~White Noise~

 

Due to my love and constant desire to read and gather information, I have recently come to a realization about something. 

Many who investigate hauntings and attempt to study and prove the possibility and existence of spirit communication, use something known as "white noise" to aid in their ability to communicate with spirits. 
 
While there is still much debate, there is strong belief amongst many investigators regarding the use of white noise and its ability to aid in spirit communication.

What is white noise you ask? According to Wikipedia, "in signal processing, white noise is a random signal with a constant power spectral density." Huh?

Basically, it is a random, non-descript static sound that is produced by various electronic devices. The sound covers and combines all wavelengths and frequencies. In that way, it is like the colour white, which is a combination of all colours, hence the name "white" noise.  

Some examples of white noise include the radio or television static when set to an empty channel. Another example of white noise is the hum of an electric fan while it is on and running.

The supposed theory behind white noise is that somehow it provides the energy or raw material that an entity needs in order to form communication. Some ghost investigators believe that white noise acts like an attractor and it draws in entities to an area like moths to a flame. 

What I find so interesting is that there has always been a fan on in my room while I sleep at night. My parents started this right from the time I was born. 

So, could that be the reason for my numerous experiences of being visited in my bedroom at night by spirits? Could that be why at times I have not actually seen a spirit, but could hear them chattering away to me? 
 
To this very day I still sleep with a fan on at night. The sound aids in lulling me to sleep.

Another interesting thought is that everyone in my immediate family and in my extended family on my dad's side uses a fan at night, and it is family members on my dad's side that have also experienced sightings, visits from spirits.

So, is it simply the white noise from a fan that has been the cause of those visits and communications?  Is it the white noise from the fan that has aided in their ability to appear and communicate?

I have no idea, but it is definitely something to consider and think about.

In Love and Light,

Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~Questions~

 

 The one question that comes up the most is, "Why?"  Another one is, "How?"  "How does one see or communicate with spirits?"  "Why does this experience only happen to some people and not others?"

To be completely honest, I have no idea why it is that some people experience things of a "ghostly" or "paranormal" nature, yet others do not.  As for the answer to how one communicates with spirits, I can only speak about what works for me. 

I have often wondered if perhaps the ability to see and/or communicate with spirits is simply an innate ability that we all have, but some are a little more stronger in their abilities.  One could think of it as just another skill, and like all skills, some people are a little better at it than others.  But it is an ability we are all capable of.

Another possible explanation that I think is quite plausible is the fact that spirits communicate with us quite often.  We are surrounded by spirits.  The only problem is that far too many of us are simply too busy or caught up in our day to day existence, and so we fail to notice the subtle signs or communications when they do occur.

Perhaps that is why the people who take time for themselves and take a break from the daily grind are usually the ones that have these experiences.  Quieting our environment and our mind is the most effective way to open ourselves up to spirit.  Yep, that's right, I'm talking about meditation.

For anyone that has tried it, meditation is not such an easy task.  It truly takes practice to learn to completely quiet our mind.  It's an ability that truly takes much practice.  It is no easy feat to sit still and simply let our minds be, to empty our mind of any and all thoughts and/or worries.  But once one masters the ability to meditate, you really do find an inner peace.  You also begin to discover that you really can open yourself up to the spirit world. 

Another possible explanation that I think is relevant is how tuned in one is to their emotions.  I have been told, and I am well aware of the fact that I can easily pick up on someones emotions. 

I am also a very sensitive person.  Things that most people would find a bit sad or disheartening, will weigh very heavy on my heart and bring me to tears.  I am a soul that feels things at a very deep level.

So, is that why I am able to be in a place and can easily pick up on emotions that were perhaps experienced and have been somehow imprinted there?  Can places and/or objects truly "hold" or become "imprinted" with emotions? 

I honestly can't answer that because I have no idea, but one thing I do know is that many other people who believe they are able to pick up on the former energy and/or emotions from an object and/or place say that they too are a highly sensitive soul, one who strongly feels things at a tremendously deep level.

So, perhaps that also plays a significant part of one's ability to sense and/or see/communicate with spirits.

Either way, we are all souls here on a journey.  It is imperative that while on this journey we continue to evolve spiritually.  I believe that part of our quest is to ignite that inner light that is within us and let it burn brightly.  The more light there is, the less darkness there will be.

As light beings, we need to share our inner light with others and in doing so we will find the path that will eventually lead us that much closer to finding our connection to our Creator.

In Love and Light,










Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~Haunted Doll~

Back in the early 1980s, Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage. Every little girl wanted one. Me being a little girl at the time, it was only natural that I too very much wanted one. So, that Christmas when I made my wish list of all the things I wanted for Christmas, I placed it at the top of that list.

Christmas morning when I awoke and headed out to the living room to see what Santa had brought me, I was ecstatic. On the floor, placed right beside my stocking and amongst a few other things that Santa had brought me, was a brand new Cabbage Patch doll. It was sitting inside its sealed box, just waiting for me to open it.

I let out a squeal of excitement, rushed over, sat down on the floor and quickly tore the box open. I took the doll out of the box, held it in my arms and immediately fell in love with her, and loved the way she smelled. Cabbage Patch dolls were scented and smelled just like baby powder, and I absolutely loved the smell. In fact, I remember sitting on the floor for a few minutes just happily hugging and smelling my brand new doll.

A handful of months later it was my birthday, and because I had so loved the Cabbage Patch doll that I received for Christmas, my parents bought me another one. I was extremely happy with my new doll and fell in love with that one too. 

As the weeks and months passed, I was growing up, so I was becoming less and less interested in playing with my Cabbage Patch dolls, or with any of my dolls for that matter. 

While I no longer played with them, each day when I awoke, I would make my bed and then place some of my beloved dolls, including my Cabbage Patch dolls on it. At bedtime I would then take them off the bed and place them somewhere in my room. 

I'm not sure when it actually began or when it first occurred, but a few months after receiving the doll that I got for my birthday, I was beginning to notice that the doll was being moved. 

I would place the doll somewhere, only to return to my room later and discover the doll sitting on my bed. I wouldn't find her sitting just anywhere on my bed either, she was always found in the same place, sitting propped up, in front of the pillow at the head of my bed.

The first few times I noticed it, I didn't really bother to pay much attention to it. It didn't frighten me. I simply assumed that my mom must have been in my room tidying up or something and had placed the doll on my bed.

Then, one day while I was in my bedroom, I had decided to do some drawing. I loved to draw and was always doodling. This time however, rather than sit at my desk in my room to draw like I normally would, I decided to lay down on my bed, on my stomach while I drew. 

Due to the fact that some of my dolls were laying on my bed and there wouldn't be much room for me to lay there to draw, I picked all of the dolls up and placed them on my desk. I then took out some paper and crayons from one of the desk drawers, and placed them on my bed. 

Before laying down to draw, I realized that I needed to go to the washroom; which was only a few steps away from my bedroom. I headed to the washroom and was gone for only a few seconds. Upon my return to my room I noticed that my doll was on the bed again, sitting up in front of my pillow. 

