Tag Archive: Spirits



In part one of my “Living With Ghosts” blog series, I introduced the spooky old farmhouse my family moved into when I was seven.  Any place with such a colorful history as that house is bound to have a few ghosts, right?  Although the house was old, the wiring bad, the facilities outdated and so on and so forth, my parents moved there because they didn’t have much money and the rent was dirt cheap.  With five small children to support, they thought it was a great deal.  And it was…if only we didn’t have to share the place with unseen specters!  Although I was only seven years old when we moved there, the place had such an impact on me that my memories are quite vivid.  Some of it I wish I could forget.

Since the house had been empty for quite a while, my parents had to do some extensive cleanup and repair work to get it inhabitable.  I remember my first visit to that house as if it were yesterday.  My mom let me tag along with her and a friend during one of their cleaning expeditions.  Their main agenda for the day was to pull several layers of old wallpaper from the walls so new wallpaper could be applied.  I remember that the walls were made of wood laths covered in plaster mixed with animal hair.  The stuff was crumbling from age and my parents replaced a lot of it with sheetrock (drywall).  I can still recall my thoughts on the house the first time I entered it.  The place was darned right gloomy.  It was also quite chilly inside despite the warm spring day outside.  There wasn’t a lot of lighting in the house (the wiring needed quite a bit of updating).  My mom told me that the bedrooms were upstairs and that mine was the last room on the left.  Although I remember feeling uncomfortable going upstairs by myself, I was eager to see my room and so up the stairs I went.  The room that would become my brothers’ bedroom was at the top of the stairs to the left, my parents’ room straight ahead.  There were no windows in my brothers’ room so it was quite dark in there and I had to go through their room to get to mine.  The door to my future bedroom was partially open and I could see that it was lit bright with sunlight.  I raced through the gloom to my future bedroom and was glad to see we had two large windows.  They faced the right side of the house and the river a couple hundred yards down the hill.  The room was filled with furniture (antiques!) and I remember being delighted by the mirrored dresser.  It had all sorts of neat little drawers and I sat before it to explore each one.

I wasn’t in the room very long when I heard someone coming up behind me.  I thought it was my mother.  I turned to ask her if the dresser was going to stay in the room for us to use but no one was there.  It puzzled me to find the room empty for I was sure someone had walked up behind me.  Though reluctant, I went and checked out the other two bedrooms.  I glanced toward the “dark room” (see Part I) but no WAY was I going to peak in there.  Both bedrooms were empty.  Feeling jittery but having no justification for concern, I returned to my exploration of the dresser.  A few minutes later, I had the strongest feeling someone was standing right behind me and my back crawled with unease.  Remember, I was only seven … I didn’t know about ghosts and had no clue why I felt as if someone was in the room with me even though I couldn’t see anyone.  It frightened me beyond measure and I no longer had any desire to explore my room and the furniture within it (the room was packed with lots of old stuff!).  Although I wanted to rejoin my mother, I was afraid to go through the room beyond, especially as I had to pass the dark room to do so (its entrance was a few feet to the left of my door).  I figured whoever was up here with me had to be hiding in there as I’d checked everywhere else.

It was quite a quandary I found myself in for I didn’t dare to leave, I was too scared to stay and I wasn’t sure if I should be making any noise since I didn’t want to attract their attention.  But then I’d made enough noise up to that point, I finally figured they already knew I was there anyway and began calling for my mother.  She kept answering with a “What?” but she didn’t come up the stairs and I didn’t dare go down them.  Finally, after repeating “Mom!” several times with escalating panic, my mother’s head appeared as she came up the stairs just far enough to see me (the top of the stairs was all open so you could see the last few steps from any vantage point).  “What?”

Why I didn’t tell her I was scared, I don’t know, instead I asked her if I could keep the dresser.  She said no, it wasn’t ours to use and before she could turn to go back downstairs, I ran to join her.  Although I really wanted to explore that house, I was too afraid to do so after that.  I did not feel comfortable there.  And the feeling was to remain for the next seven years!

