Many of us have superstitions. But do they prevent us from doing as we please?
There are the well-known superstitions we’re all familiar with:
An apple a day, keeps the doctor away
Opening an umbrella in the house is bad luck
Friday the 13th
Black cat crossing your path
Walking on a crack in the sidewalk
Throwing spilt salt over your shoulder
Walking under a ladder
Bewitching hours 9PM to 6AM (times do vary)
Wishing on a star
Breaking a mirror — 7 years bad luck
A rabbit’s foot and a horseshoe are good luck as is finding a four leaf clover
Garlic protects you from evil and vampires
You can break a curse by turning 7 times in a clockwise circle
There’s a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow
An itchy palm means money, an itchy foot means travel
Of course I’ve only scratched the surface here when it comes to superstitions. Many people from different cultures have different ones. Some people have made up their own, associating something they’ve done with an event they either want or don’t want to happen. There are even family traditions that could be placed in this superstition category, although they wouldn’t claim it to be.
My point is that we all have strong beliefs about something based on what we’ve learned, heard or done.
I truly love hearing the beliefs of others. They may seem strange, but I respect them.
Carrie’s story concerns her family’s belief that has been passed down through generations.
“Our elders always told us not to be out past midnight, because there were things out in the night between midnight and 5 in the morning that claimed the streets.” Carrie paused.
I don’t know if she wanted a reaction, but I thought it logical that she had a curfew, we all did at one time. I encouraged her to continue.
“If we did enter the house during those hours, we were told to enter the house facing the street, with our backs to the door. That way nothing could follow us into the house.”
Carrie’s generation accepted it, not that they liked it. They saw it practiced by their parents and grandparents. It was just what they did.
Carrie’s children accepted it as a strange house rule, but her nieces and nephews didn’t give it much thought.
One night her niece came home after midnight. She didn’t think about turning around before entering her apartment. She lived alone. She opened the door and locked it, turned off the porch light, turned on the television, went into the kitchen, washed her hands and grabbed a bag of chips, a few cookies and a soda out of the refrigerator.
She settled in front of the television with her snack and watched the end of a program that was playing.
After turning off the television, she returned to the kitchen to wash her dinner dishes and tidy up. Then went to the bathroom, washed her hands and face and settled in front of her computer to check email and her social networks.
By 3 in the morning, her niece decided to go to bed.
While laying in bed, she heard footsteps in the entry. She heard the click of the locks on the door, the click of the switch on the porch light. The television turned on. She heard footsteps in the kitchen, the faucet turn on and the refrigerator door open.
She heard the creek of her favorite chair as the intruder reclined in her chair as she had earlier.
She was sure she had an intruder in the house. She didn’t know why the television was on. If she was going to rob a place, she’d want to be as quiet as possible. And why sit and watch television. This didn’t make any sense.
She didn’t feel brave enough to confront the intruder in her house. She didn’t call 9-1-1, because the behavior seemed so odd.
As she thought about it, the intruder was following her actions a few hours earlier.
She heard the television turn off. The footsteps returned to the kitchen, then to the bathroom. She heard her computer chair roll, the click of the computer turning on. She could see by the glow of the screen (it was in her bedroom), but no one was sitting in front of the computer screen.
Her fear subsided, replaced by curiosity. She turned on her bedside lamp, got out of bed, checked throughout the house, but found nothing disturbed and no intruder. She also checked the locks on the doors and windows.
Puzzled, the next morning she called her mother to tell her of her experience.
The first thing her mother asked was, “Did you walk into your house backwards?”
She admitted she had not.
Her mother’s response was only, “Uh hum.”
Carrie’s niece got the message load and clear. From that moment forward she entered her house back first so nothing from the street could follow her into her apartment, just as her parents and grandparents taught her.
I’m always curious to know just a little bit more about the stories I hear.
What about the “thing” she heard, was it still in the apartment?
Carrie said it was gone. She believed it had a window from midnight to 5 in the morning, then it returned to the street.
She gave me the impression it was like a vampire who had to return to its coffin before dawn, but was it that tidy?
I always have unresolved questions, but I accept what I’m told as fact, since this was not my experience.
My experience, however, has been once something gets into the house, it finds a cozy place to stay during the day and comes out when it wants to interact and cause trouble, but this “thing” must be entirely different.