I became very creeped out, so much so that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I immediately turned and left the room. I headed straight to the living room where my mom was sitting and reading a book. I approached her and asked her if she had just been in my room and had moved my Cabbage Patch doll. 

My mom looked up from the book she was reading and told me no, that she hadn't been in my room.  From the look upon my face I assume she thought I didn't believe her, because she then informed me that she hadn't moved from that very spot since sitting down there almost a half hour earlier.

I turned and left, heading straight to my brother's room. I knocked on his door. In response to my knock I heard him say, "Yeah? Come in." I opened his door and walked in. 

He was sitting on his bed amongst some of his hockey books and hockey cards. I could see he was obviously quite involved in whatever he was doing. Without even really looking up at me he asked me what I wanted. 

I asked him if he had just been in my room and if he had perhaps moved one of my dolls. When he told me no, I just stood there glaring at him. He looked up at me and said, "What?" I insisted, "Are you sure?"

My brother looked rather annoyed and said, "First of all, why would I go into your room? And second, why would I touch any of your dolls?" I just stared at him. 

I then proceeded to tell him that lately I had begun to notice that after putting my doll down somewhere in my bedroom and then leaving the room, I return and find my doll no longer there, but sitting on my bed. I told him how I always return and find her in the same place, sitting propped up in front of my pillow at the head of my bed.

My brother just looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Uh, yeah, okay." I became rather angry and said, "What? You think I'm making this up?" My brother looked at me somewhat compassionately, almost with pity and said, "Really?  C'mon. Think about it, how could your doll possibly move on its own?" 

To be perfectly honest, I really couldn't think of a good answer, but I was certain in what I was experiencing and was mad that he didn't believe me. Exasperated, I simply turned and walked away. 

Over the next few weeks I made a point of looking to see where my doll was before leaving my room. And sure enough, no matter where I had placed her, or where she was when I left the room, I would return and find her sitting up on my bed, in front of my pillow again. This occurred several times, and each time I would question my parents and/or my brother, only to be told that they had not been in my room and had not touched my doll.

One afternoon I was in my room and noted that my doll was sitting on top of one of my dressers. I then stepped out of my room for literally only a few seconds to get something out of the closet that was straight across the hall from my room. 

While getting what I needed from that closet, no one had come into the hallway, which means no one could have gone into my bedroom.  If anyone walked into my room they would have had to have walked right past me, and I would have seen them. There was no other way anyone could have otherwise entered my room.

So, knowing that no one had gone into my room I was shocked and mortified when I walked back into my room, looked to the dresser and saw that my doll was not there. I looked to my bed and there she was again, propped up in a sitting position in front of my pillow! How could she have possibly gotten there? 

I can't even begin to find the right words to describe how scared I was. One thing was for certain however, I was so scared that I felt a bit sick to my stomach, and my legs felt weak and shaky. I immediately took off out of my room in search of my mom. 

I found her sitting in the kitchen. I was somewhat breathless because of how scared I was and how quickly I had run from my room. Between gasps for air, I asked my mom if she was the one that was continually moving my doll. My fear was beginning to turn to panic and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

My mom looked at me rather quizzically and told me that she had no clue what I was talking about.   My stomach dropped and I began to cry.

I then turned to my dad who was sitting in the next room and asked him if he was the one that kept moving my doll. But, like my mom, my dad just looked at me rather perplexed as to why I was so upset and then proceeded to tell me that he hadn't touched any doll and had no clue what I was talking about.

Due to how upset I was, both of my parents asked me what was wrong. I didn't answer, I simply turned and headed towards my brother's room. I banged on my brother's bedroom door and didn't even wait for him to answer, I simply whipped the door open and barged in.

My brother was laying in bed reading and looked up at me when I entered. I immediately began to raise my voice and with tears streaming down my face I asked him if he was the one that kept moving my doll. 

My brother had a somewhat of a surprised look on his face because of how upset I was and it appeared he obviously had no clue what I was talking about either. He said, "No, I haven't touched any of your things. Why?" 

My parents who had followed me when I headed to my brother's room, were now standing behind me in the doorway. They both asked me what I was going on about and why I was so upset. I turned to face them and could see that they both looked rather dumbfounded.

My brother sat up on the edge of his bed. I sat down right beside him. My brother looked at me and said, "Do you want me to tell them?" I just shrugged my shoulders and told him, "Sure." 

He began telling our parents what I had just told him only a few weeks ago. He told them all about my doll and how whenever I leave my room, no matter where the doll is, when I return she is always somehow back on my bed, sitting in front of my pillow.

My dad looked to my brother and said, "You're not the one moving it are you? Honestly?  Because it's not funny, your sister is really upset." My brother almost looked hurt over my dad's slight accusation that perhaps it was him, and said, "No, I haven't touched any of her stuff. I haven't even been in her room." 

As angry as I was, I completely believed him. As much as I hated to admit it when I was a kid, my brother truly was a good guy. He was always kind and respectful, not only towards our parents but to me as well. 

Being the eldest child and four years older than me, he was always looking out for me. As hard as it is to believe, he never really ever argued with me. Yet, God knows I certainly tested his patience plenty of times. Deep down I knew damn well that my brother would have never done anything to truly scare me or upset me like that.

And, after seeing how surprised and hurt he looked after my dad's question and comment to him, I knew he had nothing to do with it. The reality of it all began to sink in and I was truly scared. Who or what was moving my doll? I knew what I was seeing and experiencing but how could that be possible?  Dolls can't move on their own...can they?

My parents asked me if I wanted to talk about it. My dad then encouraged me to sit down with them and talk about what was going on. So, at my dad's insistence, we all headed out to our living room to sit down and talk. 

My dad was the first one to say something. He turned to me and said, "So, what's going on with this doll? When did all of this start happening, or when did you first notice it?" He also asked me if I had perhaps seen something on t.v, such as a movie or a t.v show that might have frightened me and was perhaps the real cause of it all.

I had not seen anything on t.v that had scared me, and I told my dad that. I also told him, "at first I didn't really pay much attention to it because I simply assumed it was mom moving the doll while tidying up my room. But once I did begin to really notice it, I made sure to take note of where my doll was before leaving the room. No matter where the doll is when I leave my room, I come back and find her sitting on my bed, propped up in front of my pillow." I then told him about the most recent experience that had just occurred.

I told him that before I walked out of my room, I saw that my doll was sitting on my dresser. I told him, "I walked out of my room, went to the linen closet, opened the closet door, took out a towel, closed the door, turned around and headed back into my bedroom. When I entered my room I immediately looked to the dresser and my doll was not there. I looked to my bed, and there she was."

While explaining everything to my dad and hearing what I was saying, I realized how completely ridiculous I sounded. I was scared, angry and frustrated. Through tears I said, "I know that everything I'm telling you sounds crazy, but I am telling you the truth. I am not making this up."

My dad just stared at me and then looked at my mom. I could tell by their faces that they wanted to believe me but they were grappling with the fact that what I was telling them defied logic. Things don't simply move all by themselves. Do they?