When we finally moved in, the house didn’t seem so scary with the five of us kids running through the place.  My mom and dad always seemed to have company so the house was usually overrun with people.  Even so, I remember feeling like someone was watching me all the danged time.  I usually blamed the feeling on my brother (three years younger than me and quite the pest).  I was so sure he was hiding and spying.  Who else would it be?  Stuff began to disappear almost right away.  It was a common occurrence to have my parents complain about something they couldn’t find (they weren’t the only ones but our stuff being lost was naturally blamed on our inattention and thoughtlessness).  Of course my parents blamed us kids for their lost items (sometimes we would find them, in some strange obscure place, but oftentimes we did not).  I still wonder where they went? Countless times my dad gathered us together to demand we tell him where the latest missing item was “or else!”.  The fact we were all punished when the culprit didn’t speak up always had us kids mad at each other for not fessing up.  Of course, most of the time my poor brother “J” (I’ll just give him an initial as I haven’t asked him if he’s okay with me using his name!) was thought to be the guilty one.  There was a lot of “the blame game” going on, I can tell you that!  The atmosphere was, at times, quite negative.  Not all the time, of course.  Looking back on it, I truly believe the negative atmosphere happened when the spirits were about.  We did have spells of time where they seemed to be absent.  Why they came and went, who knows?

Since we put the missing stuff down to one of us (kids) being the culprit, we weren’t yet aware of the ghosts.  The first year or so living there, anything out of the ordinary happening was explained away.  “It’s cold in here because the walls are built solid and doesn’t allow the summer heat in (the slatted walls filled with horsehair plaster and no insulation told a different story!), the noises we sometimes heard were the house “settling” or it was one of the cats … perhaps even a mouse.  What else could it be?  The feeling of being watched, of not being alone…well, that was hard to explain.  Sometimes I would think it was J but when I knew where he was, I didn’t know what to make of it. The doors being found open (so common an occurrence that it often went without comment), well, it HAD to be one of us kids opening those doors…right? Actually, as I grew older, if my dad got up in the morning and found a door open (meaning the front door, the cellar door or the door to the attached barn), well he usually blamed it on me because I was often the last one to bed!  It boggled my mind that my dad would actually believe I could leave those doors open and head on to bed.  I didn’t feel safe as it was!  In fact, I often doubled checked the doors because I had so many nightmares of us being killed in our sleep! Yeah, my imagination worked overtime while living there.

My fear of that house began in earnest the night my mother went to play Bingo with a friend, leaving us kids at the house with my dad and her friend’s husband.  Ranging from the ages of one to eight by this time, the five of us kids were having a grand ole time playing on the stairs that night.  We were sliding down the narrow stairway on our butts, our bellies, our backs…however we could manage to do so.  We were making quite a racket, I know that much.  The main part of the stairway came to a small landing that then turned right (if coming down) with two more steps to the kitchen. We were confining our “slide” to the landing.  Above this landing was a small window.  I was too short to see out the window if standing under it.  From the back of the house where the window was located, I would guess it was about seven feet up from the ground for it was higher than my dad and he is six feet tall.  It was built flush with the house, no sill, no framing (I feel these facts are important, you’ll see why).  My dad and his friend were sitting at the kitchen table talking … just a few feet from the stairwell entranceway (they must have been happy to have us all occupied in one place so they didn’t mind all the noise we were making).  For once all five of us kids were having a good time together, no fighting, just fun.  We had no worries.