I was with my ghost hunting group at the local cemetery. While there, we met Bertha who had a story to tell.
She went on one of those tours of haunted places. She didn’t specify where and we didn’t press her.
Bertha was 14 or 15 years old at the time. She was looking forward to this particular trip and the whole family was interested in taking pictures to see if they could capture ghosts or orbs or anything paranormal.
When they arrived, Bertha recalled saying, “If there are any ghosts here, we mean you no harm,” as she stood in front of the massive building.
She heard something fall, she looked down and on the cement walkway was a metal object. She picked it up and put it in her purse.
She joined her parents, siblings and other tour group members up the steps and into the grand lobby. Bertha immediately felt a cold blast of cold air. She took pictures, but didn’t see anything. The cold air wasn’t coming from the air conditioning vents, but it was above her. She imagined ghosts flying overhead or giant orbs.
Bertha wasn’t paying much attention to the tour guide, she was more concerned about how cold her hands felt.
As we stood in a shady spot on this late June day in the cemetery, I noticed Bertha rubbing her hands to get them warm.
Bertha continued. She began feeling dizzy as they climbed the stairs along with the tour guide. Bertha told her mother she wasn’t feeling well and would wait for them outside.
She sat on the steps, off to one corner, to be out of the way of tourists, but visible to her parents when they finished the tour.
The dizziness subsided, but she shook with fear. She was sure something there did not like her — maybe personally, or just didn’t like her being there.
Bertha tried to calm herself down. She prayed for protection and immediately felt better.
After the tour, she met her parents and walked to the car. They stopped at a restaurant for lunch before heading for home.
She remembered her parents and brothers talking about the tour and what impressed them about what the tour guide said. She remembers her mother saying she took a lot of pictures and couldn’t wait to get them developed.
When they were leaving the restaurant, Bertha picked up a quarter she found on the sidewalk and put it in her purse. It clinked with the metal object she picked up earlier at the haunted place. She decided to take a closer look when they got in the car.
She brought it out as they were driving out of the restaurant parking lot. The car’s engine sputtered to a stop. Her father got out and lifted the hood to take a look. He fiddled with something and started the car. She was holding the object in her hand, but still hadn’t examined it closely. She opened her hand and looked at the broken bell-shaped object. There was a piece that fit in the top and there was no clapper in the bell.
She turned it over in her hand to examine the writing that was inside the bell. The car once again sputtered to a stop.
Bertha wondered if it had anything to do with the metal bell.
Her father got the car running again, but he drove to the nearest gas station hoping someone could fix the car.
Bertha put the bell back in her purse while they waited for her father to finish talking to the mechanic who could find nothing wrong. She was sure, the car trouble had something to do with the broken metal bell. She decided to keep it in her purse.
Bob, one member of our group, said that one should never accept gifts from ghosts. It could have been a demon or some ghost that wasn’t being generous, but was a way of getting into her house.
We all agreed, including Bertha who continued her story.
“When we did get home, I put the metal bell on my dresser. A friend of mine came over and invited me to the movies. Mom and Dad agreed and my brothers joined us.”
When Bertha and her brothers arrived home that evening, her mother and father were sitting on the front steps. Police cars were in front of the house and around the back.
“Someone broke in the house,” her father said calmly.
As it turned out, there was no break-in. The police could find no one in the house or around the house.
Bertha told her parents about the bell she found that morning and went to get it to show them.
The bell was part of a candle snuffer. The handle had broken off.
Bertha pointed out the inscription inside the bell. She couldn’t read it — it was in old script and she thought in another language.
Her mother cleaned it up with silver polish to clear away any soot and tarnish.
Looking inside, she read a message that disturbed her. She threw it in the trash and put it out to the trash can in the alley.
As it turned out, all their haunted tour photographs came out black.
Obviously, something didn’t want them to have pictures of their visit.
Eventually, Bertha’s mother shared what she read inside the broken bell. “A curse is placed on the possessor of this bell. May all your dreams be snuffed.”
Even though, the bell had been thrown out, strange things occurred in the house. There were many fires in the kitchen and garage. The whole family seemed to suffer from Bertha’s picking up the bell.
Her older brother broke his leg in a basketball tournament. Her younger brother got hit in the mouth with a baseball, breaking his front teeth. Her father lost his job, his boss and co-workers thought he was a jinx. Bertha had some traumas in her life, but she didn’t share them.
