In downtown New York, at a somewhat trashy apartment, there lived a man named Howard. He was a young man, in his mid-twenties, and had a terrible fear of cockroaches. Well if you've been to New York, and maybe live or stayed in a rundown hotel, you know how many cockroaches there are. Too many to count!
Howie had just come home from work and was looking for a bit of relaxation. All he wanted to do was get a bowl of ice cream, sit down and read the newspaper. He started raiding the messy cabinets and sink to look for a bowl and a spoon. He found the bowl, got out the ice cream and opened a drawer to get the spoon when, Surprise!! Out jumps a big juicy cockroach. After jumping twenty feet in the air and grabbing a spoon out of the drawer, he sat down to calm himself. "God forsaken roaches!" he yelled, while slowing his heartbeat, just as another cockroach crawled between his feet. " There's got to be something I can do to get rid of them." Just then, as he was getting his ice cream and reading ads in the paper, one specific ad caught his eye. "Got Roaches? We have a solution! Come down to Sam's Pet Club today and get yourself the natural predator of the roaches, a Gecko!"
"What in the world?" Howard thought. He read on: "That's right! A gecko! Follow the directions below to get your very own live cockroach eliminator! Then ask our friendly staff how to care for and what to do to get rid of your cockroaches." "Ya right. That gecko will probably eat me while I sleep." he said as yet another roach scuttled across the floor. He felt sick. He thought it was worth a try, so the very next day he followed the directions on the ad to the pet store.
He asked about the geckos and the staff told him what to do with a gecko and how much they were and, soon enough, he was driving home with his very own gecko. "Great," he thought "yet another little critter that is going to be loitering around in my house."
He got home and did just as the woman at the store told him to do, and let the gecko go. He saw the gecko run under the refrigerator after the nearest cockroach it saw. "Well, at least he is doing his job." he said after he heard the loud "GECKO, GECKO," sound that geckos make when they swallow.
Days went by, and Howard saw fewer and fewer roaches. He didn't like the gecko running around his house all the time, but what's one gecko to a thousand roaches? He shrugged it off, and tried to suck it up. One thing he did do, however, was close the door before he went to bed. But no matter what he did, somehow the lizard always got into his room.
One day after work, he was getting some dinner when he saw the gecko chase one of the last cockroaches on the house under the refrigerator. He saw the cockroach scurry under it with the gecko far behind struggling to go under. That's when Harold realized. It was getting bigger. That night he did everything he could to keep the Gecko out of his room. He fell into a deep sleep.
All the police found the next morning was a small stain on the bed that looked like blood. They searched everywhere in the house for Harold after a worried neighbor herd a slight scream and a haunting "GECKO, GECKO," that morning, but no one could find anything. No Harold, No Gecko, No cockroaches, nothing. They left that house confused and wondering, never to see Harold again. The only place they didn't check was under the bed, where the gecko was - big as ever, and full at last.
Submitted by: Constance, TN, USA
Saturday, September 13, 2008
THE LEGEND OF BETSY BEAUMONT
This story is an old tale that's passed on from scout to scout at a Boy scout camp out in the boondocks of Missouri.
This tale tells of a young woman, Betsy, who was married to Joe (I have no recollection to the acutely name of him) Beaumont.
Betsy apparently had dreams of being a great singer and hoped to make into the lime light some time in her life, that dream was cut short. She was driving down a country road one day when a deer wandered out into the middle of the road, she had no time to avoid it. The crash was fatal to say the least, Betsy was horribly mangled and was only recognized by the distinctive ring her husband had bought her for their first anniversary. Joe was grief stricken and moved out into the country and started a camping ground and estate called Beaumont.
After Joe died he left his estate to the Boy scouts of America. Betsy never liked boy scouts much. People say Betsy's spirit still wanders around the park, catching and mangling any unfortunate scout who makes the mistake of getting in her way. If you see her what your supposed to do is take a good look at her eyes, if they are blue, she is in a good mood and probably won't even notice you, but if they are any shade of red or orange, she's angry and that's when you should be scared. There are many stories of children going into the mess-hall late at night for a snack and all that is found of them in the morning is a few bloody body parts, if anything, this is because Betsy has a taste for scouts. Betsy also likes to practice her singing voice late at night and some nights you may wake up to her wails and shouts. It is said that if you are to close to her singing you will go deaf or the noise will kill you. Also Betsy doesn't like any one commenting on her singing voice and will horribly maim you or kill you so you can never do it again. So if you ever hear her singing it is best to just remain silent and pray.
