by Sharon | Aug 20, 2018
Psychometry is the ability to read objects.
All of us have this ability to a degree. We get vibrations that are either good or bad. We just need to spend some time with an object and see if we receive any reaction to it. It may make you feel happy, sad, or any feeling along the spectrum.
It is no different from walking into a room and instantly feeling uncomfortable. Or when meeting someone for the first time — you do get vibrations . . . a sense of whether you want to get to know the person or want to move on . . . and sometimes run!
I noticed a woman at my favorite antique mall put on gloves before handling jewelry.
Some people think its to show respect to the jewelry and the prospective buyer. In her case, she gets very emotional when handling some jewelry pieces with her bare hands. In one case, there was an emerald ring with two small diamond baguettes on each side of the emerald. It was a pretty ring and just about everyone interested in jewelry wanted to see it, but after handling it, trying it on and studying it, each woman passed.
I was curious.
I asked to see the ring. I held it for a few seconds. I didn’t want to try it on. Actually, I felt something bad would happen to me if I did try it on. Obviously, it wasn’t right for me, but what about the other women. I sought them out and asked them what they felt when they handled and put on the emerald ring.
Julie wanted to know what I felt before telling me her story. The other women were interested to hear what I had to say, which was helpful — I didn’t have to run after them, they were all eager to tell their reactions.
I was brief. I explained how I felt sad just handling the ring. I knew trying it on was the next logical step in the process, but I became frightened that if I did put it on, something awful was going to happen to me. I didn’t get anything specific just a warning not to put it on my finger. It was almost as though I heard a voice saying, “You’ll be sorry if you put it on.” It felt as though the ring spoke those words. I wasn’t going to question it or tempt fate. I accepted the fact that the ring was not for me.
Julie said she, too, felt sad. The other women agreed. When Julie put it on, she knew it was a “promise ring,” but it was a promise that wasn’t kept.
“I don’t know why I know that,” Julie said, “I just know it to be true. I was going to buy it for my daughter, but I knew it would bring nothing but trouble to her.”
Gloria spoke up next. “I got a picture in my mind of a young girl who was gloating about the ring and who gave it to her and what it meant. She was bragging that Phillip was her intended and the girl she was talking to would end up alone with a house full of cats for companionship.”
Gloria knew she wanted nothing to do with the ring and the previous owner. “She was just too cruel in her manner and attitude.”
Pat was nodding the whole time Gloria was talking. “I got the same mean spirited picture in my mind, but when I put it on, I got the image of this woman being hit by a car when she left the place where she was showing it off to the other woman.”
Connie was next to speak up. “I felt strong and entitled when I picked up the ring. When I put it on, I felt as though it would squeeze the life out of me. I got scared and couldn’t wait to get away from it.”
Elizabeth, the woman who was showing the jewelry walked by our little group. I stopped her and asked about the emerald ring.
“We’ve had it for quite some time. I show it several times a day, but no one wants to buy it. We’ve marked the price down, too. I doubt we’ll be able to give it away.”
I asked her how she felt when she handled it. She paused for quite some time before answering. “The first time I held the ring I felt sad. There were other times I would feel revengeful, like I wanted to prove something to someone. The last time I became so angry when the person I was showing it to didn’t buy it. I almost shouted at the woman, telling her she was wasting my time and didn’t know a good ring if it fell in her lap.”
Elizabeth was disturbed by her mood changes/ That was when she started wearing gloves before handling jewelry.
Is it possible to read antiques?
Yes, definitely. You read the account of five women who handled the same ring. Did we get a clear reading? I believe it was close enough. Do we know the truth about the ring and who brought it in to sell it?
Yes, as a matter of fact. Elizabeth went to look up the information about the ring. She called the owner who agreed to come to the antique mall and meet with us.
Cindy seemed anxious. She was curious about our reaction to the ring and also wanted to disclose what she could about the ring.
“This ring was passed down in my family. It seemed whoever came in possession of the ring had bad luck in love. It’s like the ring is cursed.”
