a paranormal blog
From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
When I hear stories such as Sherry Isaac’s tale (click HERE to read) of a visit from her sister who couldn’t possibly have visited, the little hairs on my arms all stand at attention.
A good ghost story, told well has always had that effect on me. Tension grows as the story spins out. And the spooky thing about ghost stories is that when it’s over, the tension lingers. It stays with us as we gather our things and head off into the night. It creeps into the tent and slides beneath the covers. We become the haunted.
Lights turn off and on when no one is touching them. Things move. All the nerves in your spine tell you something is behind you. And you turn. And there’s nothing there, but the cat whose entire body is puffed out screaming, “Didn’t you see it!”.
I’m one of those people who loves to read tales of the haunted. I love to hear personal stories, but you won’t catch me asking for the haunted room at the inn. That I leave to the brave who actually want to see the ghosts. The spirit spelunkers who delve into that other realm searching for proof that ghosts exist.
I don’t need proof. I’ve had it. I’ve had brushes with the supernatural on dark nights in downtown Boulder. Places where the ghosts should have been long gone, but weren’t. We were lurking in leafy streets of the residences just off of Pearl Street, by the old elementary school on a dark October night when we should have known better than to go searching out ghosts.
You too may have this happen. Historic Boulder has a ghost tour in October and it happens at night. You take a map and walk in pairs through poorly lit streets and go from historic house to historic house hearing the stories of the architects and the families that have gone before. And in addition they also tell you the tales that are not public record. The experiences of the people who still live in the houses and their encounters with the previous residents.
It was on one such tour that a friend and I waited on the porch for the previous group to vacate. And while we were there, something dark touched my shoulder, My friend felt it too and we moved over away from the spot on the porch where there was definitely a dark presence.
That presence stuck with me all through the night as we walked through the neighborhood. While we walked from door to door like overgrown trick-or-treaters, ringing door bells and receiving tricks with our treats it hung on like a heavy over coat resting on my back. Dark and heavy, not cold, but very uncomfortable.
It makes my back creep just to think of it.
Why do we court the supernatural. Why do we want to be scared, thrilled or frightened. What is it about the human race that we chase down experiences that when we have them, we don’t every desire to have again?
Have you ever experienced a haunting? Do you believe in ghosts, past or present? Leave your story of the unexplained in the comment box. I’m dying to read them.