So here's more about my great grandmother. Or maybe it's about my family, and the strange energy that surrounds us.
I told you about rebel hill, in Smyrna Mills, Maine. But I didnt tell you all of it. Rebel Hill is a road in a lonely town. My mothers side of the family has roots there dating all the way back to my great grandmother. I have a great uncle who still lives up there, and second cousins, and second aunts and so on and so forth. Smyrna Mills is a logging town, which means if youre husband wasnt cutting down trees you didnt have much. Theres a general store, a "high school" (which is the only school, and teaches all grades) and a small diner. thats pretty much it. there used to be a liquor store, but back in the forties the Pentecostals burnt it down. The pentecostals would also burn down your house if you had a television antennna, claiming it was "the devils pitchfork." The town itself is eerie, but something about rebel hill doesnt sit right.
Rebel hill itself is beautiful, theres a little creek on the side of the road, tiny strange houses, and a cute little stone bridge. on the right, the creek side, probably about 500 feet up the road, sits my great gransparents old cottage. about 200 more feet down the road, and you have my great uncle carl's house on the left. Surrounding carls house, is a beautiful field. in the distance of the field, there's a house shaped and colored like a pumpkin. the pumpkin house is supposedly owned by someone who is from my hometown, Torrington, Connecticut, and is said to have massive pot fields hidden amongst the wheat and thistles.
Effie and Hazen's (my great grandarents) cottage was small. It was probably the size of a studio apartment you could rent in Chicago for 500 a month, without the usually amenities, like running water or a toilet. You could reach the oven while you were sitting at the table, and you would have to fight off bears to get to the outhouse. Even still, they would have huge gatherings at the house. Even having my mothers whole immediate family come over was an ordeal. Five kids and my grandparents, easily filled the house.
One summer afternoon, the women prepared a huge meal, and everyone was getting ready to eat. Setting the table, kids washing up. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
The food was on the table and everyone was sitting down to eat. Suddenly, there was a loud crack. My grandfather told everyone to get under the table, thinking there was some sort of air strike. glass shattered, there were flashes of light. Massive chaos enveloped the tiny cottage.
When everyone caught there breath, it came clear what had happened. The cottage was struck by lightning. Everything that was glass in the place was broken, not to mention there meal ruined. The family went out side, to see what happened, and were joined by neighbors who heard the crack. Still there wasnt a cloud in the sky, and twilight was setting in. They saw that the telephone pole had a burn mark in it, as well as the cast iron sink, which lead into the kitchen from the outside of the house. They think that lightning hit the pole, traveled to the sink, and then traveled inside of the house, hitting the light fixture above the table. it was a scary event, but they had to clean up the mess.
My mother remembers this clearly. they were all picking glass out of the furniture, the chairs, everything. there was a seat my great grandmother used to sit in, and my mom was picking at a seemingly small piece of glass in the chair. it turned out to be a huge shard that if someone was sitting in the chair, would have impaled them straight through the heart. They continued to clean, and thats when my mom noticed her hand started to feel funny.
My mother describes her hand to look like five sausages. Her right hand was swollen and red. What happened was when the lightning struck, hit the pole, the sink, and traveled into the house and hit the light over the table, a small bolt must have traveled to the fork in my mothers hand. She was wearing a small ring on her finger, which at this point was cutting into her skin due to her enlarged fingers. she was rushed to the hospital, where they cut the ring off her finger.
The cottage still stands. Probably when i was 12, was the first time i saw it since my great grandmother was alive, which was when i was a baby. My mom didn't want to get out of the car. it was hard to look at. Like you were locking eyes with some hostile bum on the street. Recently, my second cousins renovated the house. Neighbors and people who spent a lot of time there, say it was a huge mistake. They say it should just be bulldozed, they say its evil. Tainted ground.
There are many more stories about rebel hill, but i like to tell this one first, due to its severity. I mean, my mom got struck by lightning there. That just cant be normal.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
so check it out. I haven't updated this is awhile, because i haven't had any experiences lately.
But who cares? i pretty much talk about ghosts everyday. its my favorite thing to talk about. (IE blog)
I think today is the day i finally talk about ouija boards. I dont remember the first time i heard of or saw a ouija board, but im almost positive i saw it on a movie. and no, it wasn't the craft. upon discovering this device, it blew my effing mind that you could buy this"toy" at wal mart, and talk to the dead. all freaking night if you wanted to. so i asked my granpa to buy me one.
i think he was surprised i wanted the board. not dissapointed or worried, like most elders would, but it was almost like he wanted one too, and was excited to finally find someone to ouija the night away with. so anyways, when i first heard of the board, i never knew people would try to move it, i just assumed it would call the dead, like a telephone, and always work. call it wishful thinking.
my grandfather and i got the board. i remember what it smelled like when i opened the box. the sharp musk of cardboard and glow in the dark plastic. It had directions.
"sit with a partner, knees touching, and ask the oracle your future"
I didnt care about my future. i just wanted to see it work. So we asked some questions.
"who are you?"
"how did you die?"
"did you die here?"
We got solid answers and swift movement. I was amazed. I kept asking my grandfather if he was moving it. he insisted he wasnt, and i asked him to prove it. he replied," ask it a question in your head"
"you can do that?!?!" so i asked the board a question i only knew the answer to. I was pretty young at this time, probably 11 or 12, and i asked the board what my favorite band was.
"B-U-S-H"
Omg.
I still didnt believe that my grandfather wasnt moving it. "ask it a question in your head"i told him. the planchette moved steadily around the numbers.
"1-0-8"
"what the heck is that granpa?"
We walked upstairs to the bathroom, and i stood on the scale. 108 was my exact weight. even i didnt know that.