When Cindy inherited the ring, she immediately wanted it out of her house. She brought it to the antique mall to sell along with other items. As Cindy explained it, “My great-aunt Sue was killed in her late twenties. She was coming out of a small tea room when she was hit by an automobile. She was wearing the emerald ring at the time of the accident. Family legend has it that the ring was a “promise ring” from a wealthy businessman by the name of Phillip. At the time he was engaged to someone else, but he was going to break it off with the other woman and marry Aunt Sue. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”
She went on to explain how Sue’s parents got divorced shortly after Sue’s death. Then the ring was passed to the eldest niece who’s husband was killed in a hunting accident. There was one tragedy after another. Either the niece or her boyfriend or fiancée lost their life or the relationship went sour. Once the ring was passed to another, it was like a curse that she would not find happiness.
Cindy didn’t want to chance it. She had been married for 37 years and her four daughters were each engaged. Cindy didn’t want the curse to touch her family.
Well, there’s the story.
Curse or coincidence?
Is there something to a self-fulfilled prophecy associated with knowing the history of the ring and the owner’s fate that these relatives put into motion?
Or was there really a curse placed upon the ring by “Aunt Sue” as she was dying from her injuries — or was she killed instantly — that we don’t know . . . but I do believe it may have something to do with “Aunt Sue’s state of mind prior to the accident.
I do wonder if the “curse” applied only to Cindy’s family or if it would be passed on to the new owner. It does seem logical that it would — especially because it was centered around the ring — and all the women who handled it and tried it on felt it . . .
I don’t believe it was an actual “curse” placed upon the ring . . . unless “Aunt Sue” put one on it — or perhaps it was just her negative energy that lingers.
I’m curious about cleansing it and perhaps contacting “Aunt Sue” in a seance to learn more about the woman.
I can only imagine she wasn’t too kind — a bit selfish perhaps . . . and with her bitterness of dying young and not attaining marriage is delighted by the chaos she has created within her own family.
I honestly can’t imagine gaining any pleasure from that . . . Perhaps she did place a “curse” upon the ring. And by not knowing the “curse” it may be next to impossible to reverse it.
I don’t know. I would, however, like to hear your thoughts on the subject of “Aunt Sue” and psychometry. Please leave me a comment below.
Thanks for stopping by! If you enjoyed this post, please tell your friends about TwoCansOnAString.com
Sharon
by Sharon | Aug 19, 2018
I’ve always been fascinated by cemeteries.
I was one of those strange children who enjoyed the outings to the family plot when we’d visit my grandmother. I didn’t know who was there and why we’d go. I just knew it was important to my grandmother.
The great thing for me was standing quietly in a respectful pose, but that wasn’t all. I would see spirits gathering. Most often they were far away, but I knew they were there and I believe they knew I could sense and see them.
My Uncle John was always with his camera, but not when we went to the cemetery. I thought it odd, because the pictures he could take there would be so much more interesting to me than the ones he took of people and places I didn’t know and didn’t really care about.
On one visit I remember it being cold and damp.
At the entrance to the cemetery was a stand that sold bouquets of flowers. My uncle and father got out to make the selection.
I distinctly heard, “Humph! I would prefer flowers from my own garden at home.”
I didn’t know who said it. I reasoned it couldn’t have been my grandmother or her sister. If that was what they believed, they wouldn’t have Uncle John buy flowers.
I was puzzled, but I kept quiet. In those days children were to be seen and not heard and I knew my place.
We drove the path to the family plot and got out of the car. My grandmother took the lead and we followed. I was more interested in all the pretty bouquets of flowers and the other people walking around. Real people and spirits.
“Such a waste of money!” I heard. “I don’t know what they were thinking.”
Then a male voice said calmly, “Marie, they come. Be grateful.”
I felt a chill and sneezed. My mother didn’t want me catching cold and told me to sit in the car.
In the car, I met my great-grandmother and great-grandfather.
“Tell them,” she began, “tell them not to buy flowers, but get them from the garden.”
