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.

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!!!!!

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.

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"

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.

haunted house! yeah where the lights are low, haunted house! where ghosts and goblins go. where the witches make their brew, and say BOO! what a ghostly crew yeah in the haunted house

this is the town

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.