Monday, October 8, 2012

Paranormal Activity?

Maybe it's because today is one of my all-time favorite kind of days;  Cloudy, cool.  A bit of mist.  Trees are dropping their leaves to expose their thin, dark arms.  I took a short walk this morning and while I was walking, my mind drifted back to a night that forever changed how I feel about the paranormal.  It wasn't gory or gross.  I didn't see white, wispy apparitions.  I didn't hear whispers.  It was just something that I could not explain.  I took a few photos while on my walk.  I posted some to Facebook.  I left one out.  I posted it here.  You be the judge.

Now, before I tell my tale, let me make something clear;  I do believe in the paranormal.  I know.  Hokey.  My family even pokes fun.  My husband is a true skeptic.  I have no problem with that.  To each his - or her - own.  But I get a little miffed when folks do think 'hokey.'  Is it?  The media sure has a big part as to why it might seem hokey.  I want to learn more about it.  I love discussing this with people - for and against.

This is one of those subjects that, to me, can get very deep and the more I delve into its depths, the more perplexed I am.  It has, at times, kept me awake at night.  I have only had one experience.. no, make that two, if you include the last part of this blog entry.  I'd love to have another.  That's not to say I want to run into a ghost floating around in my hallway  at three in the morning on my way to the bathroom to pee.  It doesn't have to be so cut and dry.  Just something to reaffirm my beliefs.

I do believe that all things have energy.  I do believe that the mind is such a vast place.  So much is not known.  I know the mind can be manipulated by many sources, conscious or not.  I am veering off into an entirely different path, now.  One that, for the moment, I'm going to steer away from.  Let's not concentrate on that.

Onto my little experience.

It's a fall evening.  Late.  I am around sixteen or seventeen.  I am home and my mother and I had just finished watching a movie on TV.  My father was in bed, reading.  I'd say it was around eleven or shortly thereafter.  We decided to have some cocoa and just sit and talk.  My mom sat in her chair across from our front door and I sat on the sofa, directly across from her.  I can't recall what we were talking about, but it wasn't anything really important.  I could see my father's light was still on.  I got up to ask him if he would like some cocoa.  Not surprised, I found him sound asleep; glasses still on, and his book falling out of his hands.  I removed his glasses, and put his book onto his night table.  I turned off his light, kissed him good-night, and returned to the couch.

Mom and I were deep in conversation.  I recall laughing a few times.  I wish I could remember what we were talking about.  I am talking.  I am speaking and not really looking at my mom.  I stop talking and wait for her to respond.  I had lit a cigarette and blowing out smoke, I look at her.  She has not responded to me.  She's looking at our front door.

"Did you hear me?" I ask, flicking ashes into my ashtray.  "Ma?"  She looks at me.
          "What?"  She asked, looking distracted and puzzled.  "I'm sorry, what did you say?"  I'm a bit irritated.  I repeat quickly what I had said.
"Oh."  Silence.  I begin talking again.  I notice that she's again not paying attention to me.  Now, I'm irritated. 
          "Ma!"  I say in an angry whisper.  I knew dad was asleep so I got up and closed their bedroom door.  Sitting back down, I see that she is still looking at the front door.  "What's the matter with you?"  I joke, but she waves her hand wildly to shut me up.  "What!?" I say, loudly.  She looks at me, eyes wide.

         "Shh!"  Then she looks at the door again.  "I think I'm seeing things."  Puzzled, I look at the door.  Seeing just a door, I look back at her.
"What are you talking about!?"  I hate to say this, but I was really irritated, now. "What!?" Mom kind of sighs and then apologizes to me.
          "I'm sorry, Mare.  I think my eyes are playing tricks on me.  I thought the mail slot was moving."

Let me tell you about our front door.  We lived in an apartment and our entryway had three steps from the sidewalk.  You walked up these three steps to our tiny porch. One step and you were standing on it.  We had a screen door and then our front door.  Heavy wood, with layers of paint from years gone by.  Below the door knocker, was the mail slot.  A cut opening with a brass door on the inside which can be pushed open from the outside - by the postal worker or by anyone.  It was lovingly used by my childhood friends peeking in to see if I could come to play.  It had a squeak when it opened, and the sound reversed when it was closing, and was usually followed by the 'slap' of our mail hitting our tiled floor. 

I looked at the door.  Knowing my mom would never joke about stuff like this, I looked again.  I saw nothing.  Silence.  Mom lit a cigarette and started talking.  Now it was my turn to not pay attention.  I stared at the door.  Convinced it was nothing, I looked away.  Sipping my now cold cocoa, I announced that I was tired and that I would be going to bed.  I put my cigarette out and took our cups into the kitchen and washed them.  I came back into the living room and sat down for a moment.  I saw that mom was looking at the door again, her eyes knit into a frown.

"What are you looking at, Mom?"  She pointed her finger toward the door.  
           "Mary, that mail slot is opening and closing.  I thought I was seeing things.  I swear."

 The screen door was locked.  It is every night without fail. There is no possible way for a person to open the mail slot if the screen door was locked.  No effing way.  Seeing the look on my mom's face now, I paid closer attention.  I guess she saw the look on my face because she started saying that she swore she saw it moving.

