My life with ghosts (part two)…

The Confirmation and Other Stories of Dreams, Ghosts, and Unusual Events

I must preface this story by interjecting a note about my dreams, as
well as my beliefs about the paranormal.

I have always had incredibly vivid and creative dreams which I can
almost always recount. They are often saga-like, whether they be in the form of operas, ballets, theater, musical pieces, or movies, all of which I conjure up during my sleep. Sometimes I am conducting a symphony and often, I can still hear the music as I awaken. And occasionally, I write in my dreams. My dreams are colorful and multi-layered, resembling moving paintings often with Surrealistic or Cubist-like imagery. I travel in my dreams. I fly in my dreams. My dreams are frightening, exhilarating, and at times, they simply are, serving as a sieve for all the creativity around me that has inspired me and flowed through me throughout my entire life.
What has changed then about my dreams since living in “the house” is not their intensity, but rather, their subject…Ghosts.
I don’t typically dream about such things and I’d like to think that my recent dreams full of apparitions are simply the result of the power of suggestion—thoughts that have evolved from perusing the things once belonging to those who are long dead.

My view of the paranormal has always been a dubious one. But still, I guess you could say I have psychic tendencies. As long as can remember, I have been able to sense who is calling me on the phone when it rings. I know when a squirrel is about to run in front of the car, and sometimes I can sense when there is an accident up ahead and I’ll instinctively put my foot to the brake. Here’s an example of a recent “psychic” event. We were driving down a street past a golf course when it suddenly occurred to me that I should roll up my window—a golf ball might hit me. What a curious thought! But only an instant later, a ball whizzed in front of our car and struck the vehicle next to us. Strange. Even so, these “events” do not seem too extraordinary.
My connections with the paranormal have been tenuous at best. When I was a child, my friends and I terrified ourselves while playing with the Ouija board, with the planchette seemingly taking over and moving of its own free will under our hands. As a young adult in my in my early twenties, I read a book that my mother had recommended which documented people’s accounts of life after death—white light at the end of the tunnel kind of stories. I thought it was interesting but I went no further with the topic. And a sidebar here–as far as astrology is concerned, I have read horoscopes for amusement, but I believe them only if I approve of their projections for my future.
In other words, this paranormal stuff is not really my cup of tea.
But upon the death of my father-in-law, Harold, strange things began to happen…

During the seven months following Harold’s death and before we had moved into his house, our children, who were just two years old at the time, began relate to us incidences that chilled us.
With his health rapidly failing, Harold had stayed with us in our duplex during the last week of his life. He spent much of that time sitting in our living room in his favorite chair, which we had brought over from the sitting room of his house. Our children would sometimes go to his side and talk with him, or they would play on the floor nearby. After one week of this, we took him to the hospital, where he died.
Despite his passing, my children’s play continued. Death was a large abstract to them and I don’t think its ramifications registered with them. Or so I thought. Our twins begin to claim, in their earnest little voices, that following his death, Harold, or “Danda” as they called him, began coming to visit. As they often did at that age, they spoke simultaneously, telling their stories independently, but in unison. And there was no prompting on our part. They told us how Danda would sit in the big chair by the lamp in the living room, the same spot where he had sat the week before his death. He would watch them play and chat with them. They had complete belief that their grandfather had been there. We did not know what to think.
And it was during this time that I had my own first bizarre experience. Following Harold’s death, Lee and I had begun the cleaning and repair on his house necessary to make it habitable. While one of us watched our children, the other worked over at his house. We shuttled back and forth like this between our duplex and Harold’s house for months.
The “event” happened one day following weeks of working furiously at packing Harold’s books, cleaning and scraping walls, and priming and painting. I was taking a moment to pause and glance around the living room at my progress. I happen to be standing in the doorway that separated the living room from the hall–the very spot where Harold often had stood to say goodbye to us when we would visit, for he was too weak to escort us to the front door. Suddenly, I heard a voice next to my ear, so loud that it made me jump. “Suzy,” the voice said simply. I knew immediately it was Harold.
This would be just the beginning of a series of eerie events that we would experience over the next many years, occurrences for which we could never be able to logically explain. So many curious happenings and bizarre dreams, that my husband and I have been left baffled, even frightened.
Sometimes these events happen during that transition time between sleep and awakedness. Other times things have occurred while we were fully alert and functioning. And we begin to see a pattern that correlates with our work in the attic and basement–the more we cleared out and organized the two spaces, the more the paranormal happenings took place.
Over the years, I have documented these strange experiences whenever they occurred–a way of making them seem less intimidating I suppose. I will now attempt to put my notes to paper in chronological order, still in their original loosely written form. Some occurrences are dreams, while others are actual events. All took place over an eight year period. I hesitate to even write these words while sitting here alone in “the house,” but it is the afternoon and most of the bizarre events have taken place in the middle of the night. The mystery is, how should I view that which I am about to relate to you…

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