I had just completed my run down the stairs and turned to start back up them when I saw my sister about four steps down from the top.  She sat frozen in place, her dark brown eyes wide with fright, her mouth open in a silent scream.  She was about three at the time.  My two youngest brothers were on the steps behind her, laughing and playing, they were ages one and two (yeah, my mom had us all pretty close together!).  My brother J was a couple steps below my sister and on his way up.  He saw her strange stance and turned to see what she was looking at.  He immediately began screaming in terror and turned to make a mad scramble up the stairs, practically bowling my sister over in his haste.  My two youngest brothers turned to look as soon as they heard J scream and whatever was in the area above my head, they saw it too and began to scream right along with J as they scrambled after him up the stairs.  I did look above me but I saw nothing.  Whatever was terrifying them had to be in the window.  I remember the top of my head started crawling with unease, as if a thousand spiders and just landed there!  I was scared to freakin death and didn’t even know why.  All I knew was that my siblings were seeing something pretty danged awful.  Once my brothers started screaming, my sister found her voice and she let out the loudest, high pitched screech.  That alone would make your hair stand on end!

My dad stood up and looked at me.  “What’s wrong with the kids?  Go get your sister.”

With my dad standing near the stairwell, I felt a little braver and so I crouched low and ran up the stairs to get her.  I picked her up, her little body stiff as a board and she grabbed me as if I were saving her life.  I turned then to look at the window, afraid to see what they saw.  Nothing was there.  As I started down the stairs to my dad, my brothers scrambled down with me, all three of them crying with fright.

My dad took my terrified sister and did his best to comfort her.  It took a while to calm her down and, his patience wearing thin, he told the boys to stop their racket as well.  Of course he looked to me, the oldest of the bunch, for an explanation.  I had none.

Once my sister’s cries calmed to hiccups, my dad asked her again why she was scared.

“Red eyes, red eyes.”  That’s all she would say and then she buried her head in his shoulder.

Now my brother J (five at the time) spoke up.  “There was a monster in the window!”  My other two brothers began to cry again as they repeated the word “monster” and moved closer to dad and I for protection.  My dad put my sister in my arms and motioned to his friend to follow him.  They grabbed a flashlight and headed out the door.  The five of us kids huddled together in the kitchen and waited.  I envisioned my father being eaten by this monster my siblings saw and wondered if I’d be able to save us from the same fate.  Yeah, young minds!  After awhile, my dad returned from his investigation.  He said there was nothing outside the window that he could see.  His conclusion?  My sister and brothers must have seen a reflection of themselves in the window. I knew, even at eight, that such an explanation made no sense.  We’d been playing on those stairs for quite a while, why hadn’t our reflections bothered us from the beginning?  And seriously, what’s so danged scary about our reflections?  Geez! Totally subdued and frightened, the five of us kids went into the living room to huddle together on the couch.  While my dad and his friend sat back down at the kitchen table to continue their discussion (as if nothing had happened!), I asked my siblings about what they saw.  We spoke quietly among ourselves, knowing my dad would get upset if he heard us talking about monsters.  All four of them saw it.  The two oldest were adamant that they saw a face with red eyes. My brother J said the eyes were glowing and the face was scary.

Even though my dad didn’t find the “monster” we all knew it was out there and from that moment on, I was terrified of that house.  Now I knew something else was there with us.  Now I knew why I always felt as if something were in the room with me even though I couldn’t see it.  Now I knew what was opening the doors, taking things, making strange noises and moving stuff.  We had a monster.  It wasn’t much of a relief to later learn the monster was actually a ghost … and it wasn’t just one … no … there were, in fact, several and one of them was bad!

Okay, I’m done for now!  I’m trying to limit each post to to one or two ghostly incidents in order to keep the story relatively short!  Hope you visit again for Part III  …  if you dare! (smile)  Until then, blessings to all and Peace Out!


Last year I started this blog and since my interests (among many!) are attracted to anything dealing with the paranormal/supernatural and the books I write also include such subject matter, it was only natural that I would blog about that stuff too.  I became interested in matters of the “unknown” and “mysterious” when me and my family moved into a haunted old farm house back when I was seven years old.  I’ve always said I would write a book about our experiences there but, interesting though various events were, I’m not sure I could keep the page-gripping momentum going through an entire book.  I mean…there’s no final big show down or climatic end…we simply moved out.  We had had enough.  I do, however, have a great “novel” idea for a future book which will be loosely based on our experience there.  One of these days I’ll actually get down to writing “The Haunted Farm House” (or whatever I end up calling it) but that book will be a work of fiction and I would love to share what REALLY happened.  What better way to do that than a blog series!