“I remember the day we planted that garden,” Great-grandfather said. “There was such a discussion on what to plant and how to keep it producing flowers all year.”
They continued talking and I listened, but said nothing.
“Are you hearing us?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said nodding.
Of course, that was when my mother decided to get into the car.
“Who are you talking to?”
I immediately told her what I had learned about the flowers and the garden and how Great-grandmother wanted flowers from her garden instead of the over-priced ones sold by the cemetery.
The end of my conversation with my mother didn’t go unnoticed by my grandmother who wanted to hear the whole conversation. Evidently, she got chilled and came to the car.
I really didn’t feel comfortable talking about the spirits . . . and their talking with me to my grandmother or other members of the family. My mother didn’t encourage me to do so normally, but since we were “caught” my mother’s nod indicated it was all right.
That evening when the gates to the cemetery were closed, we went back.
My grandmother did play it “cool” by telling the rest of the family how she remembered collecting flowers from the garden to take to the cemetery. Then others chimed in also recalling those times.
Sitting in the warm house discussing how we would give Great-Grandmother the flowers she wanted seemed like a good idea, but standing outside the cemetery gates in the cold damp foggy night air, I wasn’t so sure.
I was still surprised by how went along with the plot to have my brother and I sneak into the cemetery.
We parked a distance away and walked to the gate. My brother and I slipped through the bars. Gary held the flashlight and was the navigator and I followed carrying the flowers.
There was a thick fog covering the cemetery. It was creepy. I didn’t know where we were or if we would find the right spot.
“It’s over there,” I said pointing. It seemed the fog lifted for us to follow a path to our destination.
“Do you see them?” Gary asked.
“No, but I think they’re helping us.”
Now that I think of that conversation, I think he was referring to the headstones, not the spirits of our great-grandparents.
We did find the right spot with the help of friendly spirits.
Back at my grandmothers house, it seemed about the same time we placed the flowers on the headstones, her house was filled with the fragrance of flowers. I would have liked to have experienced that.
This early introduction to sneaking into a cemetery after dark may have planted a seed.
To this day I go to the cemetery after dark and place flowers on graves. Some cemetery gates are open and others have gates that close at dusk. I sometimes join a group of florists who place flowers on graves for holidays.
This seems to be my calling to remember those who have passed long ago.
I have met some interesting spirits throughout the years . . . I’ve also been spooked more times than I care to admit. But, in the end, I am so very grateful that I’ve been able to do this . . . and it began so very many years ago.
Thanks for stopping by!
Sharon
by Sharon | Aug 18, 2018
I can’t imagine adopting a haunted doll.
I was at my favorite antique mall a few weeks ago with some friends and I witnessed something I won’t soon forget.
We were looking around and when Barbara and Amy went to look at dolls, I followed them. I immediately experienced an overwhelming feeling of sadness came over me. It reminded me of the feeling others experienced with the famous Mandy doll. Amy was drawn to one particular doll that was in a locked display case. Barbara went into the next booth and was looking around. I found something across from them and was browsing for a few minutes. Then I glanced back at the booth where Amy was waiting for someone to open the display case. The doll had shifted position and had turned to look at the booth where I was standing.
I have to admit it made me feel uncomfortable, but it was worth experimenting. What did I have to fear? The doll was locked up. I joined Amy and was looking around at other dolls in other cases and some that were out. After a few minutes of browsing, I looked back at “Amy’s doll” and once again she changed position, looking straight at me.
I asked Amy if she was aware that the doll moved, but she hadn’t noticed.
So, I had Amy move around as I had earlier. I joined Barbara during this experiment so I wouldn’t distract the doll or Amy. To Amy’s disappointment, the doll didn’t move.
I shared her disappointment. Amy really wanted this doll and had every intention of buying it. Now I don’t know if the doll knew this and was waiting until Amy took it home to move around or what.
Amy was having second thoughts, thinking the doll wanted me to buy it, but I told her I had no intention of buying any dolls. I do have dolls, but I’m not planning to add to my collection.