Well that's the story as it was told to me and I would welcome any other version if you know them or if you have had any experiences with her.
Submitted by: Simon, MO, USA
This tale tells of a young woman, Betsy, who was married to Joe (I have no recollection to the acutely name of him) Beaumont.
Betsy apparently had dreams of being a great singer and hoped to make into the lime light some time in her life, that dream was cut short. She was driving down a country road one day when a deer wandered out into the middle of the road, she had no time to avoid it. The crash was fatal to say the least, Betsy was horribly mangled and was only recognized by the distinctive ring her husband had bought her for their first anniversary. Joe was grief stricken and moved out into the country and started a camping ground and estate called Beaumont.
After Joe died he left his estate to the Boy scouts of America. Betsy never liked boy scouts much. People say Betsy's spirit still wanders around the park, catching and mangling any unfortunate scout who makes the mistake of getting in her way. If you see her what your supposed to do is take a good look at her eyes, if they are blue, she is in a good mood and probably won't even notice you, but if they are any shade of red or orange, she's angry and that's when you should be scared. There are many stories of children going into the mess-hall late at night for a snack and all that is found of them in the morning is a few bloody body parts, if anything, this is because Betsy has a taste for scouts. Betsy also likes to practice her singing voice late at night and some nights you may wake up to her wails and shouts. It is said that if you are to close to her singing you will go deaf or the noise will kill you. Also Betsy doesn't like any one commenting on her singing voice and will horribly maim you or kill you so you can never do it again. So if you ever hear her singing it is best to just remain silent and pray.
Well that's the story as it was told to me and I would welcome any other version if you know them or if you have had any experiences with her.
Submitted by: Simon, MO, USA
THE DARK CORRIDOR
The whole, frightening experience began at around 5 O’clock on the evening of the 23rd of December 1969. The chill night air was biting and the last remnants of day were creeping over the horizon. The thought of spending another night away from home, away from the comfort of the family over the festive period would be enough to fill most with melancholy and yet, here in the Wayfarer’s Inn, there was not the slightest feeling of loneliness. Quiet contentment appeared to be shared by all of the residents. Jonathan Harper was a travelling sales representative. Nothing too much could be said about him except that he gave the impression of someone uncomfortable with the thought of Christmas alone. If there were anything that left one to assume he was not part of the crowd, this would be it. Otherwise he was no different to anyone else in the inn.
Outside a thick, cloying mist rolled in off the hills spreading icy tentacles across everything in its path. It wouldn’t be too long before the landscape were covered in a heavy, white coat of frost. The residents knew that they would be here for some time - transport to these far outreaches was, at the best of times, limited and as for their own vehicles, parked in the yard around the back of the inn, no one was going to risk driving in these conditions - no one with any sense that is.
The Wayfarer was a small Inn, only ten rooms; each one bijou but welcoming; yet it exuded a warmth that was easy to comprehend. This hotel, deep in the English countryside, offered a respite for the exhausted traveller. The site of a lonely inn, lights glowing like a beacon to the lost, would act as a welcome break for the weary.
Sat in a comfortable, wingback, leather armchair Jonathan mused over the day’s business. He had completed a successful mission into Scarborough and his company would reap the benefits of these labours with a healthy contract, sure to earn them a huge amount of money over the coming year. Jonathan took a sip of brandy and looked into the comforting fire that was burning brightly in the fireplace beside him. Thoughts of his family, the children opening expensive parcels on Christmas morning without him, left him with a small tear rolling down the side of his cheek; yet over the next few days he would have little more time to think of them - he would be too busy trying to survive.
