Tag Archives: Phantasmic Friday

Phantasmic Friday ~ Week Four

27 Friday Oct 2017

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Welcome to the last Phantasmic Friday of October. Halloween is less than a week away, and I’m loving it! I love the Yuletide too, which is probably why my second medieval romance, Soul of the Wolf, is set in December of 1101. It’s also the season in which today’s true ghost story begins.

Christmas of 1992 found me packing for Sweden, where I would study for the next six months under a Swedish Institute scholarship. At the time, which was long before I met my husband, my Swedish-American boyfriend arranged for me to stay in his grandmother’s empty house in Stockholm for the week leading up to nyårsafton (New Year’s Eve). It was a small, quaint dwelling with numerous knick-knacks and—as I would soon discover—a tragic past.

The bedroom where I slept opened onto an alcove, above which the trap door to the attic was poised. My first night, I woke with a start…to darkness and an acute sense of someone hovering in the alcove. The space was alive with creaking floorboards and a bluish light.

A flashlight? An intruder?

My heart pounded. I shifted in bed to gain a better view.

No one was there. Or so it seemed.

I slid out of bed and tiptoed around the house, just to be sure I was alone. The doors were locked, and by the time I climbed back into bed, the strange light was gone. I fluffed up my pillow and rearranged the bedcovers.

Then a scraping, scratching sound filled the alcove. Had rats infested the attic?

A sudden rush of emotions slammed into me. Despair. Dread. Distress. Not mine but another’s.

Every night brought the same experience: the light, the sounds, and the mood. When the phenomena ceased, I sought sleep again, but as you can imagine, it took a while before I drifted off.

Months later, I learned the truth. My boyfriend’s uncle had committed suicide years before. He’d hung himself in the alcove, not ten feet from where I slept. If I’d known that at the time, I would’ve tried to help him move on. I hope he has since found peace.

I’ve enjoyed sharing some of my paranormal experiences with you this month. Believe it or not, they’re just the tip of the iceberg! Not surprisingly, the supernatural finds its way into almost everything I write. Check out My Books for more information.

Wishing everyone a safe and fun Halloween!

Phantasmic Friday ~ Week Three

20 Friday Oct 2017

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Welcome back to Phantasmic Friday! Here in Salem, Massachusetts, “Haunted Happenings”–our month-long celebration of Halloween–is in full swing. I doubt Salem’s founder, Roger Conant (pictured above, in front of the Salem Witch Museum) would approve, but those of us who love Halloween and/or the paranormal have a lot of fun! In that spirit, let’s journey back to my college years for today’s true story.

As an undergraduate, I studied one semester in London. I dove into life in that venerable city and bonded right away with my two roommates. We and our fellow students lived in a Victorian hotel in South Kensington, which also provided classrooms and a baptism-by-fire acquaintance with English plumbing.

The bathroom adjoining our room was a boon, but it was also the lair of the “toilet monster.” Out of the blue, said toilet emitted thunderous, tortured gurgles that begged our attention day and night. During the day, the toilet monster was harmless; at worst, a disturber of the peace. At night, it creeped out the roommate who slept closest to it and often wrenched me from my dreams. Or perhaps there was another culprit.

Once awake, I sat up in bed and squinted into the darkness. Someone unseen watched us. The presence was male, and I sensed he’d lived in an earlier time, closer to when the hotel was built. Sometimes he stood in our room, most often at the foot of my bed or near the bathroom; other times, he lurked just outside the door. His location was as clear to me as if I’d seen it.

Halfway through the semester, another student—who had no idea what I’d experienced and whose room was directly across the hall from ours— shared his own encounter. He woke in the middle of the night to find a 19th-century soldier standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him.

I was certain our neighbor saw what I’d repeatedly sensed. Intrigued, I researched the street where we lived. A few doors down, in 1926, one of England’s first paranormal investigators established the National Library of Psychical Research, where mediums were scientifically tested during numerous séances. Closer still was the home of a 19th-century lieutenant colonel who died under suspicious circumstances.