By the time someone finally came with the key to unlock the cabinet, the doll again shifted position. This time she had raised her right arm in a gesture of waving. She did seem happy to see the woman with the key or delighted that the cabinet was being opened. Amy saw this change in the doll.
Again, I thought back to the Mandy doll.
I had no idea what the doll was thinking at the time, but the look on her face wasn’t happy. I was curious what she was going to do. Amy did pick up the doll and examined her closely. Instead of making any statement about the doll’s condition and an offer, Amy handed the doll to the woman, thanked her and walked away to another booth.
I wanted to ask Amy why she didn’t buy the doll, but I knew Amy would talk about it when she was ready to do so.
At lunch, Barbara blunting asked why Amy didn’t buy the doll after waiting so long.
Amy shrugged and said, “It didn’t feel right. It was warm to the touch and when I was examining it . . .” she paused and showed us the inside of her left hand.
There was a raised red welt in her palm. Barbara immediately spoke up, “It bit you!”
I almost choked on the sip of water I had just taken.
Well, I had to agree with Amy. I wouldn’t want a doll that would bite me and I wouldn’t want a doll that was obviously haunted. On the latter point, Amy and I disagreed. She was looking forward to having a haunted doll.
I suppose I won’t be smudging any dolls for Amy in the future.
There are definitely many people who want to adopt haunted dolls. That’s fine for them as long as they know what they’re buying. I haven’t seen any good come out of it, but there are always exceptions.
For those of you unfamiliar with the story of this doll named Mandy, I’ll briefly share it with you.
Mandy is a porcelain doll dating back to either 1910 or 1920. She was made in either Germany or England. In 1991 she was donated to the Quesnel Museum in British Columbia by a woman who would hear a baby crying in the basement of her home. When she would go to investigate, she would find a window open, but no baby.
There is a story or legend going around in an effort to explain how the doll became “possessed.” As the story goes, a little girl and the doll were trapped in a basement. The little girl died and her spirit became trapped within the doll. Several years after this incident, the doll was found in the basement when someone went to investigate a child crying. To make this a memorable story, it is said that when the doll was found, it was crying tears of blood. This latter statement was never proven, nor repeated, so it’s what it is. . . true to those who witnessed it and questionable to those who didn’t.
When Mandy first arrived at Quesnel Museum she was placed in the foyer to greet visitors. Later she was placed in a case located in another part of the museum. Many visitors have reported feeling sad or uncomfortable around her. Others have observed that her eyes blink and her fingers and head move.
Well, there you have it. Mandy is a haunted doll and is now residing comfortably at Quesnel Museum in British Columbia.
I really don’t know what to make of the “haunted doll” at the antique mall.
Why on earth would it bite Amy?
Did it want me to hold it . . . and buy it? Or would it have bitten me as well?
I sometimes wonder about antiques . . . do we really choose them . . . or do they choose us?
Let me know your thoughts in the comments below. I would love to hear your experiences with haunted dolls . . . or your real ghost stories.
Thanks for stopping by!
Sharon
by Sharon | Aug 16, 2018
Have you seen something out of the corner of your eye and then when you looked head-on it was there, but not?
There is this “other dimension” that we’re sometimes privy to seeing. It makes you shake your head a little when you see something not fully three-dimensional, but it does exist more often than not.
I don’t like getting all freaky about it, but it so very true.
I see it a lot in antique stores.
I’ve talked to spirits I thought were real people. One time it was a previous owner who had passed. She was very fond of her rocking chair and was telling me how she nursed her three precious babies while sitting in it. She couldn’t imagine why none of her children wanted to keep it.
“It was my mothers before I got it,” she lamented. “Don’t they remember all the stories that were told and read from that very chair? Or rocking them to sleep . . . or when they were sick?”
There was another time I swore I saw a rocking chair in the antique store. It had stuffed toys in it on display, but I couldn’t quite remember which section I was in when I saw it.
Yeah, rocking chairs. I do seem to have a “thing” about them . . . or maybe they’re attracted to me for some reason or other . . .