Now, all my earliest blog posts were about my experiences in that house but I sort of crammed them all together as it seemed once the dam broke on my reminiscences, I wanted to get it all out there quickly.  So instead of reposting those, I’m going to rehash all the same stories again, minus the eager blog-post-overload I engaged in before!  This way, I can really convey what it is we experienced and maybe explore my own thoughts on it a little more … now that I know what I know!

For this post, I want to give a little history about the house, what I remember of it (I was 7 when we moved in and I was 14 when we moved out).  Despite the many years that have past, my memories are still pretty vivid and I continue to dream about that place to this day … thirty plus years later!  A homestead has been on the property since settlers began arriving in the area back in the 1760s.  The place used to be a farm (thus we dubbed our home “the farmhouse”) and many tragic events happened there.  Barns were struck by lightening at least twice that I know of and many animals were killed.  Although many adults died on the property (remember, it’s been settled a long time!), several children died there as well (I can’t tell you how it was they died but I do know that one of them drowned in a well which was filled in afterwards, thank God!).  We even uncovered a story about one of the house’s inhabitants being tarred and feathered by the town!

So, how do we know about some of the folks who died on our property or in our home?  Because they are buried in a tomb a couple hundred yards behind the house.  The inscriptions of eleven people are engraved in the granite stone facings of the tomb’s front wall (the rest of the tomb was buried in a mound of dirt long since overgrown with grass and brush).  A small rusted metal door about three feet high and two feet wide was it’s access point.  When curiosity led us to that tomb, I remember the door was slightly ajar.  A few years later (I was about 12 I think), I would actually have the nerve (or stupidity) to enter it!  My mother tells me that TWELVE people were actually laid to rest in that tomb.  She did a lot of research on the property when we finally accepted that it was haunted and sadly, all those research papers were given to a friend who then lost them! No matter, what happened in that house prior to our living there was not as much a concern to us as what happened after we moved in!  Though I suppose past events certainly affected future ones!  For one thing, there has to be a reason why all those spirits chose to hang around in our dimension rather than moving on in their spiritual journey.  When I say “all those spirits” I have to explain here that we figured somewhere along the line that four spirits shared our home with us.  One of them was not a good one.  I think if you are a bad person in physical life, you aren’t going to suddenly become good in the afterlife.  Probably this is why that particular spirit hangs out in our dimension (sometimes called “plane” in other writings on this subject).  I mean, what’s his alternative?  Hell?

The house was two stories high.  The first floor mainly consisted of the living room (where the oil stove was located and the only source of heat for the entire house!) and the kitchen.  Both rooms were spacious and nearly the same size.  A huge cast iron stove pretty much dominated the kitchen.  It was fueled by oil on one side (it was my job to fill the oil can…a chore that meant a trip down a long creepy spider infested corridor in the old barn) and propane gas on the other side.  The stove top on the oil burning side was smooth and flat, almost like a griddle.  It took quite a while to heat up so we mostly used it as a source of heat for the kitchen.  We also used this side to slowly boil down sap for maple syrup.  It was perfect for that job!  The propane side was used for most all the cooking.  The oven was a learning experience to cook in as it was hard to regulate the heat.  But as I loved to cook and my mother was okay with my kitchen experimentations, I did learn how to use it!  I remember the door to that oven was heavy cast iron and in later years it would play a part in an accident involving BOTH my parents!  A small pantry was off the kitchen and this is where the old cast iron sink covered in worn porcelain was located.  It had a faucet you had to pump to get water!  In today’s day and age, that would be considered rather “novel” but we found it out-dated and my father was quick to replace it!  I know that one of the more recent of the past residents (prior to our moving in) had died in the pantry.  This room more than any of the others always creeped me out the most, probably because I had to go in there so much.  I HATED that room and unfortunately, this is where the dishes needed to be washed (also my chore) and where all the food and dishes were stored.  The refrigerator was in there as well.  My little dog Tippy didn’t like to go in the pantry and so I couldn’t use him as a “deflector” for the spirits while I was in there.  I usually had to bribe one of my siblings (I have three brothers and a sister all younger than me) to come in there with me as I felt safer when I wasn’t alone.  I needed them to watch my back for I always felt like someone was in there with me, standing at my back, breathing on my neck.  It sent chills down my spine (that really happens!) and it seemed my flesh was always crawling with discomfort.

