Dearest readers, Ghosts and Ghost Stories is a long post. Pour yourself a drink, grab a snack, and settle in for a juicy one.
Ghosts have always intrigued me. There’s something deliciously romantical, as Anne-with-an-E would say, about them – and stirringly tragical, too. That a soul could lose its way on the Earth plane and, therefore, not make it to Heaven, or perhaps be so consumed with love for family and friends, or for home, that it would choose to stay on this plane, is just… *sigh* (So very Anne-with-an-E.)
Ghosts have also terrified me. Their not-of-this-world, unknown quality and the fact that they’ve been used as a tool for terror in many a horror movie form the sum of this part. (Not to mention a few gnarly experiences I’ve had with ghosts-turned-entities during house clearings.)
That’s why, when Ghost Hunters was on TV, I could only watch it during the day (preferably in the morning). The thought, even now, of witnessing a spectral being of some sort, in person, gives me goosies – and not of the warm and fuzzy variety, to be clear.
That terror is half-understandable, and half-laughable. Here’s why:
Back in October of 2012, I had quite a scare. I was alone in the house, and it was nighttime. All was well, and I was blithely doing my thing at the dining room table. Then, I heard the sound of a heavy footstep on the cellar stairs, which enter into the kitchen. I froze, listening closely. Another slow, heavy footstep caused the stairs to creak.
My heart rate accelerated and I took quiet action, grabbing my cell phone off the table and dialing 911 as I heard another footstep. The dispatcher was wonderful. She kept me calm, and kept me whispering to her once she relayed my location and concern.
Four police cars, lights on, sirens silent, pulled up in front of the house. I could see the officers exiting their vehicles and spreading in various directions around the house. Two came to the front door, quietly letting themselves in because it was unlocked.
They secured me, and their colleagues secured the property, and then they approached the cellar door in the kitchen. In a carefully orchestrated move, they yanked open the door, calling out, “Police,” and saw… nothing. Not a blessed thing.
Every light in the house, at the cellar and main levels (there’s no second floor above the main level), was put on and the entire house searched – even the crawl space under the living room that’s there for the sump-pump.
There was no one other than myself and the police in the house. The three other doors leading outside – including the outside cellar door – were all locked from the inside, just as they had been earlier in the day. When they were done their search, they extinguished all the cellar lights except the one for the stairs, and advised I leave it on.
After making sure I was okay, the officers began to disperse. They were all very kind. The last one to leave paused at the front door. “You know, that may have been a ghost. We’ve had other reports like this from other people. There’s activity at the department, too. We think it’s the last chief.”
I was so grateful to know there was no human intruder in the house, and allowed myself to relax.
Within minutes of the police leaving, I heard a single heavy footstep on the cellar stairs. It didn’t repeat, and I wasn’t going to call 911 again over it, so I did the first thing that came to mind: I wedged a dining chair under the cellar door knob there in the kitchen, which didn’t have a lock on it. The chair stayed there for nearly a week.
That it was most likely a ghost was abundantly clear, and it didn’t help my terror knowing that. Not a bit. I invited – may have begged – archangel Michael to step in and resolve the matter, and protect me. It hasn’t happened since, and yet, to this day, on occasion, I’m still challenged by residual fear from that experience, albeit only at nighttime, even though I make a point of clearing the energy of this house every day, without fail.
I’ve lived in two houses before this that would be considered haunted. The first is located in Catskill, New York.
Stone House, Catskill, New York
I lived there for a few years when we first moved to New York. It was hugely convenient for my dad, because he was Catskill High School’s new band director, and the high school is behind the house – or it was. (Not sure if that’s still the case.)
While I didn’t personally experience anything other than comfort from the house’s “energy system,” so to speak, three relatives had a very different experience.
My Aunt Mary, Aunt Cecilia and Grandma Gregg came to visit not long after we moved in. They drove all the way from the legend-rich White Mountains of New Hampshire to the legend-rich Hudson River Valley of New York to see where their brother and son, and his family, were now living.
They made it through one night, although they didn’t sleep, apparently. First thing the next morning, they informed my parents they were leaving and wouldn’t be back, such was their upset with the activity in the house. I so wish they’d given details.
From what I know of the house’s long history, there’s a particular piece that stands out as a possible “culprit” (although it’s unlikely the only piece in the equation): It was a part of the Underground Railroad.
When we moved in, my father discovered a secret passageway and hiding space. Since my older brother and I were young and inquisitive, he knew it could pose a danger to us. He secured the secret area so we couldn’t get into it.
I’d love to experience the energy of the house now, from my adult perspective, and see that secret space. When I look at the picture above, I feel like the house is hugging me, which is certainly a big indication of what my experience would be. If it was unoccupied, I could scan it and investigate it (preferably remotely) to get a sense of what’s-what, and perhaps release any energy that needn’t reside there anymore.