I do have an old rocking chair that belonged to my grandmother — it’s pretty low to the ground and has a little swing out drawer on the side where she kept her sewing kit for darning socks and such. My father told me how she would take it outside — not on the porch, but in the backyard and sit under a tree and do her darning or embroidery.
This was her place where she could sit quietly without being interrupted by neighbors passing by. I do like spending time on my patio. It is my private little place where I can write my blogs or eat breakfast, lunch or dinner . . . but mostly just to sit, relax and think.
My favorite antique store is an antique mall where people rent out sections or stalls in which to create a display of their treasures. It was in one of those stalls where I saw the rocking chair. One of the owners assured me they had no rocking chair of that description in their shop. Yet, I kept looking. I knew I saw what I saw!
In this particular antique mall, I’ve met several “ghostly spirits” who have given me information about some antiques I’ve purchased over the years.
I probably do look like an idiot talking to someone who isn’t there — but, seriously, I don’t care, because most people who collect antiques do believe in ghosts . . . and they are eager to learn information about some pieces they would like to purchase.
With the programs of finding the value of antiques, many people are into getting something “cheap” and turning it into a “fortune.” My thing, besides collecting antiques is learning the story — and meeting the spirits who once owned them. That, to me is the true “fortune” I seek.
I enjoy it when the curtain parts and I get a peek into this other dimension.
I did get a little frightened once when there were cars coming at me. Most towns had dirt roads as their main thoroughfares in day of old. In our time they moved them and made room for businesses to be on both sides of the road. This antique mall was one such building that years ago didn’t exist other than as a dirt road.
I suppose the same is true for houses that have been moved for freeways and other changes. Many old houses in my town have been moved. One was converted into a restaurant. I was excited to go there for dinner, but found out that customers weren’t allowed to go exploring — pity. I haven’t been back.
It is too bad they don’t have tours of the old mansion. Many people are curious, but maybe the renovations were such that there isn’t much left of how the original mansion looked when it was a home.
I’m not against progress, but I do like some things to be preserved.
In the future when you see something and then don’t, believe your first instinct that it was indeed there before the curtain closed.
Thanks for stopping by!
Sharon
by Sharon | Aug 14, 2018
When I was in high school I made extra money house sitting or pet sitting. I liked this better than sitting with kids. The hours were more flexible.
A friend of my parents sold real estate and would get these jobs for me from time to time.
The money was good for the small amount of work I was to do. And, it was kind of nice to be able to spend nights away from home.
My friends thought it would be fun to join me and have a lumber party, but I preferred to not let them know when I was house sitting. The job was not for me to hold parties in . . . just to stay a few nights to set the homeowner’s mind at ease that the house wasn’t empty and their pets would be fed and wouldn’t be alone.
I wasn’t prepared for the house or the rumors of the house that I was to go to.
The elderly woman was in the hospital. The sad truth was that she would probably not return home. Her family was out of state and they were on their way, but wanted someone in the house until they arrived. The dog was one of those small fuzzy things that needed constant attention.
When I arrived, “Baby” greeted me at the door. She had some dry food in a bowl and water. There was a doggy door she used, so I was there for companionship and to feed her canned food in the morning.
I got my sleeping bag, pillow and school books out of the car along with a “care package” my mother packed for me with snacks, dinner and soft drinks. I made myself at home in the living room. Baby sat on the sofa next to me.
I didn’t feel the need to go exploring around the house. I know my friends would have been snooping, but I wasn’t all that interested. My job was to house sit and take care of Baby.
While I sat there in the quiet house, I remembered the stories of the house being haunted. It may have been just babblings from my friends trying to scare me. Of course, they had it on good authority that what they were saying was the absolute truth. One’s Aunt Sally knew the woman, another’s mother knew her — they played bridge together. One afternoon, so the story goes, these women heard sounds of someone walking up and down the stairs. They also felt as though someone walked into the room and was watching them.
Immediately, it was assumed it was the old woman’s dearly departed husband — Mr. Dailey
There was nothing actually scary in knowing that . . . just a bit creepy to think Mr. Dailey was still in the house — haunting it.