So that was my first expierience with ouija boards. I was hooked. I found out you could make your own. I made new ones every month. With sharpie and pieces of old furniture. I played with it with any friend that would stay over. we called marilyn monroe, jim morrison, dead pets, granmas, and the most popular of the era, kurt cobain. Everyone warned me all the time.... "you dont know what youre playing with" "youre going to invite something into your life you cant control" blah, blah, blah.
at the haunted house with the floating beer bottle, my best friend in high school and i played the ouija board. Rob and I were inseparable. He lived a little over a block away, and he was always at my house. He liked to sit on the porch, because the house across the street was where his grandmother lived. And died.
We were using my homemade model, from and old stereo shelf. he said he was going to try to call his dead grandmother, but he said he felt all funky asking questions out loud. I told him about asking it questions in your head. He closed his eyes, and the board began to move.
"B-L-U-E-E-Y-E-S"
his eyes teared up. "what the hell is blue eyes?"
"thats what my grandmother called me."
I have never had a bad experience playing with a ouija board. I recently bought a new one. i use it in the tattoo shop with my friends. nothing happens. I want it to happen. wtf.
psychologists say that the only reason ouija boards work is due to ideomotor effect. Which is a fancy way of saying your brain is making your body move with out you knowing it. They say its subconscious, and if your will to see the planchette move, well, makes it move. But wtf, ive seen boards react in all ways, zip and zoom all over the place, homemade or not. So why now, when i want to experience the paranormal so badly, will this damn toy not work?
i leave you with this review of a ouija board on toysrus.com:
BIG RIP OFF!!!!!
But who cares? i pretty much talk about ghosts everyday. its my favorite thing to talk about. (IE blog)
I think today is the day i finally talk about ouija boards. I dont remember the first time i heard of or saw a ouija board, but im almost positive i saw it on a movie. and no, it wasn't the craft. upon discovering this device, it blew my effing mind that you could buy this"toy" at wal mart, and talk to the dead. all freaking night if you wanted to. so i asked my granpa to buy me one.
i think he was surprised i wanted the board. not dissapointed or worried, like most elders would, but it was almost like he wanted one too, and was excited to finally find someone to ouija the night away with. so anyways, when i first heard of the board, i never knew people would try to move it, i just assumed it would call the dead, like a telephone, and always work. call it wishful thinking.
my grandfather and i got the board. i remember what it smelled like when i opened the box. the sharp musk of cardboard and glow in the dark plastic. It had directions.
"sit with a partner, knees touching, and ask the oracle your future"
I didnt care about my future. i just wanted to see it work. So we asked some questions.
"who are you?"
"how did you die?"
"did you die here?"
We got solid answers and swift movement. I was amazed. I kept asking my grandfather if he was moving it. he insisted he wasnt, and i asked him to prove it. he replied," ask it a question in your head"
"you can do that?!?!" so i asked the board a question i only knew the answer to. I was pretty young at this time, probably 11 or 12, and i asked the board what my favorite band was.
"B-U-S-H"
Omg.
I still didnt believe that my grandfather wasnt moving it. "ask it a question in your head"i told him. the planchette moved steadily around the numbers.
"1-0-8"
"what the heck is that granpa?"
We walked upstairs to the bathroom, and i stood on the scale. 108 was my exact weight. even i didnt know that.
So that was my first expierience with ouija boards. I was hooked. I found out you could make your own. I made new ones every month. With sharpie and pieces of old furniture. I played with it with any friend that would stay over. we called marilyn monroe, jim morrison, dead pets, granmas, and the most popular of the era, kurt cobain. Everyone warned me all the time.... "you dont know what youre playing with" "youre going to invite something into your life you cant control" blah, blah, blah.
at the haunted house with the floating beer bottle, my best friend in high school and i played the ouija board. Rob and I were inseparable. He lived a little over a block away, and he was always at my house. He liked to sit on the porch, because the house across the street was where his grandmother lived. And died.
We were using my homemade model, from and old stereo shelf. he said he was going to try to call his dead grandmother, but he said he felt all funky asking questions out loud. I told him about asking it questions in your head. He closed his eyes, and the board began to move.
"B-L-U-E-E-Y-E-S"
his eyes teared up. "what the hell is blue eyes?"
"thats what my grandmother called me."
I have never had a bad experience playing with a ouija board. I recently bought a new one. i use it in the tattoo shop with my friends. nothing happens. I want it to happen. wtf.
psychologists say that the only reason ouija boards work is due to ideomotor effect. Which is a fancy way of saying your brain is making your body move with out you knowing it. They say its subconscious, and if your will to see the planchette move, well, makes it move. But wtf, ive seen boards react in all ways, zip and zoom all over the place, homemade or not. So why now, when i want to experience the paranormal so badly, will this damn toy not work?
i leave you with this review of a ouija board on toysrus.com:
BIG RIP OFF!!!!!
By SKP from oh on 6/25/2009
Pros:Nothing is good about it
Cons:Boring, Difficult Instructions, Rip off, Unoriginal, Visually Unpleasing
Best Uses:Adults, Children, Family, Travel
Describe Yourself:Avid Gamer
Bottom Line:No, I would not recommend this to a friend
Comments about Parker Brothers 1001167 Ouija Board: Glow-in-the-Dark:
This game is a BIG rip off.It does not work.(or at least this one)I tried it and I was serious and I concuntraed and everything.Just like it tells you do do.It does not do ANYTHING.Dont listen to anything any of the other reviews say.I promise you this thing does not work AT ALL.So dont get it.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
havent had a story in awhile
heres another about my great grandmother.
i dont know how long ago this was, but it goes back 4 generations. my great grandmother was in high school when she met my great grandfather hazen. they went steady, went on dates. im not sure how they met. all i know is this was way long before people in backwoods maine could afford cars.
my great grandfather had horses back then. they were his buddies. almost like his dogs. he taught them tricks, and he trained them to follow his orders. he would use them for work and transportation. what else is to do in northernm maine?
