Friday, September 27, 2013

Busy Morning

It seems that randomly playing music is going to be the new "thing" in our house.  This morning at about 6, with The Hubs already at work and both kids asleep in my bed (don't ask) and me on the couch, I was actually semi-awake when I heard the music turn on upstairs.  This time, it was The Beatles' "Hello, Goodbye" that started playing out of nowhere, with nobody upstairs (or even awake.) 

The curious part is, the song didn't even start at the beginning, it started right in the middle of the song, with the words, "Hello, hello!"  It played for about a minute, and then before I worked up the courage to go upstairs and turn it off, it stopped.  So I have no idea which device it came from- iPhone, iPod, iPod touch, TV, other TV.....coulda been anything.

Then, a couple hours later, after the boys got on the bus and I was laying back down in bed trying to rest for a bit before going to work, my husband came home from work early.  I listened as his heavy footsteps walked through the dining room, the kitchen, the middle room....and then stopped.  I turned to face the door, fully expecting him to be standing there looking at me.  He wasn't.  I called his name.  He didn't answer.  I texted him and asked where he was.  Still at work.  For another three hours.  Hmmm.  Well.  Okay.

I feel like September and October are important months for our spirits.  It was last September that I took the photo of the footprints at the end of my bed (see an edited version of said photo below), and the activity really picked up from there.  Especially in the days before (of course during) and after the first paranormal investigation we had done last October.

Oh, did I forget to mention?  We are having our FOURTH paranormal investigation in a couple of weeks.  Grimstone Inc. is coming back, and this time the kids are staying home during the investigation!!  (The kids' request, not mine.  I think it's a horrible idea.)  Stay tuned....

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Sweet Dreams

I’m of the belief that some dreams have meaning and some have none whatsoever, generally speaking.  But every time I dream about our house or the spirits in it, I wake up totally freaked out,  convinced that our ghosts are trying to send me a message. 

Last night (this morning?), I was having a perfectly pleasant dream where I was with a group of friends at some event, and we were just talking and hanging out.  My mom showed up with a box of stuff she found in the (her? my?) attic.  In it, there was a photo of a man who looked like he was straight out of the 1970s  or 80s, with big, clunky glasses, a sweet porn stache, and thick, brown feathered hair.  I can still see the picture perfectly in my mind, the dream was that vivid.  He was wearing a white polo tennis shirts with a few thick stripes through the middle, and some waaaaay too short white shorts.  He was also wearing a gold chain.  (See, told you….I can still see it perfectly in my head.)

I feel like he was on a bike, or near a bike, and there was a woman in the photo with him, but I don’t remember her face as well.  I asked my mom who he was and why I should care about this picture.  She explained some present day link, which I don’t remember now (he worked in my building, or was one of the paranormal investigators on our case, or was a former teacher of mine or something like that) and then said, “look at his name.”  I can’t, for the life of me, remember what the name was, or why it was written in big block letters on the front of the picture, but I do remember that his first name was Robert.  “I think this is Bobby,” my mom said.  And then I started screaming- this blood curdling, top of my lungs, hysterical shriek.  I was staring at the picture, just screaming and screaming.  And I realized, in my dream, that Bobby was never the name of one of our ghosts, “Bobby” was the person responsible for all of the ghosts in our house, and that every time the little ghost boy talked about “Bobby,” he was trying to tell us about the person who killed him, not tell us his own name.  I screamed so much and so loud in my dream that it woke me up.  I’m 99% sure that it’s the reason for my migraine today, as well.

I woke up terrified.  I wanted so badly to run out of my room, out of my house altogether, and not come back until daylight.  But.  My youngest son was asleep in my bed, and I couldn’t leave him alone in my room with whoever or whatever was planting nightmares in my head.  I know, I’m being overly dramatic.  The dream probably meant nothing.  It doesn’t even make any sense.  But even now, in the light of day and with my fears calmed, I still feel like it meant SOMETHING.  Although what, I have no idea.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Whatcha Gonna Do?

Last night, I didn't sleep.  Like at all.  Which is so stupid, because I was beyond exhausted.  I tried to sleep.  Several times.  But something (someone?) wouldn't let me.  Every time I would start to fall asleep, I would be startled awake, by what I'm not quite sure.  But my adrenaline was pumping and my heart was racing- so much so that I was afraid there was something medically wrong with me.

I hadn't had a bad dream.  I hadn't heard or seen anything to warrant such a reaction, but it literally felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest.  I got so freaked out, I woke my husband up.  In case I, you know, died or something.  As I sat in bed, trying to figure out what was wrong with me, I was reminded of a few other times I've woken up in panic mode.

Most recently, it's happened when I heard someone talking to me while I was sleeping.  Once a woman, and once what sounded like a little boy.  Both times, I woke up with that same adrenaline rush, my heart pounding.  But this time there had been no voice, nothing that had happened to cause this.  Nothing I could consciously remember, at least.

Around 2 am, I got up to go to the bathroom for the millionth time.  I checked on the boys, who were fast asleep on the couch in the living room, and then went to the bathroom.  On my way back to my room, I heard something upstairs.  A voice. I walked slowly to the bottom of the stairs to listen more closely.

It was music.  "Bad Boys," to be exact.  (Yes, the Cops theme song.)  I returned to my bedroom and got my husband, who was just starting to fall asleep again, back up.

"There's music upstairs," I told him as I climbed back into bed.

"What?" he asked, almost as if he didn't believe me.

"Music, upstairs.  Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do?"  I elaborated, getting back into bed, making it clear that he was going to have to be the one to solve this particular mystery.  He sleepily made his way upstairs, returning a few minutes later.  "What was it?"  I asked.

"Austin's iPhone," he answered, satisfied.  Mystery solved.  Austin's iPhone??

As I laid there, wide awake, listening to my husband's breathing turn into quiet snores, my mind was racing.  I had turned Austin's iPhone off earlier in the evening after informing him that he would not be using it for a few days.  (Long story.)  I'd let him put it upstairs on the charger before bed, but it was still turned off.  The kids were fast asleep downstairs, I saw them with my own two eyes.  And there was no music playing the several other times I'd gotten up to go to the bathroom that night.  It wasn't even playing on my way TO the bathroom, just on my way back.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.  I mean, it's definitely not the craziest thing to ever happen in our house.  But I couldn't help but feel a little unsettled as I stared into the darkness, the song's lyrics playing over and over in my head:

"Whatcha gonna do?  Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"

Sunday, September 15, 2013


Of all of the crazy things that have happened in our house, there's one thing I'd not yet experienced until last night.  I'd never seen anything.  I've heard things, felt things, sensed things....but never actually SEEN any "ghosts" or ghost-like things.  But last night....

Last night, I got up around 2 am or so to use the bathroom.  When I walked out into the middle room, I was startled by what I thought was a person sitting on the bench against the wall.  When I stopped to really look, there was nothing there.  I used the bathroom, made my way back down the hall and through the middle room, and as I entered my bedroom, I saw the same "thing" standing beside the bed, near the closet door.  I blinked, and it was gone.

It was almost like a light brownish, person-shaped fog.  Both times I saw it, it was gone within seconds.  But the fact that I saw it twice, in two separate rooms, within a five minute time span......well, I can no longer say that I've never seen a ghost in the house.  Because I'm not entirely sure anymore.