The one bathroom was off the kitchen (sharing a wall with the pantry).  It didn’t have any lighting and I hated it.  Of course my parents put a lamp in there but the light did nothing to dispel the creep factor.  Who knows what that room was before it was converted (before indoor plumbing, there was an outhouse).  Another room, which eventually became my bedroom when I got older, was also off the kitchen … you actually had to enter this room to get to the bathroom.  Another doorway to this room connected to the front hallway and directly across that was another entry to the living room.  So basically you could run circles through all the rooms on the first floor.  No doors were on any of these entrances and that was probably to allow heat to circulate throughout.  Next to the doorway between the kitchen and living room were two other doors.  Coming from the living room, the one on the left went out to the barn and the one straight ahead went down to the cellar.  Though the five of us kids played in the barn all the time (it was chock full of old antiques!), we were terrified of the cellar.  Since the door wouldn’t stay closed, my parents used to keep a butter knife stuck in the door frame to keep it from opening.  The cellar had a dirt floor, it was damp down there and cold…always cold, no matter the season.  It also had a room built down there…near the center…that looked like a tomb.  In fact, we called it the “tomb room”.  It had an arched ceiling and was constructed entirely of bricks.  We later found out that bodies were sometimes kept in this room until they could be transported to the tomb or buried!

The stairway to the second floor was off the kitchen and above the cellar staircase.  Since it was an enclosed staircase, it had a door down in the kitchen and in the winter we closed off the upstairs and the seven of us all crowded downstairs to stay warm.  I have to admit here that I loved the winters in that house the most!  It seemed that paranormal activity was not so busy in the winter and the house was actually warm!  Maybe the spirits didn’t bother us so much because we were all together and happy and that somehow helped to ward off their activity.  Who knows?

On the second floor were four rooms.  Straight ahead of the stairs was my parents’ room.  There was a “window” in the wall in my parents’ room to what we dubbed “the dark room”.  We always found it peculiar that someone would put a window (no glass, however, just a gaping black hole) between two rooms.  To the left of the stairs was an open room which was where my brothers slept.  My sister and I had the bedroom at the end of their room.  The doorway to the dark room was in my brothers’ room and I will tell you that the five of us kids were quite scared of it.  It was dark in there because there was no outside window (my mother hung a picture over the hole so no light could enter from their room either).  A light fixture hung from the ceiling (right next to it was the access door to the crawl space under the roof) but we never kept a light in there because my parents used the room to store some of the old furniture left in the house that we had no plans to use.  It was the ultimate dare for us kids to go in that room.  Needless to say, most of us didn’t take up the challenge and if we did, it wasn’t for long.  My mother hung a curtain over the doorway and the thing moved often.  I tell you, that room had some negative vibes attached to it.  In my mother’s research, we learned that a handicapped child was kept in there!  Back in the day, people with disabilities were kept hidden from public view.  Thank God we don’t do that anymore!!

The upstairs was usually cool in temperature no matter the weather but I feel that most of the spirits hung out in my parents’ bedroom more so than the other two.  At least for me, that’s where I experienced the most paranormal activity on the second floor.  On either side of the stairwell were cubby holes that actually were crawl spaces between the bedroom walls and the roof.  My parents used these crawl spaces for storage but us kids did play in there on occasion.  Though we did get creeped out over time and stopped going in there.  It could have been our over-active imaginations but then again, we were just small kids and ghosts were unknown entities to us.  When we were in those cubby holes and feeling like someone else was in there with us, we beat a hasty retreat, scared though we didn’t know why.  We just KNEW something wasn’t right.  The feeling wasn’t always there, however, in the beginning.  Maybe over time our continued use of the cubby holes attracted their attention or maybe they became so attached to us they followed us everywhere and so it felt more and more uncomfortable as time went on.

