geekdaddy

Now my “flashes” as I call them are different. While I can still sense paranormal things going on, they are more specific. My wife and I were sitting at The Cheesecake factory eating lunch, when an elderly couple sat down across from us.

The man was eighty-ish, and stooped. The woman had a beehive hairdo, and reeked of Eu De Old Lady. I turned to my wife and remarked on the perfume of the woman sitting near us. My wife looked puzzled. “What Lady are you talking about dear?” she said. I looked over and there was no one but the old man there. The lady I had seen was a ghost. There was an imprint from his mind of how he and his wife had done things for all those years. It really shook me up. I am not usually that specific. It was like looking in someone’s window. You know it’s not proper, but it can be hard to look away.

The latest chapter to my paranormal journey is houses, or specific places near houses. I can tell if there are ghosts, or haunting residue there. I look at the house and if it is haunted, I get a flash, a shiver up my neck, and a general image of what’s going on there. It can be anything from a basic sense that there is something off about a place, all the way up to a picture of who is still there. Sometimes it is a flash of what the place looked like sometime in the past when it was important to somebody. More of a residual feeling that a current one.

I wish I had more of a handle on how this all works. I don’t. It just is. I tried to ignore, it for a couple of years, but that would be silly. Do you ignore your other senses? The more I own this part of me, the calmer I become about it. It’s no big whoop, but it is an interesting spice in my life.

Little things kept happening in the early 90’s when I was in my twenties. I would drive by a building I had never seen before, but know it from a dream, or I would see a property as it was in the early Twentieth century. Nothing spectacular as such, but these incidents still tipped the scales towards the paranormal.

In 1996 I moved into an old 1940’s World War Two vintage cinder block house that my family owned. The owner, an older lady had died there about two years before. A friend of mine had lived in it with his wife and child, and had alluded to uncomfortable feelings while living there. I laughed it off this time, that is, until I dealt with the old, dead, former tenant who didn’t want to leave.

At first I was just glad to have a place to stay. My live in girlfriend and I had broken up the fall before, and I moved out. Then creepy feelings of being watched started to flourish. I couldn’t stand being in the back bedroom. It was always colder than the rest of the house, by about ten degrees. Then one day I was mowing the backyard, and looked up at the back bedroom window. There was someone standing in it, looking at the yard. It was an older woman, with white hair, wearing an outdated nightgown. She was not misty, or floating. She almost seemed like a residual memory. I went in the house, and of course there was nothing there. I moved out when my parents divorced, relieved to be away from a place I was not wanted. (To Be Continued)

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)