She was wondering about curses and how to break them. Since we didn’t know about the original curse, we couldn’t help her, but referred her to someone who might.
It is true that Bertha took a gift from some entity, her mother threw it out instead of giving it back. I wonder if that would have made a difference.
Just beware of taking gifts from ghosts.
Thanks for stopping by!!
I hope you will share this real ghost story along with some others with your friends and family.
This History Channel Documentary I found quite informative and thought it important to share it here.
Bats, witches … plus traditions and legends that led to our celebration of Halloween.
I found this documentary very informative and I hope you agree. I especially like the idea of how Halloween is much tamer than in years past. It is a time for children and adults to dress up in costume and go door to door trick-or-treat-ing or going to parties.
There is definitely something fun about going out after dark . . . and getting a scare or two . . . but it is all in fun without the destructive mischief of the past.
I also found it interesting how costumes have evolved … They are quite involved … and quite expensive as well …
Have a safe Halloween with your family and friends.
I was at a used bookstore one afternoon and I found this old diary.
I was excited about it, but I was also nervous about buying something as private as a diary, but I bought it and kept it in my car for a few weeks before smudging it and bringing it into the house. Then, it took me a few more weeks before I sat down to read it.
The year was 1864.
The diary opened with accounts. Adaline Murphy and Franklin MacArthur were making plans for a June wedding. They had begun pooling their accounts.
Adaline lived with her mother, father and brother outside of town. Her mother read tea leaves, cards and made potions of various kinds the “well to do ladies” wanted to keep their husbands faithful and give their children an edge over their peers. Adaline’s specialty was a face cream to keep women looking young. She always had something brewing in the cauldrons out back. There were all sorts of potions that were in demand.
Franklin was a friend of Adaline’s brother. They ran the local horse and buggy service to take ladies shopping or to take crops to market for the various farmers. They also would deliver furniture to the various mansions they picked up at the train station or at the docks. They had a good business. Adaline’s father was a businessman, but it wasn’t explained what kind of business he ran, but he was very successful in whatever he did and knew all the important people in town, but he never mixed with them socially. There was a definite line that wasn’t crossed. The fact that the Murphy’s were considered gypsies could have been the barrier, but Adaline didn’t seem to mind, they had a commodity that sold well and was always in demand.
Franklin’s family were farmers. He was the eldest of eight siblings and went out on his own as soon as he saved enough money to start his business with Bentley Murphy. He lived in a room above the barn on the Murphy property, but every Sunday he and Adaline would go to the MacArthur farm for Sunday dinner.
Adaline didn’t go to school with the other children. She learned what she needed to know about business from her father and potions, card reading and cooking from her mother. She also had her own following of “groupies” who bought her hot lunch specialties during the week. The athletes would fill up on her stews and wear amulets she made for them. It was good no one asked what meat was in the stew. From what I learned from the diary, they would cook whatever got caught in their traps — even things that most people wouldn’t normally eat.
Church Revivals were a big thing in the area and with all the land the Murphy’s had, they invited preachers from all over the country to hold their revivals on their land. Although, the preaching and the tea leaf reading, potions, etc. didn’t mix, they seemed to during these revivals. Adaline would lure them over with her cauldrons of tasty stew and whatever else they had to sell.
The sad truth revealed in the diary was Adaline had no loyalty to the hometown team. Money was money to her and her family. They would tell fortunes and make amulets for anyone who wanted one and would pay the price.
There was a big cross town rivalry homecoming game that was the talk of the town.
Both teams bought from the Murphy’s and both teams thought they had the edge to be the winner.
After the game, with a close score of 56 to 57, the losing team heard about the Murphy’s and how they must have made stronger amulets for the opposing team and they were going to get even with them.
Adaline was killed and never did marry Franklin. Mr. and Mrs. Murphy were out of town at the time and Franklin and Bentley were busy with their buggy service that night.
Franklin was heartbroken and never married. His eldest sister took Adaline’s place behind the cauldrons and making potions and beauty creams. She had an interest in learning this craft and worked closely with Adaline and later with Mrs. Murphy.
According to the diary Adaline’s ghost had been seen on the back roads of the town. She was going to the school with her hot lunches. She was also seen in the woods selling amulets to women who passed through on their shopping trips. I believe Franklin’s sister wanted to keep the legend alive and she would dress like Adaline and appear in the woods and sell amulets and potions. It seemed to be the talk of tea parties when someone bought an amulet or potion from the ghost of Adaline Murphy.