So that’s the complete layout of the house.  As for the location, it was built slightly back from the road on a level area midway up a hill (we had no nearby neighbors as this was farm country).  Below us was the Orland River (an often used route for Native American Indians which peppered the entire Orland region at one time!).  The Orland River ran past our property to Alamoosook Lake and it was here (on the surrounding shores of the lake and the banks of the river) that several Indian burial grounds were located.  At one time the Red Paint Indians inhabited the area.  They were a mysterious tribe that disappeared several thousand years ago.  They were called the Red Paint Indians (later called the Maritime Archaic) because their burial sites were filled with red ocher (a bi-product of hematite).  I can’t help but wonder if that house was located near another Indian burial site not yet discovered?  Pure conjecture on my part, but it is possible.  But anyway … a large field surrounded our house (our landlord “hayed” it during the late summer) and then the land rose sharply and became heavily wooded.  Across the street from our house was a pasture where our landlord kept a few horses, a couple cows and a mean ole bull (at least for a couple of the years that we lived there).  In the winter the animals were taken away and we loved to go over there and slide down the hill on our sleds.  I can say that the pasture was free of spirits and that is probably why we loved playing over there so much.

I do believe that some areas are conducive to paranormal activity.  I’ve since learned that there are “ley lines” networking across the earth and at certain connection points, these ley lines are believed by some to create a sort of “portal” to the other side.  I truly believe that the area where our farmhouse was located (it has since been torn down and no trace of it remains) is a “hot” spot for supernatural activity.  Even now, when we pass by there, I get the creeps.  My skin crawls and I know they are still there.  It doesn’t matter that the house is gone.  They are not.  And they continue to plague my dreams.

So, that’s it for this post.  I wanted to introduce our infamous old house first and then concentrate on particular paranormal events that happened there in future posts.  The picture I’ve included was taken during a nighttime visit there a few years back (a couple years before it was tore down).  My brother was big into “ghost hunting” at the time and he convinced me to go with him to the farmhouse.  I don’t know how he managed to talk me into it.  I truly believe something bad hangs out there and I was really worried about it following me home!  The two windows on the second floor is where my old bedroom was located (the small window below went to the pantry).  You can see the orb clear as day.  Now, I know there’s a lot of controversy about orbs but my gut tells me some of them really are spiritual energy centers … and that’s what spirits are in the most simplest terms…we are all beings of energy!  Certainly a lot of so-called orbs captured on film are specks of dirt, bugs, moisture drops, etc.  But not all of them.  This orb…it’s one of THEM.  I KNOW it.  They wanted me to know they were still there.  And they knew who we were.  I felt that with as much certainly as I felt the goosebumps on my arms and the standing hairs on my neck.

I saw the orb in the review screen on my camera and hightailed it for the car.  I yelled for my brother to “Come on let’s get out of here, we need to leave NOW!” and he of course took his sweet time.  Before getting into the car he stopped to take a picture of it.  My mother and husband were waiting inside with me.  My brother looked at the review screen on his camera and hurried (finally!) to show us what he had captured.  The car was surrounded by orbs.  Unfortunately, the computer those pictures were downloaded to crashed on us and all the pictures were lost.  Bummer that.  I tell you, I FELT them.  And though I’m not so scared of spirits as I was when I was a kid, I still am afraid of THEM.  Or at least I am of one of them.  Needless to say, I did a lot of protection prayers as we sped away!

Okay, NOW I’m done!  In my next post, I’ll explain a particularly scary event that changed everything for me … turning our home from a fun place to live (the yard was our oyster!) to a chilling place of fear.  Until next time…blessings to all and Peace Out!

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