or something else. I do remember thinking it liked the smell of the coffee and wondering if all paranormal beings (I generalized much more then and called everything a ghost,) could smell even though they didn’t actually have noses.

Back to the story-

As we walked, proudly displaying our grown-up drinks, we passed a small tent at a fair of sorts. Not a fair with rides, but a kind of cultural festival. As I passed by the curtained entrance a knarled hand shot out and grabbed my wrist causing me to lurch and spill half of my un-lidded right of passage all over the side walk.

I didn’t scream, or try to get free; I looked up at the sign hanging above the hidden entrance to the tent and gazed at the psychic eye drawn in between words I couldn’t read. The curtain moved and revealed a startling looking woman who fit the description of every horror film or nightmare about such situations. I mean honestly it was so cliché I should have laughed, but her grip didn’t allow me to see the situation as a humorous one.

She had cloudy eyes that I assumed were caused by very poor vision or blindness. She had long gray hair that hung down in straight, frizzy clumps. Her face was actually quite pretty, but at the time I thought she looked at least two hundred years old (she was probably only about 60.)

Her clothes were eccentric and dark and she had so much jewelry on I wondered that she didn’t topple over when she walked.

I was scared. Most of my friends had continued to walk as they were ahead of me and only one remained watching me, my gripped wrist and the woman in the tent whose head had crept through the flimsy curtain. I remember my friend look horrified, but seemed unable to do anything but gape.

The woman “looked” at my face and stated, in hoarse whisper: “You can see.” It was even worse than I imagined. I was actually shaking a little, right there in broad daylight. She then cocked her head a little as if measuring me up and said: “I know what you are.”

She dropped my hand then but continued to stare. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. At the time I had never come in contact with a real psychic before and certainly didn’t know what to make of the situation. I glimpsed a small sign in the tent describing the prices of a spiritual psychic reading and my defenses went up…naturally I was no fool, I thought she wanted money.

I started to make a statement to this effect when the woman waved me away. She said that she had nothing to tell me and that “they” would know more. I had an idea of what she meant by “they,” but my friend was still watching and at the time I didn’t discuss that part of my life with almost anyone.

It was then that I noticed a flicker behind her. Not what I would call a ghost now, but something that looked mildly interested in our conversation. Then I saw that it wasn’t one, but many. The small tent was packed with beings most of which were now “looking” in my direction.

When I looked back at the woman she nodded, as if she had seen me seeing what was all around her. She relaxed a little further back into the tent and I could no longer see very well behind the curtained entrance. But I could feel it. I wondered how she could think with so many around if she heard them all. I wondered what they all were and what they were waiting for.

As we turned to leave the woman smiled and said something I couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like: “Nice to know they still exist,” but the look on her face wasn’t pleasant so I assumed I got it wrong. I wasn’t about to ask her for confirmation.

Walking away I saw something standing outside of her tent watching as my friend and I hurried away. Though my friend began to giggle and was asking me questions I couldn’t really hear her yet, I was too busy eyeing the figure by the tent. He was grand, too big really for that small little alley between make-shift tents. He wasn’t human then and I don’t think he had been before. When he moved it was too quick. First a jerk of the head and then back into the tent.

What you probably want is a description and I would love to help you out with that, but unfortunately it is difficult to manage. The best I can do is to stress the size and sharp features. I can’t say for sure it was male, but I thought so at the time. The image wasn’t solid, not even hazy like a mirage in the road; it simply wasn’t…all there. Like trying to see something in the dark and when the light comes on everything changes in the room.

I heard from friends that the psychic woman was only there for a few days. After that she never returned, week after week before it closed and again in the years that followed. I can’t tell you if she was a real fortuneteller, I can’t even say for sure that she knew what was around her, but I would guess she did.

I regret that I was not older at the time; I would have waved off my friend and gone inside the tent. I would have asked her so many questions. I would have had the money to pay for her time.

Wherever she is, I do thank her for opening my eyes on that day. It took me time, but after a while what I took from the situation was that there are others out there who deal with this ability every day and it was nice to know I wasn’t alone.

I do still wonder how she knew the stick her hand out right then and grab me, maybe she saw me coming after all.

Goodbye for now, another end.
Until a time we meet again.

-Seline