my great grandparents were going to go to the high school dance together. so hazen decided to get the horses ready to take effie to the dance in the buggy. this was the first time hazen had gone to effie's house, and was a bit nervous about meeting her parents. when he pulled onto her road, the horses stopped. they wouldnt go up her driveway. they wouldnt listen to him. no matter waht he said, they just wouldnt budge.
forced to leave the horses down the road, hazen walked up the street. he reached her door and was told to wait at the bottom of the stairs to wait for effie. hazen heard her approach, and glanced up the stairs. he saw effie in her dress, but thats not why he was amazed. when he looked at effie, every rung holding up the banister on the stairs fell out. like they disapearred into the stairs.
hazen was white as a ghost. "it's not you, its me," effie said. "youre safe in here"
heres another about my great grandmother.
i dont know how long ago this was, but it goes back 4 generations. my great grandmother was in high school when she met my great grandfather hazen. they went steady, went on dates. im not sure how they met. all i know is this was way long before people in backwoods maine could afford cars.
my great grandfather had horses back then. they were his buddies. almost like his dogs. he taught them tricks, and he trained them to follow his orders. he would use them for work and transportation. what else is to do in northernm maine?
my great grandparents were going to go to the high school dance together. so hazen decided to get the horses ready to take effie to the dance in the buggy. this was the first time hazen had gone to effie's house, and was a bit nervous about meeting her parents. when he pulled onto her road, the horses stopped. they wouldnt go up her driveway. they wouldnt listen to him. no matter waht he said, they just wouldnt budge.
forced to leave the horses down the road, hazen walked up the street. he reached her door and was told to wait at the bottom of the stairs to wait for effie. hazen heard her approach, and glanced up the stairs. he saw effie in her dress, but thats not why he was amazed. when he looked at effie, every rung holding up the banister on the stairs fell out. like they disapearred into the stairs.
hazen was white as a ghost. "it's not you, its me," effie said. "youre safe in here"
Thursday, April 1, 2010
so my friend nicole told me this.
one night she was alone in her basement bedroom fast asleep. her dog charlie, was cuddled up next to her. all of a sudden, charlie got up, put his butt in the air and growled at her open closet door. nothing was there.
nicole also told me another story about charlie. does anyone remember when there was an earthquake in chicago? a couple weeks back? well nicole was in that same room, with charlie, and her boyfriend, brandon, fast asleep. charlie got up, barked, and laid back down. brandon grunted. minutes later, nicole heard a low rumble. like her whole house was shaking. or a far off explosion. she went to wake up her dad, but he was already awake. he heard it too, and thought it was an industrial explosion. in the morning they heard there was an earthquake in chicago and an earthquake in haiti, killing thousands.
which brings me to this. cats and dogs can detect earthquakes before humans. why cant they detect spiritual energy? if humans can walk around and talk and feel, express emotions, be creative and build, why are we unable to feel energies the way animals do? i think part of it is because we are trained to block it out. when we are little, we tell our moms and dads theres monsters under our bed. but monsters dont exist. fairies dont exist. killer clowns dont exist. disregard it, because its not really there. but its not our parents fault.
we block signs of the after life everyday. we walk around on streets where countless people have died over eons and eons. we walk over there final resting places with complete disregard. we spit on them. piss on them. throw pieces of chewed gum on them. whats to say that the random white pigeon you see while riding the bus isnt your dead grandmother saying hello?
for example, my grandmother LOVED cardinals. she was one of those awesome old ladies that saved everything. if she found a little piece of paper on the ground at the grocery store with a cardinal on it, shed save it and put it in a box. everything was cardinals. im getting a little off topic, but i dont care. its my party and ill blog if i want to.
one time after my grandmother died, my mom was driving to work. it was about an hour drive, and my mom passed the time by listening to the local radio stations. usually, it was the classic rock station, but this particular morning, she found a talk station with a special guest. the guest was a local psychic, and she was taking calls so people could try to connect with their lost loves. i have never believed in psychics like john edward, or the like, because i believe its very easy to manipulate people who are eager to hear from there loved ones. its the power of suggestion. the psychic can easily say something like, "did your grandmother like bees?" and the client could find anyway to relate that to them, because they want it to relate to them. anyways, my mom was listening to this station. listening to the callers stories and whatever. then this one woman called in. she said she wanted to talk to her mother. the psychic started asking questions like, "did your mothers name start with a d? it sounds like dorothy to me" and the caller couldnt relate. dorothy was my grandmothers name. all of sudden, everything the psychic said related to my grandmother.
"did she die of breast cancer?"
"did her husband die a week later?"
"did your mother have 5 children?"
"youre the youngest?"
"you have two older brothers and 2 older sisters?"
still the caller couldnt relate
"im feeling a connection to maine..."
"your mothers fathers name was hazen?"
my mother couldn't deny it anymore. the psychic was talking about her mom. my grandmother. and thats when a cardinal flew into her car.
be like a cat. dont deny it. accept it, and love it. the only reason they exist is because we acknowledge them.
one night she was alone in her basement bedroom fast asleep. her dog charlie, was cuddled up next to her. all of a sudden, charlie got up, put his butt in the air and growled at her open closet door. nothing was there.
nicole also told me another story about charlie. does anyone remember when there was an earthquake in chicago? a couple weeks back? well nicole was in that same room, with charlie, and her boyfriend, brandon, fast asleep. charlie got up, barked, and laid back down. brandon grunted. minutes later, nicole heard a low rumble. like her whole house was shaking. or a far off explosion. she went to wake up her dad, but he was already awake. he heard it too, and thought it was an industrial explosion. in the morning they heard there was an earthquake in chicago and an earthquake in haiti, killing thousands.
