geekdaddy

I was three years old. It was about 2 in the morning, when I woke up noticing a bright light in my closet. As I watched and old Hispanic Man walked out of my closet, and through my wall. He was fuzzy, glowing, and unaware of me. This is how my lifetime story of dealing with the paranormal begins.

Of course, I screamed for my parents, who assured me that it was just a bad dream. However, even at three, I knew the difference between awake and asleep. I also knew that the Hispanic man did not belong in my room, even if I couldn’t have told you what he was at the time. I was comforted, but not convinced.

I had other paranormal experiences throughout my early childhood. These incidents were usually relegated to Déjà vu types of clairvoyance. I would dream about the exact worksheet we would be doing at 2pm the next day in class. Not exactly X-Files type proof of the paranormal, but it happened often enough I kept notice.

When I was seven, my family moved into an old 1950’s ranch house in central Tucson. There was brick rectangular shed out back of the yard, with a corrugated tin roof. It was not all that uncommon in our neighborhood. It was also haunted. I don’t mean ghost jumping out and going, “Boo”, types of haunting. There was just something off kilter about it. It was like the air around it got thick and clammy even on a sunny day. I always felt that if I turned around fast enough I could catch someone looking out the window of the shed at me. I never did, but I hated going into that place for anything. It always felt like I was intruding.

Other odd things happened in this house including: footsteps on the roof, my sister seeing strange lights in her closet, the feeling of not being alone in the dark, and unexplained thumps. Now I know that some of this can be explained by rational means, but not all of it.

In 1992 my beloved dog of ten years died of cancer. I was heartbroken. As I was cleaning out her possessions in the utility room she slept in, I heard the unmistakable sound of her claws on the tile floor coming towards me. She made a snuffing sound, and when I turned around no one was there. My Mom came in at that point and said I looked as white as a sheet. When I explained what had happened, she laughed it off. It was my imagination. I knew it wasn’t though. Just like I knew the Hispanic man in my room when I was three was something different. I could sense wavelengths in the world my family couldn’t. (To Be Continued)

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