It seems that I have always been in touch with the spirits. The cold chill, the feeling of someone watching me, the feeling of someone being there are all too familiar.
My Mother had "the gift". I should add that for her it was a gift, for me, not so much. These feeling scare me! I'm not really eager to meet someone who isn't comfortable enough with their passing to leave. Their intentions scare me. The fact that I don't know how to communicate with them scares me. Who am I kidding; even if I knew how to communicate with them it would still scare me.
When I was six years old I had a dream. My mother dressed me in a small white sweater and my little black "strap across the top" shoes. The year would be 1966. The kitchen where we were preparing for outside was our "real" kitchen. The yard outside wasn't our real yard. Our yard was small, very small, surrounded by a wooden fence. The yard in my dream was a huge piece of land with giant tress everywhere. It was quiet. A bright sunny day with a gentle breeze.
I ran over to one of the trees and beside the tree was a severed hand wearing a watch. Oddly, I wasn't afraid. I sat by the hand and just stared for a moment. Years later I read in a dream book that my dream (that would follow me through-out my life) meant that no one would understand me. I didn't read the dream book until I was twenty five years old. If I had read it sooner it would have made me laugh more at people and situations in my life.
I feel like I'm at a constant struggle to make people see things or feel things that I feel. There weren't any ghost hunter shows on television when I was young or in fact not many while I was growing up. You were considered crazy if you believed in "that stuff". Whatever you do, don't hear voices! The devil was blamed for everything... Well okay, he should be! The constant battle between Good and Evil in my years made it almost impossible to tell people that I believed in ghost... Spirits. I believed in God. I believed in angels and I believe in Satan why was that okay but not the fact that their may be lost souls. Lost spirits hanging around, trying to communicate, trying to hitch a ride home if anyone hears them asking.
When I was twelve. I started telling people that I wanted to be a police officer. That was funnier then knowing that spirits existed. There weren't any girl police officers. Only men were allowed to be police officers.
In 1986 at twenty six years old I graduated from the police academy and started working on the streets in my own patrol car. My life was quite different from the little girl who wouldn't be understood, wearing her little sweater sitting in the back yard by a tree with a severed hand. I grew up strong, I was very proud of my accomplishments; the "against all odds" life had come true for me. I thank God everyday for the things he gives me and the people he puts into my life. I'm very fortunate and I know it. I'm blessed. Even in the worst of times I know that I am fortunate and things will change. It's important that you understand my relationship with God because I think, I believe, that's what keeps the door open in my life for the spirits that aren't so welcomed.
I was very close to my Grandfather, when he died, it broke my heart deeply. He was my hero. My Grandfather has stopped by to say hello a few times. He doesn't speak, his visits only last a second, but once he showed himself in the back of my car while I was driving. Scared me, of course but as soon as I realized it was him, I cried and wished I had one more second to say I love you. My Mother passed away when I was thirty nine. There are no words for loosing a parent. There is a hand that touches my shoulder on occasion. It startles me every time, but I always say hello to her when it happens. These incidents I can deal with. The little boy that walks through my hallway and into the bathroom but doesn't come out...ever. I can deal with. My kids always ask if he's in there before they go in. He's been around since they were his age. He's only about five or six years old. They're 15 and 16 now. So he's been a guest for quite sometime. The story that will forever bother me and is not so easily dealt with was back in 1987. I am glad for this web sight because maybe I can finally share it and it will go away.
In 1987 I was a police officer for one year. I received a call to take a young girl to the hospital. She had the chicken pox. It didn't seem like a big deal to me at the time except it wasn't long afterwards that I too had the chicken pox too. It turns out, I never had the decease and now at twenty seven years old it got me. I had my niece living with me. She was a baby and I didn't want her to get them too. I asked a friend if I could stay at her place. She said, Sure, she wasn't there at night anyway, because of her job and wouldn't be there for most of the day because of homework for school. Good for me, it would be like having my own place!
I had the habit of staying up late and watching television while lying in bed. Her apartment was set up on one floor. The bathroom door was located in the bedroom. You had to walk through her bedroom from the living room to get to the kitchen. Her bed was against the wall across from the bathroom, but not in the way of people walking through to the kitchen. If you lay at one side of the bed you could watch television and see the bathroom door and the living room. If you lay at the other side of the bed you could see the kitchen. There was only one door into the apartment and the same door out.