Did activities in the ghost hunter’s lab become a beacon for stray souls? Was the soldier one of them? Perhaps it was he who wandered the halls—and our rooms—as we slept.

In my YA paranormal fantasy, The Cauldron Stirred, the protagonist’s father is a paranormal investigator (in this century, though!). His family joins in the hunt for Irish ghosts in the ruins of a medieval castle and on the shores of Lough Leane. The story’s climax occurs on Halloween to boot!  🙂 If that sounds like something “up your alley,” check it out!

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Phantasmic Friday ~ Week Two

13 Friday Oct 2017

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It’s Friday the 13th!  We’re nearly halfway through October, and Salem, Massachusetts is abuzz with all things Halloween.  Needless to say, I’m in my element and excited for another Phantasmic Friday.  So get cozy and read on for more adventures from my “paranormal past.”  🙂

As a little girl, I believed anything was possible. Truth be told, I still believe it. Perhaps the magic of that conviction links three uncommon events which happened in a common place: the living room of my childhood home.

On the first occasion, I was ten, and my older brother and his friend, Carl, invited me to play hide-and-seek. Carl was the first “seeker,” and once he started counting, I scampered to the living room and crouched behind a chair.

I’m invisible, I thought. I’m part of this chair.

I repeated those phrases in my mind again and again, then held my breath as Carl entered the room. He searched the entire area, but when he reached my hiding place, he merely glanced behind the chair, then dashed off to another room.

When at last the hunt was over, we plopped onto the living room couch. He turned to me with knitted brow.

“Where in heck were you?”

“The living room,” I said.

His face transformed into a mask of shock. “I checked the whole room. There’s no way you were in here.”

The fact he hadn’t seen me was strange, but my reply was even stranger. “How do you know? Maybe the molecules of my body changed to make me invisible. Maybe there are doorways we don’t know about. That wall right there could’ve opened up to let me pass through.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What are you? A ghost?”

Well, yes…in a way. If ghosts are earthbound spirits with unfinished business, I suppose we all qualify; we’re just attached to physical bodies at the moment.

A few weeks later, the second event occurred. My little brother and I were sitting on his bedroom floor rolling a ball back and forth. At one point, he went for gold, and the ball whisked past me and out the open door to the living room. I jumped to my feet and hurried to retrieve it, but it was nowhere in sight.

My brother was close on my heels. “Where is it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but it has to be somewhere.”

We began a search that left no corner unchecked, no cushion unturned. Then we investigated the surrounding rooms, only to come up empty-handed.

Was it an example of what parapsychologists call “apportation”? Or the possible result of a portal? Your guess is as good as mine, but we never did find that ball. It was just gone.

Fourteen years later, I was home from college, and because my parents were away, my little brother and I had the run of the house. Naturally, he threw a party, which involved loud music and a lot of beer. I holed up in my room for the duration, and around 1:00 a.m., the house emptied. My brother turned off the living room stereo and cleaned up. Then we went to bed.

I was just dozing off when a blast of heavy metal music jolted me awake. Without a thought for my glasses, I bounded out of bed, down the hall, and into the living room.

I glared at the blurry figure illuminated by the blaring stereo. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Unmoving, my brother stared at me.

“Answer me!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He turned down the music.

With a huff, I made a dismissive gesture. “Whatever. Just shut that off. I’m going back to bed.”

Silence clipped the music as I turned toward the hall. Then I took a step forward…

“Jude, who are you talking to?”

I whirled around. My brother stood way over in the dining room, but he should’ve been five paces to my right.

He flicked on the light switch and joined me in the living room. “I thought you were asleep. Why did you turn on the music?”

“It wasn’t me. I thought you did it.”

He shook his head and lifted a hand to his stomach. “I was throwing up in Mom and Dad’s bathroom.”

On the opposite side of the house.