which brings me to this. cats and dogs can detect earthquakes before humans. why cant they detect spiritual energy? if humans can walk around and talk and feel, express emotions, be creative and build, why are we unable to feel energies the way animals do? i think part of it is because we are trained to block it out. when we are little, we tell our moms and dads theres monsters under our bed. but monsters dont exist. fairies dont exist. killer clowns dont exist. disregard it, because its not really there. but its not our parents fault.
we block signs of the after life everyday. we walk around on streets where countless people have died over eons and eons. we walk over there final resting places with complete disregard. we spit on them. piss on them. throw pieces of chewed gum on them. whats to say that the random white pigeon you see while riding the bus isnt your dead grandmother saying hello?
for example, my grandmother LOVED cardinals. she was one of those awesome old ladies that saved everything. if she found a little piece of paper on the ground at the grocery store with a cardinal on it, shed save it and put it in a box. everything was cardinals. im getting a little off topic, but i dont care. its my party and ill blog if i want to.
one time after my grandmother died, my mom was driving to work. it was about an hour drive, and my mom passed the time by listening to the local radio stations. usually, it was the classic rock station, but this particular morning, she found a talk station with a special guest. the guest was a local psychic, and she was taking calls so people could try to connect with their lost loves. i have never believed in psychics like john edward, or the like, because i believe its very easy to manipulate people who are eager to hear from there loved ones. its the power of suggestion. the psychic can easily say something like, "did your grandmother like bees?" and the client could find anyway to relate that to them, because they want it to relate to them. anyways, my mom was listening to this station. listening to the callers stories and whatever. then this one woman called in. she said she wanted to talk to her mother. the psychic started asking questions like, "did your mothers name start with a d? it sounds like dorothy to me" and the caller couldnt relate. dorothy was my grandmothers name. all of sudden, everything the psychic said related to my grandmother.
"did she die of breast cancer?"
"did her husband die a week later?"
"did your mother have 5 children?"
"youre the youngest?"
"you have two older brothers and 2 older sisters?"
still the caller couldnt relate
"im feeling a connection to maine..."
"your mothers fathers name was hazen?"
my mother couldn't deny it anymore. the psychic was talking about her mom. my grandmother. and thats when a cardinal flew into her car.
be like a cat. dont deny it. accept it, and love it. the only reason they exist is because we acknowledge them.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
so, they say my great grandmother was a witch. a white witch. i totally dont know the difference between the colors of witches, but they said my great grandmother could heal people. now, it easily couldve been that my great grandmother, effie, had a specific knowledge of herbs and the great people of northern maine couldnt understand it. there is only person i know thats alive who has witnessed effies powers. and thats my mom.
my mom is the youngest of 5 kids. she has 2 older brothers, and two older sisters. my grandparents would always go to maine. it was just a vacation spot, it was a second home. my great grandmother and great grandfather lived in small home in the town of smryna mills, maine. it was on a road called rebel hill. rebel hill is a strange place. theres tons of crazy stories i have about rebel hill, but this is just one.
rebel hill is pretty desolate, but when my mom was young, there was constantly kids up there to hang out with, to play in the old potato barns with, and to participate in general tomfoolery with. one particular summer afternoon, my mom was running around with this little boy. they were playing around an old potato barn. the memory is a little bit fuzzy in my moms head of how this boy got hurt, but she remembers the wound. the boy had somehow gotten a huge piece of wood impaled into his arm. he was bleeding, turing white and crying like a banshee. my mom yelled for effie, and she found the boy lying on the ground.
effie said nothing, she just held the boy in her arms. she placed her hands over the wound and started mumbling. my mom couldnt understand what she was saying. it was like another language. the boy stopped crying. the boy stopped bleeding.
i dont know what happened to the boy after that. i dont know if he went to the hospital to get the piece of wood removed or anything like that. i do know that my greatgrandmother has been dead for almost my whole lifetime. i do know that whenever i go to smryna mills, effie is still talked about. effie the witch. effie my great grandmother.
my mom is the youngest of 5 kids. she has 2 older brothers, and two older sisters. my grandparents would always go to maine. it was just a vacation spot, it was a second home. my great grandmother and great grandfather lived in small home in the town of smryna mills, maine. it was on a road called rebel hill. rebel hill is a strange place. theres tons of crazy stories i have about rebel hill, but this is just one.
rebel hill is pretty desolate, but when my mom was young, there was constantly kids up there to hang out with, to play in the old potato barns with, and to participate in general tomfoolery with. one particular summer afternoon, my mom was running around with this little boy. they were playing around an old potato barn. the memory is a little bit fuzzy in my moms head of how this boy got hurt, but she remembers the wound. the boy had somehow gotten a huge piece of wood impaled into his arm. he was bleeding, turing white and crying like a banshee. my mom yelled for effie, and she found the boy lying on the ground.
effie said nothing, she just held the boy in her arms. she placed her hands over the wound and started mumbling. my mom couldnt understand what she was saying. it was like another language. the boy stopped crying. the boy stopped bleeding.
i dont know what happened to the boy after that. i dont know if he went to the hospital to get the piece of wood removed or anything like that. i do know that my greatgrandmother has been dead for almost my whole lifetime. i do know that whenever i go to smryna mills, effie is still talked about. effie the witch. effie my great grandmother.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
i have more ghost stories. i just dont want to run out of them. and i dont want to type. in the meantime check this out.