On my first night there, while watching television, I heard a noise come from the bathroom. There's no window in the bathroom so I had no concerns at the time. When I heard the noise again, I checked and...Nothing! About an hour later I finally fell asleep. I woke up to the blanket wrapped around my neck and choking me! I couldn't move my body to take the blanket from my neck. It felt like someone was lying on top of me. But there wasn't anyone there. My eyes were tearing and I felt numb, the only thing I could think of was to pray. I didn't have any breath so my prayers were all thought in my mind. It stopped! The weight wasn't there anymore and the blanket wasn't tight. I coughed and ran for water in the kitchen.
I got to my gun and walked around the apartment to see if anyone was there. The apartment was very small so, the two minute walk turned up nothing. The front door was locked. The windows were closed and locked. I thought to myself how scary that was. I could've died! I sat there for a while and obviously couldn't sleep. The next day when I saw my friend I told her what happened. She didn't say anything. She just looked at me. It wasn't the response I was looking for, but I didn't want her to think I was crazy. She was taking nursing in school. She was in her third year of college; I would be the nut who got stuck in the blanket! I didn't talk about it anymore. I would be here for at least a week and she was being very nice lending out her place. I didn't want her to think I was complaining.
The next night I left the bathroom door opened slightly and the light on. I had my gun closer too. I guess I was feeling "that" feeling. Something was there. As I was falling asleep, something breathed in my ear..."PAH", it was close, like when someone whispers to you and you can feel the breath. I jumped from the bed and looked around almost frantically. Nothing! I could feel something all around me. I knew that my gun wasn't going to help me. The keys on the wall in the living room started to sway from side to side. They were heavy on a long key chain. The kind of chain that goes around your neck. They wouldn't be easily moved. I sat there, deciding where I was going to go. It was two in the morning. I figured I would just stick it out for tonight and find a place in the morning to stay for the next few days. I admit I was angry, scared too but really angry. I started talking out loud, "why don't you come out when I'm standing here awake"? Then I realized "and then what"? Breathe Dottie, just breath.
When my friend came home the next day, I told her I was going to look for a room at a hotel for a few days. I told her something is going on around here and it was scaring me. She said "it's him". I asked her, "who"? She told me she is leaving this apartment as soon as she can because she never gets her studies done or any sleep. There's always a noise or something falling or keys moving back and forth. Wow, she knew! She asked me if I would stay one more night because it was her night off and she didn't want to be alone. I figured yeah okay, what can happen if we're both here?
That night, I lay on the sofa bed and she went into her room. It was easier lying down with someone there. It was about three in the morning. I woke up with someone on top of me. I couldn't move my body. He was heavy and I felt him touching me like a "real" body would
But there was no one there. My friend screamed! She was standing in the doorway between the living room and the bedroom, the pressure stopped from on top of me and I sat up from the sofa. "Oh my God", I said, "Did you see him"? She just stared at me, she was scared to death. She couldn't talk. Then I saw him sitting at the kitchen table. He didn't care that the light was on. He just sat there with his legs crossed and a grin on his face. He was dressed in a 1960's kind of look. Loafer shoes, black pants, a black turtle neck shirt and a brown/gold, stripped, sports jacket. He was a white guy, in his late 30's. Black, Slicked back hair. The one thing I could never do well enough was draw, but I will remember his face forever. He had a long nose and dark eyes. Pretty happy with himself for being a dead guy! I never moved closer to him, I stood there frozen in my spot. He disappeared after a minute. The chair was moved out from the table where he sat.
My friend never said what she saw that night. I don't think she ever went back to the apartment again! I did, I drove by a lot and even knocked one day when I noticed new people moved in. No one was home. I don't know why I went back. I guess something feels unfinished. I learned later that the houses in that area were built over a cemetery. The house across the street from the apartment was actually the church. The stained glass windows were still a part of the house on the second floor. He wasn't dressed old enough to be a part of that. The cemetery was from the 1800's.
Maybe I'll never know. Maybe it's better that way. The good spirits can stay, but I never want an encounter with a bad one again.
Thanks for listening!
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