Your
True Tales
October 2004 – Page
16
Brother's
Violent Ghost
by Gina
My brother (we'll call "K") died a few years ago in a state penitentiary. He was in for manslaughter and was also a skinhead associated with the skins of Oregon. He was not a good boy, to put it mildly.
This story is a little involved so I'll just explain a few things first. He was doing a seven-year sentence when his girlfriend, the mother of his child, was busted for drug possession and her six-year-old son was caught in the crossfire – in other words, going to be awarded to the state – so I stepped in and took custody of my nephew (he's a great kid and a smart one, too). I had three of my own already and one more wasn't all that much trouble.
We lived in a townhouse group of condos and it was the four kids my husband, and I and we did the best we could on his salary as an electrician (non-union at the time).
Every other Sunday I'd take him up to go see his mom in prison, and we'd stay for a while and then we'd go home, but I absolutely did not want to take him to see his dad, my brother, especially as mixed up in violent stuff as he was I didn't feel it was right to expose a six-year-old child to that whole scene. His mother only took him up there once and no other time to my knowledge, but I'd let him talk to his dad on the phone and that was it. Then I'd get on the line with my brother and he'd get on my case about not taking him up to see him. I'd put my foot down and tell him point blank to clean up his (blank) and stop being such a violent derelict. He would get all pissy and I'd tell him to call next week, but NO, I was not going to take him up there to the men's prison.
About seven month's passed and I got a call from the state that my brother had been stabbed and was in very critical condition. He was being held in an infirmary up there and we could come to visit, but he was unconscious and had lost a lot of blood. This was just hours after it had happened and it sounded like last rites, for the most part.
My husband and I went up there, leaving the kids with our other sister. When we got there, he had already died. I called his girlfriend and she was pained, but somehow expected it as strangely did I.
We went home and made funeral arrangements, and four days later attended his funeral with all our family.
Three weeks later, strange things started to happen. We had a dog named Skeet who has a terrier. One night while watching TV, he started to bark wildly and growl at the front door. He wasn't a quiet dog by any means, but this dog was upset, and when I got to where he was, the dog's back end was flipped up and over and the dog began to vomit up blood and sputum like he was choking. Then, just as if the dog was kicked, he was flung across the hardwood floor over to the far wall. I strangely knew this was my brother doing this. I rushed to the dog and felt a gust of cold rush through me.
I was freaked out and grabbed up the dog and ran into the living room and over to where a couple of the kids were playing. I just sat there, daring not saying anything to the kids about this.
Later that night as I was going to bed, three police cruisers pulled up to the neighbor's house. With gumball lights glowing they were searching around my yard and my neighbor's yard. I went out and asked what they were doing. They said they had had a peeping tom in the area. I talked to my neighbor and he described my brother to a tee. He said in the shadows he saw a man with a bald head, very muscular, possible tattoos and had a wooly dark goatee. Then heard a window crash and still couldn't determine where it came from. The cops searched around for a good half hour and came up empty.
I went back in and checked up on my nephew, who slept in the same room as one of my other sons and he seemed fine. Then I heard a sound coming from downstairs. Thinking it was my husband, I went down to go talk to him and when I walked into the lighted kitchen, there was no one there. Just then the phone rang. When I picked it up and said "hello," there was just silence on the other end. So I took one last listen before hanging up when I distinctly heard a male, low, raspy voice say, "Which one's my son?"
I hung up the phone quickly and got my husband awake upstairs. I made plans to stay with my sister a few towns away. I took the kids over to their aunt's house and we spent the night there. My husband was p.o'd, but he got over it.
The next morning, I went back to our house, and right in front of the doorway on our concrete stoop was a big pile of dog feces.
My husband had a strange tale to tell. He said the house was broken into somehow and there was someone in the house and stomping on the floor. Then he said he heard what sounded like a car hood slamming shut and then opening and shutting. He went downstairs slowly. He's a good-sized guy and saw no one there, then heard someone upstairs. He took one of my eldest son's bats from the back and went up, again finding no one there either. He searched the whole place and there was no one there, so eventually went back to bed. The next morning, he found our family photo smashed on the floor with glass everywhere. That seemed to be all the damage.
I eventually got the kids from their aunt's where they spent a good part of the day and went back home. My husband was at work and we all went in and had a perfectly normal night.
Until I heard a scream from my daughter (11 at the time). I went up and she was running out of the bathroom. I rushed up to her. She said she was coming out of the shower and saw an outline of a man in a jumpsuit float – not walk but float – through the wall into what would be my two sons' room. I calmed her down and tried to convince her that it was just a trick of the mind. But she was not having it and insisted to sleep with me.
Weird things went on like
this for a couple more days until it finally ceased and my brother was at peace.
But it was definitely him. I know it.
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