It was about 5 minutes to 5 O’clock and he was almost asleep in his chair when he was approached by a cheery gentleman. Not too unusual a man, except for his dress. His clothes seemed odd, out of place for the modern style of the day. Jonathan, avoiding comment, stood and introduced himself. He invited his fellow resident to take a seat opposite him. The man appeared a jovial sort, ruddy cheeks and a broad grin that Jonathan responded to straightaway: “I couldn’t see myself going much further in that”, he said, pointing to the atrocious weather outside, “I’m just glad that I found this place when I did” he added. “It’ll be here for a while, according to the Inn keeper. Says it often gets like this in these parts with it being so open to the elements” said the man. He held out a warm hand of friendship to Jonathan, “Henry Clement, or should I say Pilot Officer Henry Clement, DFC”.
The two men sat down, Jonathan thinking it rather strange that his guest should introduce himself in such a way. It was a little unusual for people, in his experience, to introduce themselves twice, once to affirm military status. “Perhaps he assumes I am a military man too”, he thought to himself.
“Come far?” the gentleman asked.
“London - Kensington to be precise. I was hoping to get back home tonight but when I saw the fog was getting worse I phoned the wife to say I’d find somewhere to stay for the night and be home tomorrow,” Jonathan replied.
As soon had the words left his mouth he felt taken over by doubt. Was it the expression on the gentleman’s face? Was it the fact that the weather was that bad? Was it even, the thought that facing Christmas ‘alone’ somehow appealed to his sub-conscious? No specific reason occurred to him, he just sensed doubt. In any way the feeling of contentment, of comfort, in the company of Henry somehow appealed more than the prospect of leaving the safety of this place. Being with his family on Christmas day may still be possible if the fog lifted in time.
For a while the two men continued in deep conversation, occasionally laughing, occasionally arguing, but in all, remaining friendly with each other. It was apparent that his guest had been a serving officer during the Second World War, originally flying missions across Germany in the reconnaissance corp. before joining the mission to ‘Arnhem’ as a pilot transporting the parachute drop safely to their destination. Jonathan was fascinated. Such tales of heroism were often seen on the television yet here he was, listening to every aspect of a life as a pilot during this daring time.
“I haven’t so much as been involved in the boy scouts”, he told Henry, “And here you are, telling me all about a time I could only be in awe of. Well here’s to you, Henry”, added Jonathan, raising his glass. His companion gratefully accepted the plaudits.
Several hours had passed before both gentlemen chose to draw the evening to a close. Tiredness had encroached upon them without notice as they yawned almost in unison, neither having any idea how long they had been in conversation, except to say that several drinks had passed their lips and further chatter would result in either or both falling asleep where they sat.
Bidding his guest a good night, Jonathan moved slowly to gather his things. Since his arrival he had neglected to check into his room - he was told that it would have to be prepared as he was an unexpected, but never-the-less very welcome guest.
The gentleman at reception had a somewhat ‘odd’ appearance. The more he thought about it the more he noticed that his clothes resembled those of a similar period of dress to that Henry appeared to belong. He began to look around the whole reception area, at various objects, at the pictures on the wall behind the clerk, at the telephone exchange in the corner, everything reminded him of the 1940’s. Jonathan hadn’t noticed it before, but now the whole place appeared decked out as if in a bygone era.
“Excuse me?” he asked “I feel as if I have walked into some kind of themed Hotel, do you collect memorabilia at all?” A puzzled look upon the clerk’s face told him that this was not worth pursuing. “Perhaps he’s not the conversational type,” Jonathan thought to himself, contenting himself with the prospect of a warm bed and a peaceful night’s sleep.
On entry to his room he noticed that the theme downstairs carried on here too, however he was too tired to think about it any further. After turning on the bedside light and settling down his bedclothes he stepped into the bathroom for a quick wash and returned to the warm bed in anticipation of a comfortable night’s slumber. A few moments later and he was fast asleep - the rigours of a hard day’s work finally taking its toll.
It was approximately 2 am when Jonathan was disturbed by a knocking at his door. Rising from a heavy sleep, his eyes still not settled enough for him to turn on the lamp at the side of his bed; he wandered across to the door. On opening, the site of smoke rising from the corridor, in the direction of the stairwell gave cause for alarm. Calling out for whoever knocked at his door he suddenly became aware of a droning noise emanating from above. Within moments, the person responsible for waking him had returned. He couldn’t see the owner of the voice for smoke. “You’d better make your way downstairs to the lobby. We’ve been hit”.
