Do you believe in ghosts?
There seems to be two distinct camps divided on the subject: those people who never had a paranormal experience are likely to be skeptics or disbelievers. Those who have encountered some semblance of other-worldly entities are most often positively convinced that ghosts existence.
The subject of ghosts and hauntings is murky, tricky, and tainted. Many incidents are founded on little more than hearsay, rumor, legend, exaggeration, over-active imaginations, and fabrications.
I would have most likely been among the skeptics if I hadn't had several very real experiences. I can't confirm the existence of generic ghosts, but I very definitely believe in evil spirits, demons, and other entities of ill-intent.
The true story that I want to tell is about a haunted "magic" eight ball that I had as a child. The horrifying things connected with it were witnessed by both of my parents - who instantly became staunch believers of the supernatural. Since it's a long story, I'm going to save it for my next blog post.
(I initially posted it about two years ago, but feel that it's time to rehash it again)
There are many strange but non-ghostly occurrences that happened in my family through the years. I could easily name several dozen, but I'll just mention a few.
Merely coincidence, or something more sinister?
I don't profess to know.
There's an incident that my maternal grandmother told, concerning her eldest sister Katalin. It happened long ago in 1906. Kate (as she was called) was visiting a close friend who planned to be married in two months. Kate was admiring her friend's beautiful white wedding dress.
"I hope that someday I'll wear a white dress like this," Kate said.
Her friend became very somber with a supposed premonition.
"Kate," she said, " I have a strong feeling that you'll be wearing a white dress before I do."
A week later, Kate - at age eighteen - was murdered.
She was buried in her white Easter dress.
(I've written about Kate's murder in a previous post)
When my mother was ten years old, her grandfather (my great-grandfather John Gordon) was killed by a car as he attempted to walk across a busy street. The accident happened at one o'clock in the afternoon.
On that day my Mom and her mother (my grandmother, the daughter of John Gordon) were home in the kitchen washing dishes.
At exactly one o'clock, a large porcelain platter - which was sitting on a nearby table - flew off the table entirely by itself and smashed to the ground.
"It's an omen," my grandmother said. "Something bad has happened."
Several other members of the family had witnessed this incident and swore it was true.
When I was sixteen years old, my maternal grandmother had a strange and disturbing dream. She dreamed that her dead husband (my grandfather) was desperately calling her name and trying to pull her through a hole in a fence.
Shortly after having this dream, my grandmother suddenly died.
Coincidence? I don't know, but I'll never forget it.
I just suddenly realized that all three of the previous incidents involved my maternal grandmother. Strange.
So what about ghosts?
I've had my own experiences.
I've had several ghostly encounters during various times in my life. When I lived in the Missouri Ozarks, I use to frequent several old cemeteries.
I was very familiar with the Maple Park Cemetery in Springfield, MO, and that's where several creepy incidents occurred. The oldest graves are located at the front of the cemetery and the newer ones are way in the back.
In the brisk autumn weather, I was completely mesmerized by this cemetery. It was filled with gorgeous old trees that turned stunning colors in October.
Having been raised in seasonless Southern California, I was amazed at how a real seasonal autumn could be. I would spend countess hours trekking through the cemetery, collecting autumn leaves and savoring the intoxicating atmosphere.
There are several graves of Civil War soldiers located near some ancient trees. Sitting nearby during an autumnal twilight, I distinctly heard mournful moaning voices seemingly coming from the low-hanging tree branches above the graves. The moans were tainted with the cold, desperate, other-worldly sound of dying.
It wasn't my imagination. And the cemetery was deserted.
I said aloud "you're safe now - rest in eternal peace."
The moans eventually dwindled, then stopped. For some strange reason I wasn't really frightened by the incident. I was more fascinated.
I eventually wound up in the far side of the cemetery, where the newer graves are. Seemingly out of nowhere, I discovered the grave of a young man, near my age, who was born on my birthday - December 13th.
As I was reading the headstone inscription I felt an icy chill and got an incredibly strange feeling as if I was not alone. I looked to my left and saw a very tall, murky dark thing next to me. It wasn't a person. It was more like an ominous cloudy shroud.
This wasn't my fanciful imagination.
It was really there.
I instinctively ran through the graveyard back to my car and took off as fast as I could.
I never went back to that part of the cemetery. In retrospect - many years later - I regret not returning and taking a photo of the grave.
