August 2004 Page 1
I was five years old. My mom and I had moved into a two-bedroom apartment on a not-so-nice part of town, but it was all she could afford as she was a single parent. The modern apartment building had four units. Two on bottom, two above. If you faced the apartments, we lived in the upper right unit. I NEVER liked it. Never. I had my own room and in my room I had two beds. One against the common wall with the apartment next door and the other bed against my mom's bedroom wall. On that bed, I kept my stuffed animals and dolls arranged nicely.
I HATED my closet and I ALWAYS had to have it completely closed. It gave me the creeps to have it opened at all if I didn't need to. The closet door was a light stained wood and it had, what I thought to be, a figure of what looked like a veiled person. Almost like the outlining of the Virgin Mary, but it didn't feel that way.
Almost as soon as we moved in, I started to have very bad thoughts. I knew they were bad, but I didn't know how to stop it. I used to look out the big front window and think about pushing my mom out of it. I would stand on the front landing and think about pushing my mom down the stairs. I love my mom and we had a very close relationship. There was nothing in our history that would cause me to think about hurting her.
One afternoon, I was in the living room watching TV when out of the corner of my eye I saw a small white dog and I actually watched it run through the room and "out" through the wall just under that big window. I sat there, thinking if I should tell my mom, and then decided to continue watching my show on TV. I didn't tell my mom about that dog or my feelings regarding that apartment until I was almost an adult.
There were also many instances where my bedroom door would slam shut by itself. It wouldn't just slowly close, but SLAM by force. I had very fitful nights when I would sleep. My mom said she would hear bumping and thumping and she would go in my room late at night and I would be asleep but I would be either hanging off of my bed or turned completely around. Things would fall over, forcefully, all the time and neither one of us would be near those things. I was so happy when she decided to move us.
We moved into a nice apartment
with her fiancee and we didn't have much activity for a few years, but around
the age of 11 or 12 we
moved into a three-bedroom house; my mom's fiancee moved out soon after and the activity began again. This time, it seemed there were more than one "entity" around us. One was nice, the other not so nice. We named the nice one George. George would make things move. One time we were watching TV, during the day, and my mom's two ceramic frogs, sitting on top of the TV right in the center, flew off to the right and landed on the floor. We both just turned and looked at each other and then we both told George that was very funny. We picked up the frogs, put them back and continued watching TV. I might add that these frogs were anatomically correct, if that has any significance. The front door was a very heavy wooden door. Very wide and thick. That door was slammed a few times, not by us. The not-so-nice presence wasn't as active, but it was there. This presence made itself known by very foul-smelling odors. That's how we knew it was around. I never told my mom this, but I would start saying my Hail Marys as soon as I smelled those smells. It usually worked.
One time, a school friend of mine and I were fooling with the Ouija board in my room. She got creeped out and screamed when the little statue of Jesus sitting on my dresser flew off. We put that thing away and apologized to God and left my room for a while. As I got older, the activity kind of died down. When we moved, I said goodbye to "George" and hoped that wherever I moved I wouldn't have so much activity around me. I seem to have some kind of "connection" though. I sometimes hear someone saying my name and no one is around. Someone touching me or brushing by me. My oldest daughter has always felt like an old soul to me, so when she was around two and a half years old and told me something kind of chilling, I wasn't too shocked.
One day we were sitting in our kitchen and she turned to me and said, "Mom, remember when I was the mom and you were my baby?" I told her no and that I didn't remember. She couldn't believe it. She kept pressing me to remember and told me that I was HER little girl a long time ago. I just told her that I couln't remember but I was glad that she could. She said, "Yah, that was fun. Now I'm YOUR baby." And with that she skipped off to her room to play. Years later, she confided to me that she could remember being up in "heaven" and looking down at me in labor. She said she could see me in a room and there was another room with another lady in it but she didn't like that lady because she was loud and seemed mean. She said she chose me because she knew I would be nice and that she was supposed to be with me.
you have a paranormal tale to tell?