“What?” cried Jonathan in astonishment, “You say, ‘we’ve been hit’?”
There was no reply. The disembodied voice had already made its way down the corridor, warning other residents to vacate their rooms. Jonathan followed his fellow guests safely making his way downstairs.
The lobby was crammed full with residents, so much so that chaos reigned. Nobody stood out as knowing what was going on as Jonathan searched for his friend, Mr. Clement. He was nowhere to be seen.
Grabbing at the desk clerk he asked him for some answers. “I can’t tell you much”, the clerk replied, “Except to say that we’ve been hit.”
“Hit? Hit by what? What do you mean, we’ve been hit?” Jonathan asked again, once more to be thwarted by the clerk. Nothing could explain the smoke and there did not seem to be any damage that would add weight to being ‘hit’ by anything.
Jonathan had almost forgotten about the droning noise he had heard earlier when he was still upstairs, rushing around the corridor looking for the stairwell. On deciding to ask one or two of the other guests if they had heard it too he was surprised by their response.
“That’ll be the bombers flying overhead. They’re always around at this time of night” one cried out. Another said one might have crashed on its way back home.
“On its way back to where? Where’s home? Jonathan asked, curious to know what this was all about. “Is there some kind of airbase near here? Is this a flight path for aircraft?” he questioned further; nobody offered any more information. They all appeared too concerned with themselves to give him any answers.
At that moment, a rather dishevelled and bloodied gentleman entered the building. His head was adorned with a leather cap and flying goggles. Thinking it rather strange that anyone would be flying on an evening such as this Jonathan overlooked the man’s injuries. There was something else peculiar about this chap, a familiarity about him that he couldn’t quite place. “If I’m not mistaken”, he thought, “I’ve seen his face before”. Within moments there was sudden rush of guests towards the man, each one offering assistance and subsequently disturbing Jonathan’s concentration.
“Quick, someone help the gentleman to a chair. He looks as if he’s been in the thick of it”, shouted the desk clerk. Standing in amazement, Jonathan realised something was not right here and he intended getting to the bottom of it, though he would have to wait until the morning, as the main concern was the comfort of this apparent victim of an accident.
Running to the bar Jonathan grabbed a glass, filled it with brandy before taking a swig himself and then took the remainder over to the bewildered patient.
“It came at me, straight from nowhere. I tried you know, I tried!” the mystery man mumbled.
Jonathan could not make head or tail of what he was muttering about. “Poor fellow, he must be deluded”, he thought to himself. “Whatever it was that had happened outside must have given him a shock and he’s confused”. Within moments the man had fallen into an unconscious state. Efforts to bring him round again proved fruitless; he was out for the count.
Checking on his safety, the clerk advised that the gentleman be given breathing space, whilst he felt for a pulse. With a sigh of relief, he realised that the patient would be likely to recover after some much needed rest. Putting the man’s feet onto a stool he proceeded to call out to the other guests for a blanket. Someone with forethought had already arranged for this and it subsequently was laid across the patient in order that he remain warm while he slept comfortably.
Gradually, the chaos died down and everyone began making their way back to their rooms. Jonathan following suit, felt quite confused by recent events. He was determined to find out what had happened that night but this was no time to ask.
Leaving the clerk to deal with the mystery gentleman Jonathan retired to his bedroom once more, still puzzled by the poor chap’s condition and the reasons for such. He took one final look out of his window to see if there was anything that could satisfy his curiosity but all he saw was thick, thick fog and a white landscape. Nothing else could be gleaned by further enquiries that night so, resolving to sort things out in the morning, he decided to get some much-needed sleep; it would be a long day tomorrow. Jonathan hoped he would be able to travel home for a family Christmas. The fog would make travel difficult but he was determined to make it home.
The weather conditions for Christmas Eve had not improved any. In fact, if anything they had become increasingly worse since the previous evening. Pulling his curtains apart, Jonathan noticed that where he could see the white carpet covering the surrounding countryside the night before, this morning visibility was almost down to zero. There was no way he could travel under these circumstances at all. “It would be incredibly stupid to set off in this”, he murmured to himself.