The more I thought about it, there seemed to be some comfort in knowing Mr. Dailey was still in residence — a resident ghost.
I had been there for about an hour when I heard the flip-flap of the doggy door.
Baby was asleep next to me. Then there was a clattering in the kitchen. I knew something had come in the doggy door and I had to get it out.
When I went into the kitchen, the water bowl and dry food had spilled on the floor, but there was no evidence of a stray cat or critter of any kind. I searched the house and found nothing.
I cleaned up the mess and returned to the living room.
My books were dumped on the floor and Baby was on the floor staring at the sofa as though someone was sitting there.
I gathered up my books and notebook and moved to a chair. Baby settled on the footstool, still staring at the sofa.
I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I thought someone was watching me. I turned on the television.
I was tempted to leave. I also thought of calling some friends to come over and stay with me, but I knew I was being silly. I didn’t want them teasing me about being scared, They would have left out the part that I was in a haunted house.
I must have dozed off in the chair.
Around midnight I awoke to the sound of Baby running up and down the stairs. For an old dog she was going pretty fast. Then she would stop in front of the sofa and look at the invisible something and run up and down the stairs, run around the living room, into the kitchen and back up and down the stairs before returning to sit in front of the sofa.
She didn’t move a muscle. She just sat there staring. Then she growled and lunged at something. Barking, she ran up the stairs chasing something. I sit in the chair, listening to Baby bark, not eager to get up and investigate.
Thankfully, Baby stopped barking came downstairs and jumped up on the footstool and settled down to sleep like nothing happened.
I spread my sleeping bag on the sofa and kept a light on. I turned off the television, because I wanted to hear if anything was sneaking up on me.
I could hear Baby’s steady breathing and a cute little snore or two.
I began to relax. Then I heard footsteps pacing up and down in the room above the living room.
Then it sounded as though furniture was being moved. There was some scuffling around . . . then the lamp in the living room went out.
Great, I thought, a burned out light bulb. I rummaged in my purse for a small flashlight I kept in there for emergencies.
The noise upstairs got louder. In the dark, it seemed to be louder than it probably was . . . nevertheless, I was beginning to get scared. I went into the kitchen to turn on that light, but it didn’t turn on. Evidently the power was off. There was no need for me to look for a light bulb. But I did look for a stronger flashlight and candles.
I found candles and candle holders and trivets to set them on. I wanted them around the living room so I would have enough light. I watched the shadows of the flickering flames dance on the walls as I settled back into my sleeping bag. The noise upstairs stopped and I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
I braced myself. The dog was sound asleep on the footstool, big help she was. Then something flew from the stairs and hit the floor near the foot of the couch. Then there was another thud of something falling near the head of the couch.
I was relieved it didn’t hit me. For some strange reason, I had a feeling it wasn’t meant to hit me or even scare me. I got up and found a Ouija Board at the foot of the couch and the planchette at the head. I set it up on the coffee table, rearranging the candles slightly.
At the time, I wasn’t all that afraid of a Ouija Board. I just didn’t have any use for one . . . plus they never seemed to work for me.
The planchette started moving on its own, up and down, back and forth. It seemed to be spelling out something, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it had to say.
I heard the squeak of the springs in the chair. I saw the indentation on the cushion as though someone was sitting in it.
I was thinking of grabbing Baby and going home.
I watched the planchette spell out “w – a – i – t” over and over again as though it read my mind.
I waited. I watched the Ouija Board. Nothing.
By now it was after three in the morning. I knew my friends wouldn’t believe this and to be honest, I doubt I’d tell them. The whole evening was just too unbelievable.
Then the planchette started moving slowly. It spelled out “take care of baby.”
I then knew the elderly woman had passed.
I held on to Baby . . . more for my comfort than hers . . .
I stayed up the rest of the morning. The house was quiet. By daylight, I snuffed out the candles, put the Ouija Board away in the upstairs bedroom, and fed Baby.
The realtor knocked on the door around ten in the morning to tell me Mrs. Dailey passed about three that morning.
