Bumps In the Night: Part 1–My Own Tales of the Paranormal

I am going to let you in on a little secret.  The reason I write paranormal is because I’ve experienced the paranormal.  I am going to recount for you chronologically what I’ve experienced and then you’ll see what has made me who I am today.

As a very young child, some of my earliest memories are of feelings that I had or dreams.  Now that I look back on it, I understand everything clearly.  Up until I was in the third grade, I lived in a house with an unknown past.  My mother always told me that the deed didn’t even have a date on it because the construction of the dwelling was unknown.  It wasn’t a fancy house and to be quite honest I had a love/hate relationship with the place.  It was the first home I ever knew, which is why I think I loved it, but there were times I wanted to escape from it, especially at night.

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Me at age 3

I hated trying to sleep.  My bedroom was in the back of the house right over the laundry room.  During the day things weren’t so bad, but when it was time for bed I couldn’t control my anxiety.  I screamed and cried sometimes, begging not to go to sleep.  I couldn’t put it all into words then because, of course, as a child our understanding of everything is so limited.  All I knew was that things happened to me when I slept; things that frightened me.

I used to dream from the time I put my head on the pillow until the sun came up.  Everyone says that’s not possible, but that’s not how I see it.  I had two closets in my room on opposite sides of the room.  The closet that my clothing was in didn’t scare me, but the closet at the end of my bed terrified me.  A witch lived in it.  Yes, a witch.  Now remember, I was a child and the only thing I could relate to what I saw was a witch.  I know now it was either a spirit or a demon.  She tormented me in my dreams.  There were times I was awake and saw her standing at the end of the room watching me.  She always stood right beside the closet door.  I don’t remember her approaching me but just the fact she was in the room and visible was enough to make me want to run out of the room screaming, which I did many times, by the way.  She was average size, dark clothing, long gray hair, and the ugliest face I’d ever seen in my life.  She haunted me, no doubt.  To be honest, just writing this and thinking about her makes me a little sick.

Now, how do you tell that to your parents or adults what you’re seeing and experiencing?  My mom asked me recently why I didn’t tell her.  I, myself, didn’t understand it so how could I explain it to someone else?  Often adults pass these sort of confessions off to dreams or just fear; “Oh, you’re just afraid of the dark.”  Yes, I was and for good reason.

I can tell you what I saw and what I felt was as real as I am.  Of course, in today’s times I would have been diagnosed with some sort of mental disorder.  However, I have two degrees in psychology and I know I wasn’t crazy or hallucinating.

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My mom, me, and my dog in the house. Not sure how old I was.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that I was sick as a child either; physically ill all of the time.  At least, I was sick when we lived in that house.  I was always having some sort of illness.  Trust me, the world of the paranormal melts right into our current state of being and things happen, good or bad.  Some individuals experience physical illness.  Others experience mental breakdowns.  It depends on the haunting as well as the person experiencing the haunting.

The other thing I remember is having vivid dreams about what I called “no-eyed rabbits.”  As I write I can still seem them quite clearly in my head.  I remember that there were several of them standing in a circle around the fire.  They chanted and now I realize they were wearing hoods and had horns.  As a child, I could only relate the way they looked to rabbits with big tall ears.  I called them “no-eyed rabbits” because to me their eyes weren’t normal.  They looked like onions cut in half; no color or expression.  They held staffs in their hands and stood around an enormous fire.  Sometimes, in my dreams, they chased after me, but most of the time I was just trapped running around them begging for my mom or to leave or to wake up.

Me & my dad at the house celebrating Christmas one year.

Me & my dad at the house celebrating Christmas one year.

The basement in that house was a place I knew not to go.  Don’t ask me why, I just knew it was no place for me.  The few times I went down there I felt a distinct feeling of unwelcome.  I hated the basement sometimes as much as I hated my room.  It was just off of the kitchen.  When I went into the kitchen I sometimes felt like whatever was in the basement had made it’s way to the main part of the house.  That feeling that something or someone is watching you.

Like I said though, it was a love/hate relationship with the house.  In fact, I sobbed when we moved out of the house.  However, when we left, there were no more nightmares about the rabbits or the witch.  They stayed with the house.

My guess, now that I’m grown up, is that they were attached to the house from the very beginning.  I guess I could research who has lived in the home, but honestly, until a few years ago the experiences never made sense.

After we moved out a friend of mine that I went to school with moved into the house with her parents.  Ironically, the back of the house caught on fire.  What was once my room and the laundry room caught on fire, destroying the back of the house.  Coincidence?  I don’t know.  What I do know is that spirits can be pretty powerful and cause things to happen.  Would I stake my life on the possibility that the witch caused the fire?  No, but I’m certainly not closed down to it.

Me and my grandpa.  I think I was 3.  We are standing in the family room of the house.

Me and my grandpa. I think I was 3. We are standing in the family room of the house.

So there you have it.  There’s much more to come though.  This is just the first post of many, trust me.

Feel free to share your stories here; leave comments.  Share with me.  This blog isn’t just about me and my work.  It’s about the ability to share with one another what we think and how we feel about things.

I apologize if you think I’m cooky or insane, but this is my life.  I don’t have any type of mental diagnosis and I am a contributing, working member of society.  The paranormal picked me; I didn’t pick it.  I can’t say I’m unhappy with it either.  I have been given wonderful and extraordinary gifts by my Creator and I’ve been charged with sharing those gifts with as many people as I can.  So, this blog, as well as my books, is my way of doing what I’ve been assigned to do.

Hope you enjoyed this post 🙂  Stay tuned for more!

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2 responses to “Bumps In the Night: Part 1–My Own Tales of the Paranormal

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