My dad looked at me again and I could see that he felt sorry for me and wanted to help. He asked me if I really believed that my doll was moving all by itself. I looked at him and told him that in all honesty I didn't know what to think or believe, but I was certain of it, it was really happening. I told him that I was not imagining any of it and I was not lying. I said, "I am telling you, someone or some thing keeps moving my doll."

Both of my parents starting talking to me, trying to tell me as nicely as possible that I was simply letting my imagination get the best of me. They then basically told me that I was getting myself worked up over nothing because things can't move all by themselves. 

Part of me was beginning to wonder if they believed me, or if perhaps they truly thought that I was crazy. I started to feel really angry. I knew it was occurring yet no one believed me. I was then suddenly struck with the realization that even if my parents did believe me, what could they possibly do about it That thought made me even more upset and more scared.

I then told my parents through tears and sobs, "I really don't care if you believe me or not, I am telling you, something or someone keeps moving my doll. I know that things can't simply move all by themselves, but somehow, some way my doll keeps moving from wherever I put her." 

My parents both looked at each other and exchanged glances. I could tell that they didn't really know what to say, or what to make of what I was telling them. They both looked somewhat creeped out too, and that scared me. 

My brother spoke up at that moment and said, "You know, with all the things she has seen in her room and stuff, who knows, maybe a ghost is moving her doll. Or maybe the doll is haunted." My dad quickly turned to my brother, and looking a bit annoyed said, "Don't tell her that, then she won't want to sleep in her room again." 

* I must note here that my dad was referring to other incidents I had experienced and because of them, had refused to sleep in my room.  My brother and I ended up switching bedrooms.

I told my dad that I was not afraid to be in my bedroom, but I was starting to not want the doll. My parents then asked me what I wanted to do with it, and I told them I didn't know, and I really didn't. The entire situation was almost a little too much for me to try and make any sense of. I didn't know what to think, and I had to admit that there was a part of me that was beginning to wonder if perhaps I had simply imagined the entire thing. Maybe my parents were right.? Or perhaps, maybe, just maybe I really was crazy!?

Over the next few days, I was very much relieved to discover that each time I returned to my bedroom, my doll was in the exact same spot it was when I had left the room. Then one night, while getting ready for bed, I took my Cabbage Patch dolls off my bed and placed them on my dresser. 

I folded my bedspread as I pulled it down the bed. I then picked the bedspread up, and while it was still all folded, I walked over to my closet, opened the doors and placed it on top of the trunk in my closet. I then shut the closet doors. I turned back around to face my bed, and there, sitting back on my bed was the doll!

I immediately took off out of my room to go get my brother, who I knew was still awake. When he saw how upset I was and after I told him what had just occurred, he looked a bit creeped out. He just stared at me and said, "Are you serious?"  

I headed to my parents bedroom, my brother followed. We found them both awake, laying in bed reading.  I proceeded to tell them about what just happened. After I finished telling them about it, neither of them said a word, they both just stared at me. I noticed that they, just like my brother, looked rather creeped out. 

My dad was the first one to speak and said, "I think we should just get rid of that damn doll." I was immediately filled with terror. I said, "No. What if we do that and the doll gets angry?" Both of my parents tried reasoning with me, again telling me that I was letting my imagination get the best of me. But I was insistent. I would not get rid of the doll. I was too terrified to get rid of it.

That night, my dad suggested that I give the doll to my mom and have her put it away. I happily agreed and once my mom had placed the doll up high on a shelf in their bedroom closet, I headed to bed.

For the longest time, every single night when I went to bed, I would leave both of the side table lamps in my bedroom on. I also had two lamps that sat on top of one of my larger dressers, one towards each end. I had to have those on too. I was terrified of the dark and had to have pretty near every single light in my room on all night while I slept. At times I even wanted the light on my ceiling kept on.

Unfortunately, I ended up having a few experiences where at some point in the night I had awakened, opened my eyes and saw someone or some "thing" in my room. I had not dreamt it or imagined it either. I was very much awake when it occurred. 

Of those various experiences, only a few of them were scary and completely terrified me. But, because of those negative experiences, I had developed a fear of leaving the lights on. The thought of waking up throughout the night, opening my eyes and seeing God only knows what in my room, standing at my bedside, truly terrified me. 

And yet, while I was afraid of leaving the lights on and what I may see in my room, I also didn't want my room too dark either. I wanted to be able to see somewhat. The thought of sleeping in a real dark room and hearing something, specifically voices of people talking, or people calling my name, and not being able to see what they looked like terrified me as well.

My parents came up with the idea of leaving the light on in our main bathroom all night and leaving my bedroom door open. Since that bathroom was so close to my room, the light would shine into my bedroom. It was a good idea because the light gave off just enough light into my room so that my room wasn't too dark, and yet it also wasn't brightly lit. I had found a happy medium.

Somehow, and I can't remember why or how, the doll ended up back in my bedroom. I placed it on top of one of my dressers, and there it sat, right alongside my other Cabbage Patch doll. A few weeks passed, and at no time did the doll move from that spot. Then, one day while making my bed, I decided to place the dolls on my bed. Later that night at bedtime, I took the dolls off of my bed and placed them on the floor, right beside the head of my bed.

That night, while laying in my bed, on my side facing the dolls, I glanced down at them. I suddenly noticed that the doll that was forever being somehow moved and placed back on my bed, looked like it was moving its eyes. For a moment I wasn't quite sure if what I was seeing was actually happening. I thought I was simply seeing things.

I leaned a little closer to the dolls, and sure enough, the dolls eyes were moving! It looked like it was looking around! I was immediately filled with terror. I was so scared I couldn't move. I just laid there, literally frozen with fear, watching the eyes on the doll move.

It took every single ounce of what little courage I had left to jump off the bed. My mind was literally screaming at my body to move. After I bolted out of my bed, I ran to the living room where my mom was watching t.v. I sat down and in a surprisingly calm voice said, "Mom, I need you to do something.  I want you to go to my room, lay down on my bed and look at my dolls that are laying on the floor, and tell me what you see. Tell me if you see anything." 

I didn't know where the calm in me was coming from, but I really wanted my mom to verify that I wasn't truly crazy. My mom got up and followed me down the hall to my bedroom. I stood in my doorway, pointed to my bed and to where my dolls were laying on the floor and said, "Go lay down on your side, and look at my dolls. Tell me what you see."

My mom headed over to my bed, all the while asking me why. I simply told her, "Just do it, I'll explain it in a minute." As instructed, my mom laid down on my bed, turned onto her side, and looked down at the dolls.

My mom then got off the bed, bent down and picked up the doll and headed to our kitchen with it.  Next, she opened up one of the kitchen cupboards and took out a big green garbage bag. She then placed the doll inside it and tied it closed.

I asked her what she was doing and she said, "I'm putting this doll up." She then took it and placed it on the shelf inside her walk-in closet and placed an old, very heavy typewriter we had on top of it.

The doll sat on her shelf like that for the longest time and I eventually forgot all about it. It was many years later when sitting around with my parents and my brother, talking about old times that I thought about that doll. I asked my mom what happened with it, what she had done with it. 

My mom admitted to me that the doll had truly scared her the night that it looked like its eyes were moving, and with all of the creepy stories of me talking about my doll moving, she had my dad get rid of it.