Once Jonathan had carried out his daily ablutions and dressed himself he made his way downstairs, determined to call his wife and advise her of the dangerous conditions and to tell her that he would try again later that day if things improved.
On the stairwell, crossing his path was Jonathan’s friend of a few hours, Henry Clement. “What was all the fun and games about last night then?” he asked.
Henry stared for a moment in bewilderment, almost as if he hadn’t met Jonathan the previous evening, before replying that he had no recollection of what was being asked of him. “The crash!” said Jonathan. “Last night there was some kind of accident and a gentleman was rescued. He’s probably still downstairs at this moment. I must say the poor man looked in an awful state”, he continued “I suppose they couldn’t raise you up last night so you probably missed it all. Quite a commotion, I’d say”
Again Henry stared blankly into his face. Now Jonathan was beginning to feel rather uneasy about his friend. “Henry, It’s Jonathan, we met yesterday evening, do you remember?” he asked, puzzlingly.
Without wishing to appear absent minded or ignorant, the distinguished gentleman acknowledged his companion and in an attempt to avoid embarrassment responded, rather wishing to save awkwardness on both accounts. “Of course. Yesterday! I remember. Of course you’ll have to forgive me, I may have drunk a little too much and that’s when the memory plays up, isn’t it? You’re the gentleman that erm… that erm…” said Henry, gracefully covering his ignorance. “Jonathan. Jonathan Harper”, he affirmed. “I’m sorry, I should have realised that you have probably just woken up. “Nonsense. Not at all”, said an apologetic Henry, “Perhaps we can meet up in the bar later? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my room”, he added. And with that, Henry marched off in the appropriate direction. Once again, Jonathan felt overcome by confusion. “I could have sworn he didn’t recognise me”, he thought to himself, continuing his way down the stairs to the lobby.
Jonathan’s search for a telephone took him to an old fashioned booth at the far side of the reception area. In a fashion, this didn’t seem out of place; especially with the other furniture in the inn, but again it was not something he was accustomed to. However, his only thoughts were whether he could get through to his wife to inform her of the current situation.
Eagerly Jonathan dialled the number… 01 984 7325… “Hello operator, which number are you calling?” said a voice at the other end of the line. He hung up immediately. Calling the number twice more he received the same response. “Hello operator, which number…?”
“How odd!”, he exclaimed. Dialling once more he allowed the operator to continue before he answered her. “Yes, I’d like to place a call to London 984 7325 if I may?” he asked.
“I’m sorry sir, that number is not available”, came the reply. “May I ask who are you trying to reach?”
Nervous panic began to manifest itself in his speech as he passed details of his home address to the operator. “I’m trying to reach my wife, Mrs. Cathy… Catherine Harper, 94. Whiterush House, K… Kensington, London”.
Immediately the operator responded, “I have no such person listed at that address sir. Are you sure that you have given me the correct address?”
Jonathan was getting quite irritated by the operator’s inability to locate the correct telephone number. “It’s my home address and I should know where we live. Good God, we’ve lived there since ‘66”, he yelled back down the line. Red faced with anger he demanded that the operator try the number once more. She was having none of it. “Sir, the number you wish to call doesn’t exist and the address which you gave me does not list Harper as the subscriber and is not the number you have given me” she responded firmly. Panic, beginning to get the better of him, he slammed down the phone with such a bang that the noise attracted the attention of the desk clerk who was not amused by Jonathan’s behaviour. “Mr. Harper, may I remind you that our other guests may need to use the telephone?” Immediately Jonathan responded. “Well why can I not seem to get through to my home to call my wife? The operator keeps telling me that our address doesn’t exist. What’s going on here?”
“Perhaps the line is down sir and the operator can’t get through. The fog sometimes has that effect; causing problems with the telegraph cables. It may be better to wait until later in the day, try again then”, the clerk advised. “In the meantime, would you like anything else?” Stunned into silence, Jonathan just stood, staring at the clerk, as if he had just been informed that his dilemma with the operator was not all that important.