Old Hotel, Epping, New Hampshire
Built in 1892, this now four-unit home (three in the main structure; one in an ell tucked behind the right of the building) began its life as a hotel. (I did some digging, and yet couldn’t locate what its name was at that time.)
Before it was sold and remodeled in 2013, you could see how the entirety of the two floors interconnected as a hotel. All the original doorways existed. It was easy to imagine the first-floor communal spaces, and the second-floor bedrooms accessed by one long hallway nearly spanning the length of the building.
It was (probably still is) an active house, and not necessarily because it’s beside a historic cemetery (just over that stone wall to the right). I say “not necessarily,” because in my experience, ghosts are unlikely to hang out at cemeteries. They’re more likely to be found where they lived and loved.
At any rate, I had a couple notable experiences there, one of which I detailed in a blog post several years ago. I still laugh – and cringe – to this day.
While whatever went on back in 2012 was successfully resolved, the house I live in is extremely active – not because it’s a historic house (it isn’t), rather because it sits on historic land.
I learned, in 2013, that this tract of land was once part of a migration path for the indigenous people of this area. That one piece of information answered at least one question for me: Why do I keep seeing two Native American men in long-ago dress at the back left of the property?
They’re always respectful. When I notice their presence, they raise their hands in salutation. And they don’t ever step onto the property itself – probably in part because of the way I shield it.
There have been numerous occasions since June of 2015, right after the indwelling began, when I’ve witnessed dozens – if not hundreds – of indigenous energies (ghosts) gathered around the perimeter of the property. Each time, their presence was followed by something important, whether specific to me and my soul work, or at the local or world scale.
And if you’re thinking, “Wait a minute. Up at the top you said the thought of seeing a ghost in person terrifies you, and yet you see ghosts around your house,” I hear you. That’s different, though – at least, to me. I’m not bothered by those outside energies. I imagine I’d be bothered by one in the house if I came face-to-face with it, though.
So, yes, understandable that I might find ghosts disruptive, and yet laughable, too.
There’s a big question here, though:
What are ghosts?
Speaking solely from my understanding and experience, ghosts are the spirits of deceased humans who either
- became “stuck” in the 3D during the transition from the body, or
- chose to remain in the 3D, or
- engaged with an energy which prevented them from leaving the 3D.
Stuck in the 3D
I’ve seen this happen at accident scenes. For example: There was a recent horrific accident here in the seacoast region of New Hampshire. It was 18 hours before it was discovered. Three people died on the scene and a fourth was airlifted to Boston.
The day after the accident was discovered, my guides urged me to take a look at the accident location. I did this remotely, as is typical, figuring I’d clear the energy and offer up a blessing to the four people. When I saw the location, I saw a single spirit standing there.
I asked the person their name, and told them my name. You know what they wanted? A hug. Oh, my heart. My higher self hugged them, and during that hug I explained that I was going to help them get where they were supposed to go. I invited the light to surround us and complete the transition.
Thankfully, this happens only to a teeny-tiny percentage of transitioning souls. Even that teeny-tiny percentage can be daunting, though, with events such as the sinking of the Titanic, or something like the battle at Gettysburg.
Chose to remain in the 3D
I’ve seen this happen with souls who were so attached to people or places that they actually stayed in the 3D to be with them. Their spirit remains attached, which might seem sweet and all, and yet…
What happens is, their energy can become an impediment for the very people and places they love. In some ways, it’s smothering.
The spirit may come to realize that and yet be at a loss as to how to “fix” the problem of their presence. That’s when someone with the ability to facilitate a transitioning can support the spirit to release their energy from the 3D.
Prevented from leaving the 3D
I’ve seen this in a few instances, and seen the result of the energy that prevented the full transition on the spirit. The spirit can morph into what appears to be dark energy; sometimes humanesque, sometimes a sort of blob or fog that I’d term an entity over a spirit. It’s uncomfortable to witness.
In these instances, once I draw the light in, that excess energy dissolves. When that happens, I’m able to see what the person might have looked life in their most recent lifetime before they complete their transition.
(And once that happens, I then identify the energy that most likely prevented their transition and support it to transmute or transition.)
That’s pretty juicy, right? Let’s make it juicier.
I’ve already shared an experience I had with a ghost. Here are a couple more I sourced for this post.
Col. Greeley Tavern, East Kingston, New Hampshire
My older brother had a hair-raising experience with a ghost at a nearly two-and-one-half-centuries-old house here in New Hampshire. While he was in high school, he became familiar with this house because his best friend, Mike, lived in it.