This was an experience that I thought about sharing for quite some time, but had hesitated because I realize that it all sounds so completely ridiculous.  Even as a child while experiencing all of it, I would hear myself telling my parents about it and realized how completely ridiculous I sounded.  I may have only been a kid but I was well aware of the fact that my rantings sounded like those of a raving lunatic.

I know that many people will read this post and will chalk it up to simply being made up.  Others will be of the belief that it was all due to nothing more than a child with a wild imagination.  Yet, the truth of the matter is that these things truly did occur.  My experiences occurred exactly as I have relayed them to you. 

I'm sure that some of you reading this may wonder, "If your experiences sound so ridiculous and unbelievable, and you worry that people won't believe you, why do you bother to share them?"

Well, let me explain...

I have received numerous e-mails from people that have come across my blog and who have read my various posts, and who are very eager to share and/or discuss an experience that they have had.  After sharing their experience with me, many people inform me that they have never spoken to anyone about it before for fear of being ridiculed or people thinking that they are crazy.  So, that is why I share my experiences.  I want other people to know that they are not alone with their "crazy", "unbelievable" experiences.

I am well aware that this world has its fair share of crazy people, and many of my experiences sound just that...crazy.  But I am also well aware that there are some things that we truly can not explain and science can not prove or disprove.

In saying that, I realize that many times things that are deemed "paranormal" are in fact not paranormal at all, and they have a perfectly reasonable explanation.  So, due to that fact, I tend to be one of those people that is not quick to jump to conclusions and simply label something as being paranormal. 

In fact, even now, many years after some of my experiences, I still find myself looking back and trying to come up with some sort of a reasonable, logical explanation for what occurred.  Yet, this experience is one of many that I truly can not find a logical explanation for.

And in all honesty, when I look back and think about my various experiences, the worst part of all of it was when I began to realize that my parents had no control over any of it. 

As for this particular experience with my doll, my parents could see how upset I was over it and how terrified I was, yet they could not make it stop.  There was nothing they could do, and that was a very terrifying realization for me. 



Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~Voices and Knockings~

While I realize that there are numerous accounts of the negativity that is associated with the use of Ouija boards, I am not quite certain as to whether or not I truly believe a lot of it. 

The only reason I say that is because I am basing my opinion on my own personal experiences with using a Ouija board.  I have used the board a number of times and I have never experienced anything negative at the time I was using the board, or after.

And while I am not quite sure if I truly believe that Ouija boards really do enable us to communicate with spirits, I have to admit that I have had experiences that led me to believe that while using the board that I may have actually been communicating with a spirit and/or spirits. 

I had also never experienced anything that would lead me to believe that a spirit was trying to manifest and/or communicate by moving or knocking items over, at least not until this particular incident.

This experience occurred after the use of the board by my two daughters and some of their friends.

My eldest daughter decided to purchase a Ouija board after the planchette for my board went missing.  I had purchased one many years ago and my daughters would sometimes ask to use it when they had friends over.

So, one night when they had a group of friends over, my daughters and their friends decided that they wanted to use the board.  My eldest daughter eagerly got out her new board and along with her sister and some of their friends, they headed down to our basement to use it.

According to both of my daughters and a couple of their friends, they heard what sounded like people whispering while using the board.  This scared all of them and so they decided to end the session and headed back upstairs.

After telling me what they experienced, my youngest daughter informed me that the spirit that came through the board claimed to be a deceased relative of mine and he gave them his name.  Neither of my daughters knew him, they had never even met him.  My daughter also said that he had made it very clear that he wanted me to know he was here, with me.

After she informed me of all of that I replied with, "Hmm, well that's nice.  Hopefully he's watching over all of us and keeping us safe."   I really didn't give it much thought.

The next day my youngest daughter was sitting in the living room with me and we both heard what sounded like banging on our back door.  It sounded a lot like the noise our dog makes when she paws at the back door.  I assumed, as did my daughter, that someone had let our dog out into the backyard and she was letting us know that she wanted back in.

Just as both of us stood up to head to the back door I said, "It's okay, I'll go."  I then headed to the back door.  I opened the inside door and could see through the screen door that our dog wasn't there.  I didn't bother opening the screen door but simply called out to my daughter and asked if she had let the dog out. 

My daughter approached me and said, "No, I thought you did."  I told her that I hadn't and by looking through the glass in the screen door, we could both see that our dog was not in the back yard.

Just then we both heard our dog come trotting down the stairs from upstairs where the bedrooms are.  Many times when our dog is laying upstairs in one of the bedrooms, she'll come down when she hears either the back door or front door open. 

Both my daughter and I just looked at each other.  My daughter then said, "If it wasn't the dog, then what was that noise?"  I shook my head and said, "I honestly have no idea." 

My daughter and I then headed back to the living room to watch t.v.  A few minutes later we heard the banging on the back door again.  I immediately got up, as did my daughter. 

We both headed to one of the living room windows and pulled the curtain back.  We both peered into the backyard and also looked to the back door to see if something or someone was there.  Yet, there was nothing, no one there.  There was no animal or person at the back door or in our backyard anywhere.

Both my daughter and I looked at each other, feeling a little weirded out by it.  Again my daughter asked me what I thought it was and what could have done it.  Again I told her I had no idea.  We both turned and headed back into the living room again.

Suddenly we heard a loud banging on our front door.  We both bolted to the door.  My daughter whipped the door open only for us to discover that there was no one there.  We were surprised to say the very least.  Who was it or what was it that did the knocking?

There was no way that it was someone simply playing games by knocking on the door and then running away.  We got to the door so quickly after the knock that there was nowhere any one could have gone so quickly after knocking on the door, we would have seen them. 

My daughter looked creeped out and said, "Mom, what the hell is going on?"  I then thought about her and the others using the Ouija board the previous night.  I looked at her and said, "Great, I hope you guys didn't stir something up when you used the board."

My daughter said, "Well it's your family member, tell him to knock if off cuz he's scaring the shit out of me."  I couldn't help but laugh.  I then called out that family member's name and told him that I got the point. I told him that if he wanted me to know that he is very much with me, I get it.  I then asked him to stop with all the knocking.

And, I am happy to report that we haven't experienced any strange knocking or banging on any of our doors since.



Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

 

 

 

***An Update*** The Man in the Hat, "Hat Man"

This is an up-date to my post entitled 'The Man in the Hat'. 

If you have not read that post, you can read it here; http://myextremelyhauntedlife.blogspot.ca/2013/07/the-man-with-hat.html

Just recently I have learned that I am not the only person to have experienced seeing this man in the hat.  I have discovered that there are numerous reports from all over the world. 

Numerous people have reported that while laying in bed one night, they were suddenly awakened.  Upon awakening and opening their eyes, they saw a dark shadowy figure standing in their bedroom.  A dark shadowy looking man who is wearing a hat.

In every single report, the person describes feeling completely terrified, not merely from the sight of him, but from the unbelievable strong feeling of evil and negativity they could sense coming from him.