After a few moments Jonathan moved towards the stairs, muttering as he clambered up each step. “I can’t believe this place, what the hell is going on here?” he thought, his blood beginning to boil over. Deciding to do a little bit of finding out for himself he made up his mind to have a word or two with his friend Henry. “He may be able to provide me with some answers” mused Jonathan. On reaching the door of Henry’s room he knocked loudly. “Hello!” a voice called from within.
“It’s Jonathan Harper. I would like to have a word with you about something if I may?”
The same jovial, ruddy-faced gentleman opened the door to him. “Can I help you?” he asked. Once again, Jonathan’s friend appeared oblivious as to who he was. “We met yesterday, in the bar area, don’t you remember me?” cried Jonathan, desperate to find some familiarity. “You talked about your days as a pilot in the reconnaissance corps: The parachute drop over Arnhem? What about the bombing raids in Germany? Please tell me you remember all of that?” he pleaded, his voice progressively rising in a fit of pique, almost screaming at the bewildered gentleman standing before him.
“My dear fellow, I have neither been to Arnhem nor do I know anything about a parachute drop you refer to”, said a stern faced Henry. “And even if I had I couldn’t possibly tell you about it, could I? Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of things to do and I would appreciate the time to get on with it. I have to be at camp for 1600 hundred hours” he added impatiently.
An uncontrollable Jonathan forced his way into the room, grabbed at the lapels of Henry’s jacket, held the man firmly in his grasp for a few moments whilst staring into his eyes before turning his attention to the jacket that his friend was wearing: A blue surge, Royal Air Force jacket of the type worn during the Second World War. It was adorned with various badges, each representing something or other. Jonathan had a limited knowledge of military awards, having himself served his time in the draft a few years previously but the one thing he didn’t recognise was anything resembling a DFC.
“I thought you were awarded a DFC?” he asked, releasing his victim for a moment. “I distinctly remember you referring to yourself as Pilot Officer Henry Clement, DFC. Where is your DFC?” Jonathan said, accusingly.
“You have to earn one before you can attach it to your uniform and as yet, I have not received such an honour,” replied Henry, attempting to reassure Jonathan of his status. Unconvinced, Jonathan again asked about Arnhem. How would he know so much about Arnhem and the landings if they had not taken place? How would he know about the parachute drop? Operation ‘Market Garden’? The hundreds of troops flown over for the offensive? The bombing raids on Germany? How could he possibly know of Henry’s involvement if none of this had taken place? He wanted answers and he wanted them now! “Tell me what is going on and what all this has to do with the Wayfarer’s!” he demanded.
“Listen to me”, said Henry, confronting Jonathan. “Whatever it is that is causing you to be alarmed has little to do with me. I don’t know how you know of any planned military action and I don’t care how you came by this information but for the sake of national security, please keep it to yourself and don’t talk about it again. I’ll tell you what you need to know and nothing more if you will just calm down and have a drink with me”. With that, Henry moved over to his chest-of-drawers and retrieved a bottle of malt from a drawer and two drinking glasses. Pouring a measure into each he returned to an armchair ushering Jonathan to be seated and began relaying the events to which Jonathan had referred.
A couple of hours past before Henry, looking at his watch, decided to wrap up the conversation. “Now you promise that this information will remain between the two of us? Nobody outside of Whitehall knows of these events and they wish to keep it quiet until they know how things play out. Any leak and you could jeopardise tonight’s flight”, he warned. Jonathan said nothing for a few moments before responding to his friend. “It’s almost as if you believe this happened recently”, he replied, questioningly. “That was all over 26 years ago”. Rising from his chair, he began to back out of the room, still staring at Henry, occasionally nodding his head from side to side in defiance of what he had heard and was expected to believe. “26 years ago, Henry!” he cried out once more, as he exited.
Needing to have a lie down in order to get his head together Jonathan made his way to his own room, still musing over what he had just heard. “The poor fellow is living in the past. Maybe that’s why he’s here, recuperating from some delusion” he thought to himself.