I dumbly nodded. I was to remain in the house until the family arrived and then I could leave.
Fortunately, they arrived that evening. I was torn between leaving Baby with them and asking if I could have her. One of the relatives had a little girl that seemed to adore Baby, so I thought that was all right.
I wasn’t sure what Mrs. Dailey wanted me to do about Baby. I did take care of her until someone else was there to do so.
I was pretty much packed up when the relatives arrived. I kind of had the feeling I wouldn’t be spending another night in the house. The electricity was back on . . . the lamp in the living room did work . . . So I went home with a real ghost story.
I don’t know if the relatives heard anything strange . . . I just know the house was on the market for awhile . . . and the relatives didn’t stay around . . .
Thanks for stopping by!
Sharon
by Sharon | Aug 4, 2018
Let’s begin with a couple of definitions — I know, the former teacher in me is coming out . . .
- When you pick up voices that’s an EVP = Electronic Voice Phenomena. It’s a disembodied voice imprinted on a recording device that was not audible to the ear at the time of recording.
- When you pick up non-voice sounds: music, bangs, rattling, etc. that’s an ENP = Electronic Noise Phenomena.
I was out walking my dog this morning. I just wanted a little exercise and fresh air. I like going out in the morning when it is quiet and cooler.
On my walks I sometimes take my camera and voice recording device to record anything interesting I see or hear. Or when I intuitively think I might pick up EVPs or ENPs. Once I recorded the clip-clop of horse hoofs going at a steady pace up the street. It reminded me of horse-drawn carriages . . . or a hay ride — usually in August I dream of fall.
This morning I was curious about the house that was just vacated a few days ago.
In the past I would hear sounds coming from the house when they were on vacation. It seemed the spirits in there have a great party when the owners are gone. I had asked them once if they left a radio on while they were gone and they said they hadn’t. It sounded like teenagers back in the 50’s – 60’s with a sock-hop. I just shrugged off their answer. My neighborhood, I believe in very active with ghostly spirits, but the neighbors don’t discuss it. They usually deny any activity or think I’m crazy for bringing up the subject.
I did walk up to the porch and set the recorder down. I said, “If there are any spirits here, please talk into this recorder. I’m not going to hurt you and neither is this recorder. It will just record what you say. You can say anything or make a noise. I’d greatly appreciate it.” I then set the recorder down and went on my way.
I think most spirits are a bit shy and like to “be” unnoticed. I know it’s an intrusion on them, but I am curious. I do try to be respectful.
While I was walking, I had a mental image of a spirit on hands and knees checking out the recorder . . . it made me chuckle to myself and also made me eager to retrieve my recorder.
I could hear piano music as I came around the corner of my street. It got louder as I walked closer to the vacant house.
I was torn between keeping the recorder on the porch until this little concert was over . . . but I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to see if the recorder picked up anything.
I listened to my little statement and I heard, “Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.
Oh my goodness!! I got an answer!! I almost dropped my recorder!!
There was quite a long pause and then I heard, “Play piano.”
Wow!! I was in heaven!!!
It didn’t take her long to start tickling the ivories with a classical tune. It was lovely and as I mentioned earlier she was still playing when I picked up the recorder and turned it off. So I got both an EVP and an ENP.
I do remember hearing a previous neighbor was a piano teacher.
I do hope the new owners like classical music and are kind to this lovely sounding woman. Or the new owners will be “stick in the muds” and deny any paranormal activity taking place in their new home.
I’m also curious if the teenage “sock hop”-pers are still in residence. That will keep them on their toes!!
I am so amazed by the spirit world and how lovely ghosts can be . . . sometimes I like them better than the living . . . I’ve always imagined having a “tea party” inviting the ghosts from the neighborhood. Maybe with my new Spirit Box, I’ll be able to do just that.
Maybe I should do it on my back patio . . . I don’t necessarily want a whole lot of spirits in my house — I have enough of my own.
I wonder what kind of prayer would be appropriate for self protection and having them go away after our session . . . Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
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Sharon