I frowned, wishing I’d worn my glasses. The figure in front of the stereo had looked fuzzy, but it had my brother’s height, build, and thick, shoulder-length hair. It also sported his boxer shorts.

My brother saw it too, though from a distance that made the figure appear even blurrier than how I’d seen it. So what happened?

Bilocation, a phenomenon supported by quantum physics which I’ve experienced in a variety of ways since.  History is peppered with stories of doppelgangers, including doubles of Elizabeth I, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and Percy Bysse Shelley, to name only a few. It’s a strange, beautiful world we live in, and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

If you enjoyed reading the true account above, check out My Books.  Whether I’m writing fact or fiction, the supernatural always finds a home in my work. Happy Friday the 13th!

Phantasmic Friday ~ Week One

06 Friday Oct 2017

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October has arrived!  It’s my favorite month for so many reasons:  the glory of autumn, the magic of Halloween, my wedding anniversary, etc.  I could go on and on but instead, I’m instituting “Phantasmic Friday” for the entire month.  Over the next four Fridays, I’ll share brushes with the supernatural I’ve been fortunate to experience.  One occurred when I was six years old.

On the night in question, I woke with a start. I lay nestled against a white, life-size teddy bear, so my vision was limited to a patch of faux fur illuminated by the nightlight’s glow. I couldn’t see a change in my world, but I could sense it.

Something was off.

The next instant, I heard confirmation. Slow footsteps clunked down the hall toward my bedroom, crossed the threshold, approached my bed, and halted beside it.

My ears pricked up. Every hair stood on end. Somehow, I knew the presence was an adult male; I also knew it wasn’t my father. I lay still as a board, feigning sleep, hoping the man would go away. Yet he remained poised at the left side of my bed.

Swallowed by a deafening silence—and partly, by my stifling, stuffed bear—I began to sweat. I waited for another movement, another sound, anything to help me gauge my visitor’s intent.

Nearly ten minutes of stress, heat, and uncertainty reigned before action’s inevitable coup. It was my bed and my room. I would confront the man and stake my claim. Will and courage surged within me, and I flung myself up and around to face…

Nothing. Diddly-squat.

I scanned the room, analyzing storybooks, dolls, and the familiar landscape of furniture. I frowned, for the atmosphere was still thick with something other than Florida’s trademark humidity.  Beyond the open door stretched the dim hallway.

“Is anyone there?” I called.

Dead silence. (Pun intended.)

At length, the air thinned. I shrugged and snuggled back under the covers and into the bear. I took a deep breath and expelled it with a smile.

Tired and craving sleep, my eyes closed. Then they shot open. Distinct, measured footfalls tracked out the door and disappeared down the hall.

Now, years later, I understand the event better. In the field of paranormal investigation, there are two types of haunting: intelligent and residual. With an intelligent haunting, the entity is aware of your presence and may try to communicate. A residual haunting is more like a recording—of energy and event—which replays itself again and again, and the entity involved is unaware it has company.

My first ghostly encounter seems to fall under the second category. The unexpected footsteps sounded like hard-soled shoes tramping on wood. Our house, built in the 1940s, did have wooden floors, but they were carpeted at the time of the event. The previous owners of the house were an elderly couple who preferred separate bedrooms, and guess which one used mine: the man. (I knew none of this at the time, though.)

He and I shared the same space in different times and should’ve been oblivious to one another. But could it be, when conditions are just right, two such individuals can perceive one another’s presence?

If linear time is an illusion, as many believe it to be, this type of awareness might occur more often than we suspect. Who knows? I might even have sensed a man who would occupy my bedroom in the future. In any case, I know what I felt and heard, and from that point on, my interest in the supernatural was as fervent as it was fixed.

If you’re as drawn to the paranormal as I (and/or it’s drawn to you!) you might enjoy The Cauldron Stirred, the first book in my Guardians of Erin series. I’m currently writing Book Two, The Stone Awakened. Happy October, everyone!

 

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