An Unknown Encounter
| MySpace Video
An Unknown Encounter
| MySpace Video
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
i just watched cats 101. it was cute.
heres a story about a cemetary in burlington, connecticut. its called green lady.
i never really had any expieriences there, but the legend of the green lady intrigues me. the cemetary is old as fuck, and all of the headstones are pretty much destroyed. except one. the headstone says "elizabeth". or something like that. the cemetary is easy to get to and easy to get away from, therefore, it was a common place for bored rich kids to get drunk and break glass. they say the headstones are destroyed because of kids vandalizing the place. which makes perfect sense. elizabeths grave is right by the entrance closest to the road. and there wasnt a dent in the fucker.
the legend goes that elizabeth was a mother. she had a buttload of kids. she was a single mom cause her husband died in the revolutionary war. she lived on the road that the cemetary is on.
i guess it snowed for weeks. elizabeth couldnt even leave the house due to the weather. and her kids were getting hungry. she had to venture out if her children were to live. she went out in search for food, which i dont even know how they "searched for food" back in the day, nonetheless, she lost her way. and elizabeth never returned.
its said she died in the swamp by the cemetary. the clearing wasnt "a clearing." it was actually a frozen pond, that she fell into and died.
i guess this story isnt supposed to be scary. its more a reflection on why i think ghosts exist. elizabeth had unfinished business. and you can never feed your kids from the afterlife, so shes just existing forever. trying to make contact while teenagers fuck around with her headstone.
heres a story about a cemetary in burlington, connecticut. its called green lady.
i never really had any expieriences there, but the legend of the green lady intrigues me. the cemetary is old as fuck, and all of the headstones are pretty much destroyed. except one. the headstone says "elizabeth". or something like that. the cemetary is easy to get to and easy to get away from, therefore, it was a common place for bored rich kids to get drunk and break glass. they say the headstones are destroyed because of kids vandalizing the place. which makes perfect sense. elizabeths grave is right by the entrance closest to the road. and there wasnt a dent in the fucker.
the legend goes that elizabeth was a mother. she had a buttload of kids. she was a single mom cause her husband died in the revolutionary war. she lived on the road that the cemetary is on.
i guess it snowed for weeks. elizabeth couldnt even leave the house due to the weather. and her kids were getting hungry. she had to venture out if her children were to live. she went out in search for food, which i dont even know how they "searched for food" back in the day, nonetheless, she lost her way. and elizabeth never returned.
its said she died in the swamp by the cemetary. the clearing wasnt "a clearing." it was actually a frozen pond, that she fell into and died.
i guess this story isnt supposed to be scary. its more a reflection on why i think ghosts exist. elizabeth had unfinished business. and you can never feed your kids from the afterlife, so shes just existing forever. trying to make contact while teenagers fuck around with her headstone.
Friday, March 12, 2010
high school is weird enough to begin with. but its weirder if theres a ghost in your house.
out of all the stories ive told, this is the only one that actually happened to me.
i lived in this awesome little house with my mom and brother. it was a two family house and we shared the house with a family who had the second floor and the attic. we had the first floor, and the basement. well we kinda shared the basement with the people upstairs. again, im gonna change these peoples names. the first ghost story i wrote about on this blog has to do with the family we shared this house with. when my mom saw the ghost baby, we had lived right next door to the same family. they were your average lower middle class unit, mom, dad, 2 boys. the mom, stacy, and dad, steve, had been married for years and there marriage was deteriorating. the two boys, stephen, 18, and john, 15 were obviously affected by the trauma in there home. my brother bill and i were childhood friends with stephen and john, and it was kinda cool to live with these people again. my brother and stephen would play in the dirt with trucks and shit back when they were mad little. so back in like, 2002, when we started smoking pot, it was cool to hang with them all the time.
being retarded teenagers, my brother and i would mess around with ouija boards all the time. it was something we would do pretty much every single time we had sleepovers. of course thats not what we called it when we had friends over back then. anyways, we never used it to summon demons, or anything like that. we spoke to lost loved ones. our friends spoke to lost loved ones.
but this story isnt about ouija boards.
stephen was younger than my brother, but older than me. john was the youngest out of all of us. stephen was the kinda guy that you didnt really want to introduce to your other friends. he wore dirty wifebeaters and shitty baggy jeans all the time. he drove a maroon fiero, the kind of car that explodes if its rear ended. he would rev the engine in our backyard while listening to icp. but i guess thats why my brother and him got along.
stephen, my brother bill and i would always wind up hanging out on weeknights. we would be in the basement. in my brothers room, playing killer instinct on super nintendo. stephen kept telling us these stories. he said he was up in the attic, his room, which he shared with his brother, listening to his headphones. he said he felt pennies or change hitting him in the leg while he was laying down on his bed. he thought it was john so he told him to cut that shit out right quick. when he looked up john wasnt there.
he told us about coming home and finding pennies spread out all over his floor.
we just thought he was on drugs.
this one particular weekday, the whole household unit had made efforts to fancy up our house. the boys had done yard work, while my momther and i did laundry, mopped, and generally tidied up. maybe it was considered spring cleaning. the place didnt look too bad after we were done.
later on that night, bill, stephen and i were down in the basement playing killer instinct. we were all pretty tired from kicking ass all day. stephen and bill decided it was a good time to watch a girls gone wild dvd up in stephens room. i will never understand why boys like to watch porn together, if you can consider girls gone wild porn. so needless to say, i was going to be no part of that.
i grabbed my last load of laundry out of the dryer and made my way up to my room. when i walked into my room, i noticed a huge splash of water in the middle of my floor. it made no sense. there were no glasses or bottles or anything that couldve made the splash. i told stephen to go upstairs to check if anything was leaking. i told my brother to see if anything exploded in the basement. living in an old house, you kind of expect these things to happen from time to time. we couldnt find the source of the water. we stood there for a minute, staring at this splash. for some reason, i started to freak out. i felt uneasy. i was scared of this water.
naturally i woke up my mom. i showed her this splash, we were all in my room checking it out, still had no explaination. at this point we were all wide awake, so we were going to go into the living room to smoke a cigarette, and part ways. as we walked out of my room into the kitchen, continuing into the living room, this little stone dog figurine on a shelf flew the fuck off of it. it flew off, hit the stove, made a huge noise, and went under the refrigerator. at first we thought we had hit the shelf as we walked by. there was no way this little dog would fly off the shelf with that much force. we stomped the ground, and tested everything to recreate it. we couldnt explain it.