Some reports differ in what it was he was wearing.  Some people have reported that this man in the hat is wearing a long trench coat, while others have reported that he is wearing a suit.

As with my experience, in every single report, he is described as having no noticeable face or facial features, just a dark shadowy, blurry face.

Due to the immense fear and sense of evil that people have experienced when they have seen this man, it is believed that he is a negative spirit of some type, possibly a demon.

Naturally, when you experience something like this, the first thing you do is question yourself and your sanity.  So, I have to say that I am rather fascinated by the fact that so many people have experienced the exact same thing as me.  I also have to admit that I am more than creeped out by the things I have discovered and how it relates to me personally and my experience.

This Hat Man is believed to be associated with negative environments, specifically family breakdown and/or domestic disturbances/abuse.  Very fitting for me because at the time of my sighting I was married to a man that was very abusive.  He was not only abusive to me but to our children as well. There was immense turmoil in our home and I was very unhappy, so were my children.  Negative environment?  Most definitely.

It is believed that he appears prior to something evil happening, some even believing he appears prior to a death.  Again, eerily fitting for me.  At the time of my sighting, I was suffering with severe depression.  Yet, as severely depressed as I was, my depression continued to worsen.  It worsened to the point that I began abusing sleeping pills to help numb myself and also so that I could sleep constantly.  By sleeping constantly, I would not have to feel what I was feeling. 

And what exactly was it that I was feeling?  I was miserable.  In fact, I could never have even imagined that such a tremendous unhappiness, like the one I was experiencing and living with day to day even existed.  I felt hurt, trapped and all alone.  My situation made me feel completely hopeless.

On and on my depression went, getting worse and worse. I was spiralling downward, deeper and deeper, faster and faster.  I then hit rock bottom.  I reached a point in my life where I honestly did not care if I died.  I started to feel as though I really did not want to live any more.  My abuse of sleeping pills continued until it eventually caught up with me and resulted in an overdose that almost killed me.

All of that happened in my life shortly after my sighting of the Hat Man.  All of it occurred within a very short time, within a matter of a few months.  Coincidence?  Perhaps.  The only thing I am most certain of, and that is that I am still unsure of what to make of it all.  I also know that I hope to never see him again...ever.



Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~A Visit To The Other Side~

Many years ago, I had a dream that was not like a typical dream but more logical and clear, and it felt as if I was truly experiencing it.

In the dream, I suddenly found myself in a kitchen. 

I could tell from the tiles on the floor, and the style of the fridge, stove and the design of the kitchen, that the kitchen looked like something from the 1940's or 50's.

In front of me was a table with chairs.  Just to the left of it was a back door that was open.  I could see through the door and all I could see for miles and miles was grassy hills. 

Just then, to the right of me a woman came into the kitchen.  There was a door on the kitchen and it swung open, inwards toward the kitchen.  The woman was about my height and kind of stout.  She was wearing an apron and was very friendly.  She smiled at me and said hello.  I said hello back and could not help but wonder who she was or where I was.

She headed to her counter just to the left of me, and was in the process of working on some dough.  I assumed she was baking a cake or perhaps a pie.  She asked me if I would like to sit down and I said, "No thank you."  Just then, through the back door a man walked in.  He sat down at the table. 

I immediately recognized him.  He was my husband's uncle who had died a year or so prior.  He was a nice man, very kind.  I was very saddened when we got the news that he had passed.

He said hello to me, and I said hello to him.  He then sat down at the table.  I could see from the look upon his face that he looked worried. 

He then began telling me all about his wife.  He said that she had cancer, but she didn't know it.  He also told me that it was a cancer that could easily be treated, but she needed to stop avoiding a visit to the doctor and that she should just go.  He then rambled on about how stubborn his wife could be. 

He then told me about his brother's wife that was going to be diagnosed with cancer.  He told me that she would not make it.  He was very sad for his brother, and said that he knew it was going to be a very difficult time for his brother.

The older woman in the kitchen then said that it was no use to worry and stress about these things, that God would take care of it.

Right at that point I awoke from the dream.  I then woke up my husband and told him about it. 

From what I told him and had described, he told me that I had just described his grandma and the kitchen in her old house.  It was the house she and his grandpa lived in. 

His grandpa died when he was only 9 or 10 years of age.  As his grandma got older, the house became too much for her to take care of and so she sold it.  She then moved into a seniors home.  She died when my husband was a teenager.

I never met his grandma and have never seen her home, and have certainly never been inside of it or seen the inside of it.

A couple of days later while visiting my in-law's with my husband, he told his mom all about the dream I had.  She looked surprised and said to me, "That's my mother -in-law you described, she always wore an apron and was forever baking." 

She asked me to describe in more detail what the kitchen looked like, so I did. My mother-in-law looked very shocked.  She told me that I had described everything correctly, right down to the style of the kitchen, including the tiles on the floor.

My mother-in-law then went and looked for a picture of my husband's grandma.  She brought me a picture and I looked at it.  It was a picture of an old lady with grey hair, that was rather small and skinny, very frail looking.  She didn't look at all like the woman in my dream.

I said, "I don't think that's the same lady, the lady in my dream was about my height and rather stout, her hair was also not grey, but more of a dark, dirty blonde colour.”

My mother-in-law then told me that her mother-in-law was stout when she was younger, before her husband died, and only had grey hair the last few years of her life.  She said that prior to that, she used to dye it her natural colour which was a brownish/blonde colour.

My mother-in-law then left the room and came back with a photo album.  She turned to a page in the photo album and showed me a picture of a woman.  I was surprised, the woman looked exactly like the woman from my dream and I told her that.  My mother-in-law smiled and said, "That's my mother-in-law."

My husband then told his mom more about my dream, including the conversation I had with his uncle and the concern he had about his wife and his brother's wife.  My mother-in-law took it all very seriously and believed without a doubt that her deceased brother-in-law and deceased mother-in-law had communicated with me.  She believed I had in fact somehow visited her mother-in-law’s old house. 

She then informed my husband and I that her sister-in-law had been having some problems with recurrent urinary and bladder infections, but she wouldn't go back to the doctor.  She told me that she was going to call her and tell her about my dream and tell her to get her butt to the doctor.

A few weeks later, my mother-in-law called to inform me that her sister-in-law had bladder cancer, but the doctor had told her that she was lucky it was diagnosed when it was.  Her cancer was completely treatable because they caught it so early.  And sure enough, it was treated and she has remained cancer free.

My husband's other aunt ended up being diagnosed with cancer shortly after my dream as well.  Her and her husband were on vacation when she kept experiencing stomach pain.  Once they got back home from their vacation, she made an appointment to see her doctor.  She believed it was her gallbladder. 

However, it was not her gallbladder, and she was diagnosed with leukemia.  She started chemotherapy immediately and fought hard, but eventually she lost her battle.  She died a year later.



Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

 

 

 

~Perhaps It's Just Me~

If there is one thing that I am very capable of, yet unable to explain, it is my ability to pick up on other people and their energy.  Somehow, I am able to sense things from a person.  I have been this way since I was only a small child.