One incident occurred at the wedding of the star football quarterback. Some of his friends got a bit too drunk and loosened the reins of the horses on the buggy. The idea was for the horses to run off leaving the newlyweds stranded in the buggy, but something went wrong and when the men fired their guns they shot the young couple and the horses took off with the buggy and the dead newlyweds.
One entry said that the spirit of Adaline was seen at the wedding. It is believed she was seeking revenge of her murder.
Whenever she appeared at a wedding something went wrong either that day or with the young couple during the first few months of their marriage.
I don’t know the truth of the diary. I don’t know if Adaline’s ghost appears from time to time to avenge her murder. It has become a local urban legend.
One diary entry I found particularly interesting was dated March 26, 1864:
Franklin and I are planning to go far far away once we’re married. We don’t want to raise our children here. We both know how to make money and we want to live in one of the fine houses and raise our children with all the fine things money can buy. Our children will want for nothing and they will have amulets and potions to fulfill their heart’s desires. I will not be able to practice my trade openly, but Franklin’s sister Mary may come join us and carry on in my place.
I don’t know about being a fine lady, but I will learn for the sake of my children. Being backwoods gypsies isn’t the life I want for them.
The smoke of the third cauldron foretells of my not seeing my wedding day. There will be no children and no great home. I am not meant to be a fine lady. I am who I am and the plans Franklin and I have made offended the ancestors. Franklin and I shall not be wed. My heart breaks with this revelation, but I cannot bring myself to tell him. I cannot bare to see him with another.
Mother says the smoke of the third cauldron tells the truth and it cannot be changed.
I suppose the blessing was that Adaline didn’t know the full extent of her revelation. Too bad it wasn’t a warning of what was to come so she, too, could have been away the night of the homecoming game, but it wasn’t meant to be.
I found this entry to be a bit unsettling. I do, however, find it interesting how superstitions can be self-fulfilling prophacies.
I’m fascinated by the folklore of our ancestors. When it came to ghosts and ghouls they had very definite practices. The one I’d like to tell in this post is Why cover mirrors after a death?
First I looked to Europe, second to old Jewish tradition and third to the southern portion of the United States. Many interesting beliefs seem to originate from the south . . . from vampires to ghosts to voodoo practices . . . to covering mirrors with cloth.
Why Cover The Mirrors?
The thing is, when a person passes at home many people cover the mirrors thinking that the newly departed’s soul could get trapped in the mirror and not continue on their journey to “the light.”
There is also the belief that one’s reflection in a mirror is a projection of an individual’s soul. Thus covering the mirror prevents others from seeing their reflections — whether mourner or spirits from beyond ushering the newly departed to their destination and the newly departed.
For some, mirrors are considered portals and by covering them, it keeps out any rift-raft from the spirit world.
Also, with all the mourning going on, it is believed spirits can enter the body of the living through the nose or the mouth. While bereaved, one’s guard is down and covering the mirrors is a safety precaution from possession.
Evidently, many spirits don’t want to leave — so in their spirit form, they could indeed enter a body of the living through their nose or mouth. Thus, the practice for widows to wear a veil at the funeral . . . while others keep a handkerchief handy to cover the nose and mouth — and wipe the tears . . .
Some cover the mirrors in black and others with a white sheet. Still others use a spray to prevent the mirror from allowing reflections. The mirrors are usually covered or masked until after the funeral.
When the body is removed from the house, it is advised that the deceased be taken out feet first. This prevents the corpse from looking back at others in the room and beckoning them to join him or her on their journey to the afterlife.
That’s kind of “creepy” . . . but . . .
I hope this was informative and answered the question of the ancient practice of covering mirrors after someone dies.
Now, I can’t leave you without a story. I’m sorry I don’t have one about covered mirrors, but this one is about a message from beyond the grave you may find interesting.
Granddad’s Message
Joe’s grandfather was in a nursing home. He was well into his 80’s and suffered a massive stroke that left him paralyzed on his right side and unable to speak.
Joe’s sister, Emma, gave her grandfather a stuffed bear that when you squeezed it would say in a cute recorded message, “I love you.”