nothing happened for weeks.
stacey and steve divorced. stephen got into a couple new drugs and john immersed himself in schoolwork.
it was a typical weeknight. my brother and i had just cleaned up the basement/his room. we shared a beer and left it on his coffee table. stephen came down and we lost ourselves in a bong and video games. i started to here some strange noises. it sounded like a coffee cup hitting the cement floor. or something heavy and glass falling. then i started to hear the sound of like, a lightbulb hitting the cement floor. the sounds continued, and i told my brother to go check it out to make sure our cats werent fucking up our neighbors christmas shit. no cats. the sounds started to scare the shit out of me. we needed to get out of the basement immediatley. we ran up the stairs, and as we were, my brother pushed me. i was like "what the fuck bill?" he just told me to run.
we got up into the living room/my moms room and woke her up. i asked my brother why he pushed me. he said that when he was running, something flew across the basement and hit him in the leg. it was just a small piece of cement, but the strange thing about it was it landed in his hand as he was running.
my brother was freaked out. he wanted to leave the house. my mom told him that we needed to take a stand, and not let whatever was causing these occurances to happen run us out of our house. he didnt care. the problem with bill leaving the house is he needed to get his work clothes for the next day. they were in the dryer. in the basement.
stephen and bill went down there, while my mother and i chain smoked in the living room. this was the kind of house where you could hear everything going on everywhere in the house. we could hear them talking.
my brother is not the type to scare easily. moments after they went downstairs, we heard a crash, and my brother and stephen ran up the stairs and straight out of the house.
my brother told me that as he took his clothes out of the washer, he looked over his shoulder, and saw something strange. a beer bottle came through the ceiling. it fell down towards the floor, stopped at about his head height, and spun around. the bottle then crashed to the floor.
i slept in my moms bed that night. i was 18.
the next day, we went down to the basement to try and find anything glass that had broken. to maybe try to explain the sounds we heard. we found a couple of broken lightbulbs. but they were in strange places. in the darkest corners of the basement. underneath boxes and boards. it didnt make sense. we did find the beer bottle. it was right on the floor where my brother said it fell. but there was no beer bottle on his coffee table.
nothing else happened from there. since then, the house has been a computer store, and then back to a single family home.
stephens family fell apart.
this year, stephen got hit by a plow truck and is in a coma.
out of all the stories ive told, this is the only one that actually happened to me.
i lived in this awesome little house with my mom and brother. it was a two family house and we shared the house with a family who had the second floor and the attic. we had the first floor, and the basement. well we kinda shared the basement with the people upstairs. again, im gonna change these peoples names. the first ghost story i wrote about on this blog has to do with the family we shared this house with. when my mom saw the ghost baby, we had lived right next door to the same family. they were your average lower middle class unit, mom, dad, 2 boys. the mom, stacy, and dad, steve, had been married for years and there marriage was deteriorating. the two boys, stephen, 18, and john, 15 were obviously affected by the trauma in there home. my brother bill and i were childhood friends with stephen and john, and it was kinda cool to live with these people again. my brother and stephen would play in the dirt with trucks and shit back when they were mad little. so back in like, 2002, when we started smoking pot, it was cool to hang with them all the time.
being retarded teenagers, my brother and i would mess around with ouija boards all the time. it was something we would do pretty much every single time we had sleepovers. of course thats not what we called it when we had friends over back then. anyways, we never used it to summon demons, or anything like that. we spoke to lost loved ones. our friends spoke to lost loved ones.
but this story isnt about ouija boards.
stephen was younger than my brother, but older than me. john was the youngest out of all of us. stephen was the kinda guy that you didnt really want to introduce to your other friends. he wore dirty wifebeaters and shitty baggy jeans all the time. he drove a maroon fiero, the kind of car that explodes if its rear ended. he would rev the engine in our backyard while listening to icp. but i guess thats why my brother and him got along.
stephen, my brother bill and i would always wind up hanging out on weeknights. we would be in the basement. in my brothers room, playing killer instinct on super nintendo. stephen kept telling us these stories. he said he was up in the attic, his room, which he shared with his brother, listening to his headphones. he said he felt pennies or change hitting him in the leg while he was laying down on his bed. he thought it was john so he told him to cut that shit out right quick. when he looked up john wasnt there.
he told us about coming home and finding pennies spread out all over his floor.
we just thought he was on drugs.
this one particular weekday, the whole household unit had made efforts to fancy up our house. the boys had done yard work, while my momther and i did laundry, mopped, and generally tidied up. maybe it was considered spring cleaning. the place didnt look too bad after we were done.
later on that night, bill, stephen and i were down in the basement playing killer instinct. we were all pretty tired from kicking ass all day. stephen and bill decided it was a good time to watch a girls gone wild dvd up in stephens room. i will never understand why boys like to watch porn together, if you can consider girls gone wild porn. so needless to say, i was going to be no part of that.
i grabbed my last load of laundry out of the dryer and made my way up to my room. when i walked into my room, i noticed a huge splash of water in the middle of my floor. it made no sense. there were no glasses or bottles or anything that couldve made the splash. i told stephen to go upstairs to check if anything was leaking. i told my brother to see if anything exploded in the basement. living in an old house, you kind of expect these things to happen from time to time. we couldnt find the source of the water. we stood there for a minute, staring at this splash. for some reason, i started to freak out. i felt uneasy. i was scared of this water.