When meeting someone for the first time, I can sense their personality and what they are really like.
At times the person doesn't even have to open their mouth to speak and I can pick up on them.
It's unexplainable, but this is an ability that I am pretty much one hundred percent accurate with.

It isn't only other people I have surprised and amazed with this ability, but I have even surprised and amazed myself at times.  Despite everything appearing fine with someone, and they appear for the most part fairly likable, I am able to just know and sense something about them.

And even though I have no reason to dislike the person, I find that when something just doesn't sit quite right with me and there is something about the person that I just can't put my finger on, I get the feeling of disliking the person or not wanting to be around them, and I'm not really sure why.

As time goes on and I begin to know more about the person, something always occurs or comes to light about the person, and my sense about them proves to be accurate.

I have explained this to many people but for the most part, people don't have a clue what I'm talking about.  But I can't believe that I am the only person that is like this. There must be others out there. Isn't there?...

Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~The Baby In My Belly~

The night my first child was born, I was elated. I could not believe the intensity of the love I felt for my new baby girl. I was truly smitten. I was also immensely grateful and felt tremendously blessed. I was truly thankful for the amazing little miracle which I had been given.

As the days passed, my love for her grew even stronger. She was my entire world. As mothers often do, I believed that my daughter was the most beautiful child I had ever seen. In my eyes, she was brilliant, simply the smartest child ever.

As much as I loved her, and as full as my life was and as blessed as I felt, I began feeling the inner stirrings of wanting to have another child. I knew that I very much wanted to give my daughter a sibling.

I also wanted them to be close in age, perhaps two or three years apart. So, it was right around that time that my husband and I stopped using any form of birth control, in hopes that I would perhaps conceive.

Getting pregnant with my daughter had been easy and didn't take very long, this time however, I wasn't having much luck.

In the meantime, my daughter was still learning to talk and as the days passed, she was talking more and more. Every day that passed she was learning something new. I eventually taught her the names of the different parts of her body. I would ask her where something was, such as her ears or her eyes, and she would point to them on herself. I would also point to various parts of my body or hers and ask her what it was and she would tell me.

For example, I would point to my elbow and say, "What's this?" And she would reply in her sweet adorable little baby voice, and slightly mispronounce the word by saying, "Elbrow." I would point to my eyes and say, "What are these?" And again, in her adorable little voice she would slightly mispronounce the word with a slight lysp and say, "Eyth".

One night, while sitting on my lap, she lifted up my shirt, pointed to my belly button and said, "Baby". 

I told her, "No, that's not a baby, that's mommy's belly button." I then pointed to her belly button and said, "See, you have a belly button too." She pointed to her belly button and said, "Betty button." Then she pointed to my belly button again and said, "Baby." Again I told her that it was not a baby, but was my belly button.

My daughter continued to do that off and on for a few days. My mom, who had seen my daughter do that, said, "I wonder why she keeps saying that?"

I simply told my mom I had no idea why. My mom smiled and then said, "Perhaps she knows something you don't. Maybe there's a baby in your belly." I laughed and told my mom that even if I was pregnant, how could my daughter possibly know?

However, my mom's comment stuck with me, and a few days later I realized that my period was late. I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps maybe I was pregnant. I decided to buy a home pregnancy test. Later that day, I performed the test and was elated when I saw the positive result.

I immediately told my husband and then told my parents. Both of my parents were surprised, yet happy to be having another grandchild. My mom smiled at me and said, "See, what did I tell you?" I had to admit, it was rather odd. How could my daughter have possibly known? Did she know?  Why would she say "baby" only when she pointed to my belly?

Either way, all that mattered was that I was pregnant. I was grateful and felt so incredibly blessed to be given another little miracle.

And, almost 8 months later, I gave birth to another beautiful, healthy little girl. And, just like her sister, she was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. I was elated, and again, amazed at the intense love I felt for this newest little addition to our family.


Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~Assistance From Beyond The Grave~

There have been a few instances in my life where I have seen a ghost/spirit, and because one of my children were present with me at the time, they saw it as well.

But, for the most part, these encounters normally occur when I am by myself. This experience was different than any others because my boyfriend at the time witnessed it as well. 

At the time, I was trying to discover where a deceased relative had been buried. He had died long before I was born, and no one in my family knew where he was buried. 

The interest in finding out where he was buried all started one night after I was awoken by someone nudging my bed. I opened my eyes to find my grandpa who had passed away approximately six years prior, standing at the foot of my bed.

He spoke to me about many things. One thing he told me, that seemed to be of much importance to him, was where his infant son had been buried. 

Back in 1945, my grandma gave birth to their third child, a beautiful baby boy. Unfortunately he was born with spina bifida. Shortly after his birth he developed an infection in his spinal column that eventually spread to his brain. He died only a few short weeks after being born, and no one in my family knew where he had been buried. 

From what I had been told while growing up, and what everyone in my family knew, was that he had been buried with someone and because of that, the funeral home was unable to disclose to my grandparents where he was buried.  

My grandfather stressed the fact to me however that his son had not been buried with anyone, but was buried all alone. He gave me other information as well and then showed me three numbers. 

I couldn't make out if the first number was a 1 or a 7. The two other numbers were a 8 and a 3. So, I wasn't sure if he was showing me the number 183 or 783. I also had no idea what any of it meant. But I knew it was significant.

After speaking with me for some time and telling me about things that would come to pass, my grandpa told me that he had to go. He then simply faded away, and then was gone. I was then very determined to find out the truth about all of it including where my grandparents baby was buried. 

I took out the phone book and began calling cemeteries. The third cemetery I called a woman answered and informed me that according to their records, there was a child by that name and date of birth and date of death buried in their cemetery. I also discovered and was able to verify that he was not buried with anyone, he was buried all alone.

The woman I was talking to then went on to tell me that he was buried in an unmarked grave, that there was no tombstone. She said that all that was on his grave was a plot marker and his plot number was 183. I couldn't believe it.

I then went on to tell the woman the entire story, in detail, about how everyone had been told he had been buried with someone and that no one in my family had known where he had been buried. 

You can read more about it, including the visit from my deceased grandpa here;
http://myextremelyhauntedlife.blogspot.ca/2013/05/a-visit-from-my-papa.html

The woman became very quiet. She then said, "That is so touching. Your grandfather loved your grandma so much that he obviously made that story up to help her cope with her loss. He must have known that it would bring her comfort if she believed that her baby had not been buried all alone."

The woman was very, very kind. She encouraged me to come out to the cemetery and said that she would show me all of the information, the documents and papers that they had in their records.

My boyfriend and I eagerly headed out to the cemetery later that afternoon. It was a Sunday and when we pulled into the parking lot of the cemetery office, there were no other cars there. We thought that perhaps they were closed, but when we tried the door, much to my relief, they were in fact open. 

When we walked in, we saw a large reception desk straight ahead. Seated behind the reception desk was a young, very pretty woman with tons of thick, curly, dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders.  She looked up when we walked in and smiled.

As we approached the desk I smiled and said, "Hi." I didn't even have to tell her who I was or why I was there. She immediately said, "Hi, I have all of the information about your grandparent's baby right here. You'll probably want to see this."