          "I can see it, Mare!  I can see the reflections in the brass."  She said this very calmly and in a low voice.  I was now getting a bit creeped out.  I tried to debunk it by telling her she was tired and didn't  have her glasses on.  "Mary, I can see fine."  And that is when I heard the squeak.  "Shh!"  She waved her hand again.  "Listen!  Watch!"  I didn't want to.  She looked back at me.  "Look at the door, Mary!"  I was sick with fear.  I let my eyes wander back to the door.  I could not see the mail slot from where I was sitting, so I moved and stood next to her.  "Now watch."  Suddenly, I saw the darkness from outside.  There was no mistaking it;  the mail slot was slowly opening.  I was frozen.  I could not breathe.  Mom took my arm, and pointed with the other.  Now it was closing.  I could see the damn thing slowly moving down!   A faint squeak.  Every hair stood on end.

"What the Hell?" I managed.   Now I was afraid because I thought it could be a burglar.  Or a rapist.  Or God knows who. Then Mom said,

"Mary, I locked that screen door."  And just as she said that;  "It's doing it again!" She whispered.  We were both frozen with fear.  The slot squeaked and I gasped. I could see it opening, the brass gleaming as it moved.  "Oh my God.  Frank?  Frank!" Mom screamed.  As soon as she yelled for my father, the slot slammed shut. Metal hitting metal.  No way did we imagine that!   I screamed for my father.  Something in me made me bolt for the front door and unlock it.  "Goddamn it, Mary!  Let me do that!" My father said as he - cussing because he was so rudely awakened - or, perhaps because he too was a bit frightened and didn't want to show it -  was coming into the living room.  Mom was trying to tell him what had happened.  By then, I had the door opened and had unlocked  the screen door, my father right behind me.

There was nobody out there.  The screen door was locked.  I knew this because I had just now unlocked it.

Dad shoved me aside and went outside.  I followed. "Mary, stay inside!" he yelled.  I ignored him.    I had to see it for myself.  There was not a soul outside. Dad looked around the bushes and walked down the three steps and looked around. Seeing nothing, he started back toward the porch.  Irritated, he went inside, telling me to come in and to lock up and to go to bed. "Stay inside." Dad assured mom that nobody was there and that it was okay.  He kissed her, then me. "I mean it; stay inside."  We both promised that we would. 

As soon as dad's light went out,  I went to Mom.  She was sitting, now.   I knelt down in front of her and took her hands in  mine.

"Ma, there was nobody out there, and that screen door was locked... I unlocked it; I had to unlock it to go out just now." I said, shaking. She nodded.
          "I know, baby." She smiled a nervous smile.  She knew what was coming.
         "What could have..." I cut myself off.  The look on her face told me that she had her suspicions.  "You did hear that thing slam down, didn't you?  I know you heard that, Ma."  She nodded in silence.  She squeezed my hands in hers and took a deep breath.  We both sat there.  We smoked together.  We were both spooked.  Afraid to go to bed.  At least she had my father to sleep with.  All I had was my stuffed animals and my posters of Van Halen and Rush to watch over me.  Knowing we would not sleep, we both stayed put for another hour or so.  We kept looking at the door, expecting our unknown visitor to try again.  It never happened.  That night, or any other night, ever again.

We spoke of this event only a few times after that.  We both felt that dad simply had the crap scared out of him and refused to even speak of it.  We both felt it was something 'out there' - paranormal.  We would discuss it to the point of admitting it was, then stop. I think she was too nervous about admitting it was something unexplainable.  I knew it had to be.  Seeing and hearing that slot, I am convinced it was paranormal. 

So there it is;  my little encounter with the unknown.  It happened.  I swear it did.  In a strange way, I'm glad it happened.  Now, do I want to encounter something else paranormal?  Yes, and no.  I do believe in ghosts.  I do believe in angels. I do believe that there is life beyond our world.  There simply has to be.  Intelligent life?  There must be.  I believe.  I want to believe.

I love discussing this subject.  Many of my friends and family have had unexplained experiences.  Do I believe them?  For the most part, yes.  Again, I really do want to learn more about this.  Do I watch the shows on TV?  Yes.  Do I believe them?  Some.  Others I don't.  I do believe that some are born with a real gift of seeing the other side.  I'd love to have a reading done.  I guess if I  had money to truly spare, I might consider paying for a reading.  I don't, though.  If Theresa Caputo were to ever approach me in a restaurant, I'd gladly let her read me, though.  Or any other medium.  I'd either believe it, or I wouldn't.  

Oh yes, and before I forget;  here is my photo from my walk this morning:  Just for the record, I thought I was taking a photograph of the lovely fall trees near my home. 
Two figures appear in the photo.  You be the judge.

So, do you have stories of the unexplained or the paranormal that you'd like to share?  Feel free to email them to me or just post them, here.  I'd love to discuss!

Until next time, 

Keep the spirit!


  1. Every hair on my body just stood up as I was reading this. EVERY HAIR. And interestingly I am watching Theresa Caputo for the first time, tonight! I want to know...did you see this when you took the photo -- or after?

  2. Hi, Laurie!

    I saw nothing when I took the picture. I just thought I'd see how it looked in black and white so I did that on my computer and that's when the images show up. In all honesty, I think they are blurbs and just smudges from the lens. I thought it might be funny to add this photo to this entry. The more I look at it, the odder it becomes and think that maybe I did capture some entities. Where are Jason and Grant when you need them? Thanks for reading!


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