naturally i woke up my mom. i showed her this splash, we were all in my room checking it out, still had no explaination. at this point we were all wide awake, so we were going to go into the living room to smoke a cigarette, and part ways. as we walked out of my room into the kitchen, continuing into the living room, this little stone dog figurine on a shelf flew the fuck off of it. it flew off, hit the stove, made a huge noise, and went under the refrigerator. at first we thought we had hit the shelf as we walked by. there was no way this little dog would fly off the shelf with that much force. we stomped the ground, and tested everything to recreate it. we couldnt explain it.
nothing happened for weeks.
stacey and steve divorced. stephen got into a couple new drugs and john immersed himself in schoolwork.
it was a typical weeknight. my brother and i had just cleaned up the basement/his room. we shared a beer and left it on his coffee table. stephen came down and we lost ourselves in a bong and video games. i started to here some strange noises. it sounded like a coffee cup hitting the cement floor. or something heavy and glass falling. then i started to hear the sound of like, a lightbulb hitting the cement floor. the sounds continued, and i told my brother to go check it out to make sure our cats werent fucking up our neighbors christmas shit. no cats. the sounds started to scare the shit out of me. we needed to get out of the basement immediatley. we ran up the stairs, and as we were, my brother pushed me. i was like "what the fuck bill?" he just told me to run.
we got up into the living room/my moms room and woke her up. i asked my brother why he pushed me. he said that when he was running, something flew across the basement and hit him in the leg. it was just a small piece of cement, but the strange thing about it was it landed in his hand as he was running.
my brother was freaked out. he wanted to leave the house. my mom told him that we needed to take a stand, and not let whatever was causing these occurances to happen run us out of our house. he didnt care. the problem with bill leaving the house is he needed to get his work clothes for the next day. they were in the dryer. in the basement.
stephen and bill went down there, while my mother and i chain smoked in the living room. this was the kind of house where you could hear everything going on everywhere in the house. we could hear them talking.
my brother is not the type to scare easily. moments after they went downstairs, we heard a crash, and my brother and stephen ran up the stairs and straight out of the house.
my brother told me that as he took his clothes out of the washer, he looked over his shoulder, and saw something strange. a beer bottle came through the ceiling. it fell down towards the floor, stopped at about his head height, and spun around. the bottle then crashed to the floor.
i slept in my moms bed that night. i was 18.
the next day, we went down to the basement to try and find anything glass that had broken. to maybe try to explain the sounds we heard. we found a couple of broken lightbulbs. but they were in strange places. in the darkest corners of the basement. underneath boxes and boards. it didnt make sense. we did find the beer bottle. it was right on the floor where my brother said it fell. but there was no beer bottle on his coffee table.
nothing else happened from there. since then, the house has been a computer store, and then back to a single family home.
stephens family fell apart.
this year, stephen got hit by a plow truck and is in a coma.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
its beautiful out. i walked to work today without a coat. that felt great. they also filmed some crazy fucking production outside my building today. they were yelling with a megaphone to get all the cars off the street otherwise they would be ticketed and towed.
anyways, haunted furniture. it exists. you ever hear of a piano playing itself? or people hearing strange knocks from an old desk? theres a theory that spirits can attach themselves to old furniture. think about it, you use your damn dresser everyday... or the writer who spends his life working out a masterpiece on a desk, and dies while finishing the last page. this isnt nesscessarily a story, just something that should be brought to your attention. next time you walk past that ancient mirror in your house, think about how many dead people have gazed into it before you.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
its raining and spring is upon us.
a friend of mine told me this story.
lets call her amy
so amy knew this girl in school. she was always kinda eccentric, but she changed alot once she suffered some serious loss. this girl amy knew, lets call her sarah, had lost her boyfriend of years and her twin sister in the same year. her boyfriend was a soldier in iraq, and he came home on leave. he got hit by a train and died immediatley. her twin sister was also hit by a train. after her sister and boyfriend died, sarah was never the same. amy noticed sarah change throughout the years, but their friendship faded. sarah got into some drugs, she was never in school, and she hung out with some strange characters. amy and sarah lived in the same neighborhood, and hardly ever saw each other.
years passed.
one night amy was home doing mushrooms by herself. she knew her parents would be home soon so she tried to chill out in her room and listen to music. she drifted off to sleep.
she awoke to the sound of her mother screaming at her.
"amy what did you do? who the hell is this in my living room?!!" amy tried to remember if she invited anyone over, or if things got crazy during her trip, but there was no way she was that fucked up. "i didnt do anything, no one should be here"
so amy went out to the living room to find sarah, sleeping in the middle of the room on the floor. she was soaking wet. amy and her parents tried to wake sarah up, and she was quite incoherent. sarah was mumbling about her sister, and her boyfriend, and seemed to be in a daze. back when sarah and amy were childhood friends, amy's dad had always tried to make sarah feel comfortable. even after sarahs tragedy, amys dad was always there for her. they were trying to figure out what happened to sarah. they didnt know what else to do so hey called the police. they didnt even know how she had gotten into the house. as they were waiting for the police to come pick sarah up and take her home, amy and her family were dumbfounded. it was almost as if sarah was oblivious to the awkwardness of finding a soaking wet girl in your living room at close to 4 in the morning. the police came and got sarah, and amy and her family sat down to reflect upon what had just happened.
they were all sitting around the dining room table, and heard the loudest noise ever. it sounded like the whole house had picked up and slammed down. the lights dimmed and there was a faint breeze. before amy could speak, her dad did. he said he felt as if that was amys sister saying thank you for looking after her.
two days later, amys uncle died.
maybe it was a warning, or a thank you. but sarah still isnt the same.
toes:
ouija board
witch board
oscar meyer
lovin dudes
ghost story
ghost hunts
hippy bitch
count crows
knuckles:
pass time
sexy time
rain king
high lite
some of those my mom came up with. some were from my friend courtney turner.
a friend of mine told me this story.
lets call her amy
so amy knew this girl in school. she was always kinda eccentric, but she changed alot once she suffered some serious loss. this girl amy knew, lets call her sarah, had lost her boyfriend of years and her twin sister in the same year. her boyfriend was a soldier in iraq, and he came home on leave. he got hit by a train and died immediatley. her twin sister was also hit by a train. after her sister and boyfriend died, sarah was never the same. amy noticed sarah change throughout the years, but their friendship faded. sarah got into some drugs, she was never in school, and she hung out with some strange characters. amy and sarah lived in the same neighborhood, and hardly ever saw each other.
years passed.
one night amy was home doing mushrooms by herself. she knew her parents would be home soon so she tried to chill out in her room and listen to music. she drifted off to sleep.
she awoke to the sound of her mother screaming at her.