She lifted up a huge, thick black book that from the look of the yellowed pages, was very old. I glanced down at the page it was open to and saw my grandpa's signature, along with lots of other documented information.

While I was looking through the papers, she began to tell us that according to the notes in their records, my grandparents baby had been brought from the hospital morgue to the cemetery and was buried the following day. There had been no funeral service or viewing. 

She also showed us documents my grandpa had signed regarding the transfer of the body and the burial. Their records indicated that other than the grave diggers, the only other person present when the baby was buried was my grandpa. 

The thought of that made me so sad. I cried and cried. The woman was so kind that she teared up too.  She then gave us a map and showed us where in the cemetery he was buried. My boyfriend and I thanked her profusely. She only smiled and said, "Don't mention it."

A few days after visiting the cemetery I spoke with both my dad and my uncle about everything I had discovered. I had also informed them of the dream, seeing my grandpa and everything that he had said to me. Both my dad and my uncle said that they would have really liked to see all of the documents.  We all agreed that it would be nice to have copies of all of the various documentation. My uncle then said that it was too bad I hadn't gotten copies of them. I agreed and decided I would go back to the cemetery office and see if I could get any.

So, a few days after that I headed back out to the cemetery. My boyfriend went with me. When we walked in, we approached the desk and noticed that the woman that helped us the last time wasn't there. A man came out of a back room and approached the desk. He smiled and said, "Hi, can I help you?" I began telling him how I had phoned the cemetery about a week ago, looking for some information in regards to the whereabouts of a deceased loved one's place of burial. 

I told him about the woman I had spoken with and how she had suggested that I come in and that we had. I then went on to tell him about how helpful the woman had been, and that she had shown us various documents and records, and I was hoping to get copies of them.

The man asked us if we knew the name of the lady that had helped us. Unfortunately we didn't and I told him that. He then asked us what she looked like. My boyfriend and I described her. The man just stood there staring at us. He then told us that he had no idea who had helped us because no one that worked there fit that description.

He asked us what day we had been there and said he would check to see who had been working that day. We told him and he looked up at us and said, "That's impossible, we aren't open on Sundays. Are you certain it was on a Sunday?"

My boyfriend and I looked at each other and looked back at the guy and said, "Yeah, it was on Sunday." Again he told us that we must have been mistaken because they are closed on Sundays. I insisted that yes, it was definitely on Sunday. He looked dumbfounded but proceeded to ask us what information it was that we were looking for.

I told him about the book the lady had shown us and relayed all of the various information from the various records and documents she had shown us.

He looked rather puzzled and then told us that they don't keep any books with paper records/files there.  He said that everything gets entered into the computer and all of the old files, any thing on paper is kept at head office.

He bent over the keyboard and computer on the desk and began typing. He then asked me for the name of the deceased as well as his date of birth and when he died. I gave him the name and said, "He was born May 12th, 1945 and died June 5th, 1945."

The man sat down in the chair at the desk and looked up at us. He looked completely puzzled. He told my boyfriend and I, "That is impossible." He then went on to tell us that they don't keep records from that far back in that office. 

He also told us that any detailed information like that wouldn't even be in their computer because it was from so long ago. He said that everything would be on paper, in books and files, but those were all kept at the head office. 

I didn't know what to say, neither did my boyfriend.  I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "Well, I don't know what to tell you, but she showed us all the documents. They were in a large black book", I then proceeded to describe what the book looked like. 

He said, "I know the book you are describing, and we no longer use those. Those books contain various documentation and files from many, many years ago, and they're all kept at head office." 

I asked, "Well then how did she manage to get a hold of it?" 

The guy just looked at me. He began to smile and then said, "You say you came here on a Sunday, yet we aren't open on Sundays. We have a very small staff here, and not one person that works here looks like or even closely resembles the woman you described that helped you. And somehow, this person showed you documents and files that we don't even keep here."

I looked at my boyfriend and then back at the guy and said, "Yeah, your point?"  He laughed and said, "I think you experienced some heavenly intervention." 

I just stared at him. While still smiling the guy told us that stranger things have happened there and he could tell us tons of stories.

My boyfriend said, "Are you serious?" He said, "I'm very serious." 

We were speechless. We thanked him for his time, and he told me how to go about getting copies of the various documents and gave me a business card with the number of their head office on it.

My boyfriend and I walked out of there and didn't say a word to each other. We got into the car and both of us just stared at each other. I said, "Well, son of a bitch."

When I eventually filled my mom and dad, as well as my brother and my uncle in on it, they too were speechless and couldn't believe it.

Over the years, I have looked back on that experience many times. And every single time I think about it, I am still very much left in wonderment.

Recalling that experience also brings me much comfort and reassurance. For me, it has become another experience that has helped to strengthen my belief, that when the physical body dies, our spirit; our true essence of who we are, lives on. 

Yet, wherever it is that the soul travels to after death, it is not too far off, because some how, some way, our loved ones are able to come to us in our time of need.  Spirits are able to reach out to us and comfort us. 

Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~Connected~

Is it truly possible to be psychically connected to those we love? I've read many theories about this, but it is due to some experiences that I have had that I believe it is quite possible.

I have experienced this with both my eldest daughter and my dad.

There were a number of times where I would injure myself, not seriously; and without even knowing anything about it, my eldest daughter would come home from school and immediately ask what had happened. 

And of course, me being completely surprised at how she could have possibly known, would ask her what she was talking about. She would tell me that while at school she had suddenly had a feeling that something was "wrong" with me, or that something "had happened", and she demanded to know what it was. I had to admit, it was odd.

Yet, I too experienced this feeling with her. There were times when her and I were not together and I would immediately get a gut feeling that something was wrong. It was not until later that I would discover; while it was nothing serious, she had fallen and hurt herself. 

Most recently, some years ago, while going through a very harrowing time, I was not in a good place emotionally. I was in an abusive marriage and it had drained me of all hope. I was so drained that I was just about ready to give up the fight. I had given up on life and had convinced myself that the world would be a far better place without me in it.

I had even convinced myself that my children did not need me and would be much happier without me in their lives. Ridiculous I know, but I truly believed it. In fact, looking back I can't believe I ever believed that. I am ashamed to admit that while I had been blessed with excellent health, I didn't care. I truly did not care if I died. 

But you see, that's the thing about depression, it takes you to a depth you never thought possible. You can't even begin to imagine how horrible depression can be and how deep down it will take you until you go through it.

It was during this time that my parents were very worried about me, especially my dad. Looking back I can see just how difficult it must have been for them to watch me suffer like I was. 

Anyway, I was laying in my bedroom one afternoon and thinking about the various things that were occupying my mind. All of a sudden, as clear as day, I heard my dad say my name in a very concerned tone. 

I immediately turned over to look to my bedroom door. I assumed that he had come into my room. However, there was no one there. No one had come into my room. Yet, I distinctly heard my dad call my name. 

It startled me to say the very least, and I laid there for the longest time wondering what exactly I had heard, and why I had heard it.

It wasn't until a few hours later when my dad came by and told me that he had been thinking about me while at work and how worried he had been. 