Although they visited daily, Emma wanted her grandfather to know they loved him and they knew he loved them, too. He would squeeze the bear when he saw them in greeting and again when they left. The nurses said he would sleep with the bear and squeeze it periodically throughout the night and first thing in the morning.
Days before her grandfather’s passing, Emma asked him, if he should pass, if he could send them a message that he was all right and arrived in heaven. He squeezed her hand in agreement.
One year to the date of his passing, the bear was sitting on the mantle of their home, as it had since his passing, and precisely at 6:32 in the evening (the time of his death), the bear said, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
I hope you enjoyed this post . . . and enjoyed the Real Ghost Story.
Yeah . . . That box, sold at auction on eBay and was said to be haunted.
Wasn’t there a book and a film about that creepy old thing?
It’s a wine cabinet — a dybbuk box and also spelled “dibbux”. It’s said to be haunted by a dybbuk.
That makes sense for a dybbuk to live in a dybbuk box.
So . . . what’s the big deal?
This real ghost story begins with Kevin Mannis. In 2004, Mannis put The Dybbuk Box up for auction on eBay.
He’s a writer and at the time of the eBay auction owned a small antiques and furniture refinishing business in Portland, Oregon. In 2001, Mannis bought the Dybbuk Box at an estate sale. The box belonged to a Holocaust survivor of Polish decent by the name of Havela. She escaped to Spain prior to immigrating to the United States . . . bringing the box with her.
According to Mannis, Havela purposely sealed a dybbuk inside the box. Evidently she and her friends were performing a séance when a dybbuk contacted her.
Jewish folklore claims a dybbuk is a restless, malicious spirit believed to be able to haunt and even possess the living.
Now that we have some background on the dybbuk and his box . . . we return to Mannis. This is what he found when he opened the box:
2 pennies dated in the 1920’s
a lock of blonde hair bound with a cord
a lock of dark brown hair bound with a cord
a small statue engraved with the Hebrew word “Shalom”
one dried rose bud
a single candle holder with four octopus-shaped legs
a small golden wine goblet.
These items, according to Jewish folklore, are for exorcising demons.
That’s all fine and good . . . yet it appears the Dybbuk wasn’t exorcised. He was still in the box and when Mannis opened it . . .
He had horrible nightmares involving an old hag.
Even guests in Mannis’s home experienced these nightmares, too.
So, what did he do?
He gave the box to his mother. Oh good grief!!! And, the same day he gave her that stinky old Dybbuk Box she suffered a stroke. I said “stinky old Dybbuk Box” because it did have an aroma about it of a cross between cat urine and jasmine flowers.
The current owner of this Dybbuk Box is Jason Haxton, Director of the Museum of Osteopathic Medicine in Kirksville, Missouri.
Haxton had the winning bid at the eBay auction, thus buying the Dybbuk Box from Mannis.
Jason Haxton wrote The Dibbuk Box and published it in November of 2011.
He developed some strange health problems including hives, coughing up blood and “head-to-toe welts”.
While he had the box in his office, light bulbs burst.
Haxton removed the box from the museum and locked it in the back of his truck. He parked it at his house and that night experienced the same nightmares of a hag-like woman as other previous owners.
He contacted Rabbis to seal the dybbuk back in the box after he and his son noticed a black mass shaped like a flame in the room with them.
Currently, Haxton has the freshly resealed Dybbuk Box hidden in an undisclosed location.
Reminds me of a Genie in a Bottle or Aladdin’s Lamp.
Just in case you come across a dybbuk box, this one has the Shema carved into the side of it and the box measures 12.5″ x 7.5″ x 16.25″
Although this tale creeps me out, I can say that it is an attractive box . . . one I could see myself buying in an estate sale . . . but in light of all this . . . I would have to take a pass. I don’t like inviting danger into my life unnecessarily.
Oh yes, one more point . . . This was quite popular up until 2014 . . . so why am I writing about it?
I know this particular Dybbuk Box is now sealed in an undisclosed location . . . but do you honestly believe that there is only one Dybbuk . . . or is it merely an urban legend . . . Maybe those owners got caught up in the hysteria of the legend . . .
Or . . . there are Dybbuk among us . . . hidden in some old antique cabinet . . . an armoire perhaps . . . or a lovely vase . . . just waiting . . . for . . . you . . . to discover it . . . and . . . set it free . . .
