Okay, so the other day I promised you a story to astound and amaze you. Or was it terrify and repulse you? Or maybe it was amuse and bewilder you? I don't remember. But this is the story you're getting so I promise it will have one of the three effects above.
So I posted before about my "spidey sense" and so far no one has come up with a better name so we are just going to go with that for now. And I mentioned how it is not really useful for personal gain (unless you count avoiding doom which is kind of a point on the gain side really). And then I said unless I started talking to ghosts and became a medium on one of those ghost shows (but really the good ones never use mediums so I'd have to be on one of the mediocre ones and I don't know if I can settle for mediocrity). And then I said that I really didn't want to talk to ghosts. It's true, I really don't. I wouldn't mind seeing one (like a totally non threatening, non scary one of course!) but I don't want it talking to me.
Well, here's the kicker...according to my mom and dad, I used to talk to ghosts. When I was little. I know that you are all pretty freaked out and amazed and OK, maybe mostly freaked out because I know I was!! But they have at least two separate accounts of this behavior.
First, when I was between two and three, we lived with my grandparents (dad's side) for awhile in Bloomington, IL. This was just before my dad joined the air force and began whisking us all over the place. I guess the house my gparents lived in was notably haunted. Lights turned themselves on and off, things mysteriously got moved around, and people passing by the house when my grandparents weren't home would hear the sounds of a party and music and see lights on. It seems that more then one friend of theirs actually got pissed because they thought they had a party and didn't invite them. (It was the early seventies you know). Anyway, the story goes that one night my mom woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of me chattering away (this probably wasn't all that unusual as I'm told even then I was a "talker".) But she said I was even pausing as though I was having a conversation and someone was talking back. She said I didn't sound upset at all. She went down the hall and into my room to find me standing in a corner of the crib chatting animatedly to the empty room. When she asked me who I was talking to I promptly informed her "the lady" and that the lady was cold. She picked me up, I fussed some about the lady being cold and waved "bye bye" as she started down the hall. At which point she started booking it back to her own room, me in her arms. They moved me into their room after that. And we were only in that house a couple more months. I have no recollection of this at all. (of course!)
The second occurrence was much more ongoing and lasted about eighteen months. When I was four we moved to Okinawa, where my dad was stationed. I actually celebrated my fourth birthday on the plane crossing the pacific ocean. At first we lived in a house in one of the villages and I really only had my mom and my dog, Fuzzy, for company. When we moved on base, my mom got rid of the dog (she and he were not friends to put it mildly) So, even though I was in kindergarten (I started early, back then they let you do that), I didn't have a whole lot of friends. So when I started talking to a boy named "Manny" that my parents couldn't see, they figured it was your typical imaginary friend solitary children come up with. But things got increasingly weird as I made them set a place for "Manny" at the table, cried when my mom shut the door too fast and caught "Manny's" elbow in it, walked as though there was someone actually beside me, and had one sided conversations. The doctors assured them it was normal behavior and I'd outgrow my need for my imaginary friend when I started making more real friends. Well "Manny" stayed with me throughout our stay in Okinawa even though I did make real friends. And there were a few odd happenings- once during a typhoon when there was no power, a small plug-in lamp in my bedroom stayed lit anyway. And then "Manny" even followed us back home to America the year I turned 6. Our first stop in America was a visit to my grandparent's (Mom's side this time) home in Illinois. At that time my grandparents were still married (they divorced the next year) and my grandfather was still an alcoholic. One afternoon, my father was taking a bath (they didn't have a shower) in the (only) upstairs bathroom and I was playing in the hall outside the door where our suitcases were stored. My mother had admonished me to stay right there while she went in to rinse my dad's hair for him (picture a 6'2" man crammed into an old fashioned claw foot tub). I was playing horsey on the largest suitcase when suddenly I got up and ran to the door to the bathroom and grabbed the handle. At that moment the sound of a gun going off echoed through the house. I don't remember much of what happened but apparently my father, dripping wet and dressed only in a bathrobe raced downstairs to find my drunken grandfather, my uncle who'd taken the gun from him, and my grandmother. My grandfather had been waving the gun around and it accidentally discharged, sending a bullet straight through the ceiling and exactly where my leg would have been had I still been playing horsey on the suitcase. Well my dad came really close to doing great violence to my grandfather but grandpa spent the night in jail instead. My extremely shaken mother asked me why I'd come to the door when I did and all I could tell her was that "Manny" told me to. "Manny" disappeared after that and I never mentioned him again. While I don't remember much of it (just flashes of scenes) this story still gives me goosebumps. And I thank my lucky stars for "Manny", whoever and whatever he was.
So there you have it. Kind of explains my life long interest in ghosts and all things paranormal, doesn't it? I hope that you, whether you're a believer or not, enjoyed the story. I'm kicking around the idea of making it into a novel (so don't go stealing it!). So which reaction did it get from you?
goosebumps & gratitude,