The house, back in its early days, was a tavern. It was ideal for that, positioned as it was along a main thoroughfare from Seabrook to Kingston, and also connecting to Exeter and Amesbury.
One night, my brother and another friend of his were spending the night there, when, in my brother’s own words, this happened right after they completed a “long-winded game of Tanks”:
Mike told the two of us that there was a lot of milk and, if we wanted to have something to drink, his mother would like to have some of it gone. That sounded like a great idea to me. I quietly headed down the narrow staircase to the dining room and into the small kitchen. Just enough room for a sink, stove and refrigerator, very little counter space whatsoever. I found a glass, filled and finished it, rinsed the glass out and placed the glass into the sink.
I spun around to head upstairs but stopped. A man had come from the small office-like room off the dining room to my right. He was wearing a type of jacket or overcoat, there was a shirt buttoned to the neck, hair drawn to the back of his head. His gait was short, and I was looking down at him as if he was three and one-half to four feet tall.
The image was pale and walked awkwardly as I stared at him. Passing in front of me, he turned his head as if to look at me. I remember not immediately being sure if what I was looking at was real or something else. The man, looking in my direction, had black empty holes where his eyes should have been. What is it that I am looking at?!!
The man continued to walk and stepped into the wall at my left.
The hair stood up on my neck and a knot formed and tightened in my stomach. I made myself lean forward to walk and made two steps on the narrow stairs before I was taking two steps [at a time] and trying for three. By the time I made the second floor I let out a guttural noise and looked at Mike.
Mike looked at me with a funny look, at first. The words he did not speak might have been, “What’s your problem!!?” but they weren’t. His expression changed to concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Is there someone staying downstairs? What did I see?” I asked.
There had been enough noise that now Mike’s mother was up and wanted to know what the commotion was. I explained coarsely what I saw. She stopped me and asked me to tell her again about what I saw.
I described the man. Only about three or four feet tall, walking from the office across the floor, looking at me, nothing where the eyes were supposed to be and into the wall! Wait, he was walking on his knees. Like he had no lower legs. You couldn’t see any feet! What was that!?
Mike’s mother looked at Mike, Bryan and I and brought us downstairs. With the lights on, I showed her again.
She told me that several years prior, before I knew Mike, the fieldstone foundation had begun to fail. They had the foundation replaced with a concrete one. In order to do this, the house had been jacked up, then the foundation fixed and house placed back down on it. It now sat 18 inches higher than it did on its original foundation. Additionally, the wall the apparition walked into used to have the door to the original ell leading to the barn.
Mike and his family had many strange things happen in the house. Chairs moved, objects would be displaced from their normal spot, doors slammed every now and again. The house was indeed haunted.
Crazy, right? And cool, too. The coolest part, for me, was that the ghost was walking on the floor where it originally sat before the house was raised onto its new foundation.
As for the eyes… My understanding is, the spirit did that for effect – basically, to scare my brother. Nice guy.
Somewhere near Talkeetna, Alaska
A client shared this with me, and gave me permission to share it with you.
When I was about eight years old, I opened a door to this house that my stepbrother was rebuilding. I looked down the long hallway to the kitchen area and saw an image of a husband sitting at a kitchen table, a wife pouring coffee… They were moving around and all the details were there down to the steam from the coffee to the print on the china. The scene was entirely in shades of blue and white and they were hovering about six inches above the floor.
On Sunday, just a couple hours after reading what you wrote about ghosts, our whole family was driving to Anchorage. [My son] mentioned a ghost story from the Navy that [my husband] had. If he’d told me before, I don’t recall… So, [my husband] told the story again.
It was remarkably like the story you told. He had a long conversation with a man on the ship and did not realize he was a ghost until someone later pointed out his memorial picture. Very interesting.
These stories made me wonder two things… Was what I saw more of a portal into another time? And… I wonder how many ghosts I’ve unknowingly chatted with?
A friend of mine had a similar experience to the one my client had with the husband and wife. In this instance, she was visiting someone’s house and saw a woman dressed in 1940s-style clothing, doing her ironing in the kitchen.
As for my client’s astute question – “Was what I saw more of a portal into another time?” – my understanding is, yes, it was. Consider it a tear in the fabric of time that permitted her, at eight years old (and my friend, at 40-something), to witness a scene that occurred within the same space they were standing, just in a different era.
In Ghost Hunters speak, that would likely be referred to as residual energy, as opposed to intelligent energy such as the sailor who had a conversation with my client’s husband, or the spirit who gave my brother such a fright.
Do you have a ghost story to share? Do you have any questions? Please leave a comment.
P.S. The story my client referred to me telling is one I shared only with my mailing list.
P.P.S. Is your home or office space haunted or similarly disrupted by unseen energies? Consider an Energy Alignment session.