He would call me every single day just to check in with me, and I would always answer the phone. We wouldn't really talk long, he would just call and ask me how I was doing. He'd ask me if I was still hanging in there, and encourage me to do so. He would then tell me how much he loved me and how much he and my family, especially my children needed me. 

But, that particular day I hadn't bothered to answer the phone. I just didn't feel up to talking. So, when he had called and I didn't answer the phone, he became very concerned.

Another incident with my dad occurred just a few years ago. I suddenly had this "knowing" that something wasn't right. I had a feeling that something was wrong. I immediately became worried and had no idea why. Just then the phone rang. I immediately grabbed it and said hello.

On the other end was a man. He began to explain that he was a paramedic, and that he was calling about my dad. He told me that while my dad seemed okay, he had experienced a fainting spell and they were taking him to the hospital to have him seen by a doctor, just to make sure he was okay. He told me that my dad had told him to call me, because I'm a nurse.

So, while I really have no explanation for these experiences, all I can say is that I happen to believe that we are somehow connected emotionally and psychically to our loved ones.

"Invisible threads are the strongest ties."
~Frederich Nietzsche~

Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~Chosen~

There is much speculation and belief that prior to an incarnation into a life here on earth, we choose our loved ones.

Apparently, it is believed that we incarnate numerous times with many of the same loved ones and people that are imperative to our spiritual growth while here on earth.

While I can not say for certain whether or not it is true, I do have my own opinion, and I have to admit that I have in fact wondered if it is perhaps true. 

I don't know about you, but I have met people during my life, and immediately felt an instant connection. At other times, it is an instant familiarity with someone. Is it because I have known them before, perhaps in another incarnation? Who knows, but I think it's possible.

My brother had an experience many years ago that made him question this belief too. One night, during the Christmas holidays while sound asleep, he awoke slightly and noticed a child sitting on the foot of his bed. My brother was startled because he knew he was awake and knew that he was in fact looking at a child sitting on the foot of his bed.

He had no idea who the child was. While looking at the child, the child smiled and said, "Merry Christmas Daddy." Then, the child simply vanished.

My brother was startled and a bit weirded out. It didn't make any sense to him either. Who was that kid? While my brother had hopes of settling down one day, marrying and eventually having a child, he was not in a relationship at the time. He also had no immediate plans of having a child any time soon.

So, my brother was left wondering if perhaps he had been visited by the spirit of his child who simply was not yet born, but would be one day. My brother hung onto that experience and never forgot any part of it, including what the child looked like.

Fast forward a few years, and my brother was married. A few years later and he and his wife were blessed with a healthy, beautiful baby boy. And, oddly enough, as their little boy grew, by about the age of two, their son looked exactly like the child that visited my brother only a handful of years ago.

Even more odd was what my nephew told my brother a couple of years ago. 

When he was around 4 years of age, my nephew began talking one day out of the blue about how he remembered being in heaven before he was born. He also told my brother that he was the one who decided who his mommy and daddy would be. He said that he had told God who he wanted his mommy and daddy to be and that he had pointed them out to God. 

When talking about how he had pointed them out to God, he even referred to a t-shirt that my brother used to always wear, and a night shirt that my brother's wife used to always wear, long before he was even born.


Coincidence? Perhaps, but I really don't think so, and neither does my brother.



"Souls are poured from one into another of different kinds of bodies of the world."
~Jesus Christ: Gnostic Gospels~



Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life

~A Red Scooter~

Every single one of my children, when very young, spoke of "another time", or "another life", and spoke of things that they really wouldn't have any way of knowing about at such a young age. 

I would never judge what they said, I would only listen with great interest, and at times found myself feeling very creeped out while they spoke of this other "time" or "life".   

They would insist about whatever it was they were talking about, as if they were truly recalling a very vivid memory.  To them it was very real.

After some reading, I began to develop a very strong belief in reincarnation.  I believe that we do live numerous lives, and for some reason, children sometimes carry the memory of a previous lifetime into their current lifetime. 

I found however, that while the memory is strong while they are young it tends to fade, as do the details, as they get older until the memory no longer exists. 

I have discovered that this isn't true of only my own children. From various stories and accounts I have read, it seems to occur amongst numerous other children from all over the world that have talked of previous incarnations. 

When my youngest daughter was all of 2 or 3 years of age, she would constantly ask about her red scooter.  I would tell her that she did not have a red scooter, and she would get really angry and upset about it and insist that she had a red scooter and she wanted to know where it was.  She wanted to know what I had done with it.

I would explain to her that she never owned or had a scooter, ever.  Yet, she would insist that she did. 

As she got a little older and was almost 5 or 6, she would still ask now and then about her red scooter.  As usual, I would explain to her that she never had a red scooter, that no one in our house had ever owned a scooter. 

Like always, she would get really upset and insist that she did and she wanted to know where it was, and wanted to know what I had done with it.  She began asking me if I had thrown it away and wanted to know why I wouldn't let her have it.

It was at this time, when insisting she had a red scooter, that she began talking about how she remembered always riding to her friend's house down the street on the scooter. 

She also informed me that she remembered how I was always telling her not to leave the scooter in the driveway because someone could drive over it when they pulled into our driveway.

I found her comments odd because she had never owned a scooter and certainly never rode one to any friend's house.  In fact, I would not allow either of my daughter's out of the house without me, unless it was to play in our backyard which was childproof, and completely fenced in with a 6ft. tall wooden privacy fence.

My eldest daughter would always laugh at my youngest daughter and say, "What are you talking about, you have never had a scooter."  And of course my youngest would get angry and insist that she did in fact have a red scooter and wanted to know why everyone kept saying that she didn't.

Thankfully, my daughter eventually just stopped talking about her red scooter and no longer asked about it.

It wasn't until she was almost 9 or 10 years of age that we were at a flea market one day, and while walking through the flea market we came upon a seller of antiques.  One of the items he was selling was an old looking red scooter.

My daughter saw it and eagerly ran to it.  She turned to me and with a big smile said, "Hey mom look!  This is exactly like the scooter I used to have, remember?"

I just looked at her, as did her dad and my eldest daughter.  I then told her, "No, you never had a scooter."  She just looked at me quizzically and said, "Really?  Then why do I remember having one?  I remember riding it up and down the street." 

The man selling the scooter approached us and asked if we were interested in buying it.  I told him no, but asked him about the age of the scooter. 

He told me that it was a child's Radio Line scooter and was from about the 1940s/1950s and was a very popular toy for kids.  Many kids had one back then.

I thanked him and we left.  My eldest daughter then commented, "Well that is weird."  My youngest daughter asked her what she was talking about. 

I then began telling my youngest daughter all about how when she was younger, she was forever asking about her red scooter, which she never owned.

My youngest daughter laughed and thought the entire thing was really funny.  She then said, "Gee mom, maybe I lived back then and had a red scooter." 

I looked at her, laughed and said, "I was just wondering the same thing myself."


My daughter is 17 now, and still gets a laugh out of her red scooter story.  She says that she has no idea why she ever thought she owned a red scooter, nor does she know where the belief came from. 


Copyright © 2014 A Haunted Life