"amy what did you do? who the hell is this in my living room?!!" amy tried to remember if she invited anyone over, or if things got crazy during her trip, but there was no way she was that fucked up. "i didnt do anything, no one should be here"
so amy went out to the living room to find sarah, sleeping in the middle of the room on the floor. she was soaking wet. amy and her parents tried to wake sarah up, and she was quite incoherent. sarah was mumbling about her sister, and her boyfriend, and seemed to be in a daze. back when sarah and amy were childhood friends, amy's dad had always tried to make sarah feel comfortable. even after sarahs tragedy, amys dad was always there for her. they were trying to figure out what happened to sarah. they didnt know what else to do so hey called the police. they didnt even know how she had gotten into the house. as they were waiting for the police to come pick sarah up and take her home, amy and her family were dumbfounded. it was almost as if sarah was oblivious to the awkwardness of finding a soaking wet girl in your living room at close to 4 in the morning. the police came and got sarah, and amy and her family sat down to reflect upon what had just happened.
they were all sitting around the dining room table, and heard the loudest noise ever. it sounded like the whole house had picked up and slammed down. the lights dimmed and there was a faint breeze. before amy could speak, her dad did. he said he felt as if that was amys sister saying thank you for looking after her.
two days later, amys uncle died.
maybe it was a warning, or a thank you. but sarah still isnt the same.
toes:
ouija board
witch board
oscar meyer
lovin dudes
ghost story
ghost hunts
hippy bitch
count crows
knuckles:
pass time
sexy time
rain king
high lite
some of those my mom came up with. some were from my friend courtney turner.
Monday, March 8, 2010
ok. i know what im doing with this now. a collection of ghost stories and knuckle tattoo ideas.
heres a story:
the first night my mom brought me home from the hosptial, (as a baby, duh) my mom couldnt sleep. my older brother and i shared a room in this apartment by my high school. my mom had had a c section, and she was in some great pain. she woke up and had to use the bathroom. she got up, walked past our bedroom and realized something was wrong. she glanced back into our room and noticed something like she had never seen before. it was a giant baby. he was sitting up by my crib playing with the toys on the changing table. he was perfect. like the gerber baby but more beautiful. there was something odd about this baby, though. he was huge. like oversized. he just looked up at my mom, and smiled. she shook it off and went to bed, thinking she must be dreaming. so the next day my mom woke up, got some coffee, and thought about her dream. she went back into our room to see if anything was awry. thate when she noticed the tiny trail of blood from her bedroom to the bathroom. her cut from her c section was bleeding last night, and that why she had gone to the bathroom in the first place, so it couldnt have been a dream.
weeks passed. my mom and dad were unaware at first of what was going on in the house around them. one night they were sitting in the living room, watching tv. one of my brothers matchbox cars came flying out of the hallway like a little kid had zipped it across the floor. but my brother and i were at our grandparents.
my mom would wake up and find pots and pans out of there drawers and shelves. she would find our bath toys all messed up after she had carefully laid them out on towels to dry. all signs were pointing to a child ghost.
my mother had a friend who claimed to be psychic. she knew about ghosts. she told my mom to pour salt all over the house. burn sage. tell it to leave.
turns out, spirits of deceased children will attach themselves to new mothers. because they feel welcomed. at home.
haunted at birth.
knuckle tattoos:
burn sage
puke gold
saturday
toes:
title fight
crisp fries
heres a story:
the first night my mom brought me home from the hosptial, (as a baby, duh) my mom couldnt sleep. my older brother and i shared a room in this apartment by my high school. my mom had had a c section, and she was in some great pain. she woke up and had to use the bathroom. she got up, walked past our bedroom and realized something was wrong. she glanced back into our room and noticed something like she had never seen before. it was a giant baby. he was sitting up by my crib playing with the toys on the changing table. he was perfect. like the gerber baby but more beautiful. there was something odd about this baby, though. he was huge. like oversized. he just looked up at my mom, and smiled. she shook it off and went to bed, thinking she must be dreaming. so the next day my mom woke up, got some coffee, and thought about her dream. she went back into our room to see if anything was awry. thate when she noticed the tiny trail of blood from her bedroom to the bathroom. her cut from her c section was bleeding last night, and that why she had gone to the bathroom in the first place, so it couldnt have been a dream.
weeks passed. my mom and dad were unaware at first of what was going on in the house around them. one night they were sitting in the living room, watching tv. one of my brothers matchbox cars came flying out of the hallway like a little kid had zipped it across the floor. but my brother and i were at our grandparents.
my mom would wake up and find pots and pans out of there drawers and shelves. she would find our bath toys all messed up after she had carefully laid them out on towels to dry. all signs were pointing to a child ghost.
my mother had a friend who claimed to be psychic. she knew about ghosts. she told my mom to pour salt all over the house. burn sage. tell it to leave.
turns out, spirits of deceased children will attach themselves to new mothers. because they feel welcomed. at home.
haunted at birth.
knuckle tattoos:
burn sage
puke gold
saturday
toes:
title fight
crisp fries
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
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