It was long into the night when Jonathan awoke. Realising that he must have drunk too much whiskey whilst listening to Henry and his strange tale earlier that afternoon, he looked at his watch - It was 1.50 am. He’d slept way too long for comfort and his poor wife would be at home in Kensington, fretting about why her husband had not yet returned home safely to her and the children. Strangely, there was a noise; a droning noise emanating from above. It was a similar droning noise to the noise that he had heard the previous night; only on this occasion he could hear screeching too. It sounded like nothing Jonathan had heard before. Leaping from his bed he ran towards the window and pulled at the curtains. Nothing could be seen except a faint ball of light, something on fire perhaps and it was getting brighter by the second, its angle of elevation dipping downwards.
Suddenly Jonathan was aware something was happening; somehow he knew this mystery object was going to crash into the Wayfarer’s and he had to get out and quickly. Grabbing at his coat and suitcase lying by the side of his bed he hurriedly made his way for the door. There was little light in the hallway but Jonathan was un-perturbed as he felt his way to the stairwell, dropping his coat as he stumbled down the corridor. The droning noise was getting louder and the building had now started to shake. He had to get out fast and stopping for his coat was not a priority, or it wouldn’t have been if his car keys weren’t in the pocket. Jonathan had to turn back and pick them up. As he felt his way along the ground for the overcoat the noise from above became almost deafening. The walls were vibrating rapidly and pictures began falling from their hooks to the floor. Jonathan realised there was little time, if he didn’t make his escape now he would surely be caught in the middle of it all. The glass from the picture frames crunched beneath his shoes but he knew that unless he could get outside to safety, small cuts to his feet would be the least of his worries.
Jonathan tripped over each step as ran down the staircase, stumbling over objects that had fallen from the walls, catching his feet in the ill-fitting carpet. He eventually found the reception area. The droning was unbearable and now it appeared to be joined by a high pitch screaming or whining noise, like that of engines in high revs. He knew he had only seconds to find the exit and get outside. A clock in the reception area began the chiming of the hour as he found the doorway leading outside into the car park. Looking into the night sky Jonathan could see swirls of fog parting under the pressure of heat and flame as suddenly, the cockpit of an aircraft loomed clear through the mist. There was little time to recognise anything about the plane heading straight for the building he had just escaped from, except that it was big. Within seconds all around had became a huge ball of flame as the two objects, aircraft and building, met in a flurry of hurling brick, metal and burning debris. Diving onto the grass below his feet Jonathan covered his head with his hands and began praying. Praying for those still inside, the pilot and his crew and most of all, for his own safety.
The searing heat caused by the blast proved too much for Jonathan as he drifted in and out of consciousness. In the moments when he was aware he could just make out people running, some with buckets in hand, others with blankets, each one trying to douse the flames as they attempted to take control of the building. One whole side of the Wayfarer’s appeared to be gone, or was it just the smoke and fog? Jonathan tried rubbing his eyes in order to get a better view. No! It was indeed gone.
Wearily standing to his feet Jonathan surveyed the wreckage. What looked like a bomber aircraft was lying in flames at the rear of the Inn, its wing and engine on the right side missing from the main fuselage. It became apparent that the wing had parted company with the rest of the aircraft and collided with the back of the building causing a wall to fall away. He was lucky; if he had remained in his room he would surely have been dead by now. Gathering his thoughts he was alert enough now to realise that people inside must need help.
In the lobby Jonathan saw utter chaos as people were running in all directions trying to help each other or assist in some way with the clearing away of debris. Nobody had time for the full affects of the situation to get the better of him or her, they all co-operated fully with the desk clerk as he gave polite but firm orders. He had assembled the remaining guests in the lobby whilst he completed a thorough search of the building.
When all had calmed down inside and out people began to relax and take in the situation. Nerves gradually began to creep in with some of the female residents as they sought solace with their partners or other friendly guests. The clerk returned, grim faced as he recounted the damage to the back of his Inn. “Two rooms have completely gone; seven and nine. I’m sorry but there is no sign of any survivors at all” he said mournfully. Jonathan immediately recognised room nine as being his room. “I’m here”, he called out, “Room nine, that’s my room. I believe room seven was Mr. Henry Clement”, Jonathan added. Strangely, nobody responded to him. Again he informed the clerk. Again nobody responded to him. Jonathan manoeuvred himself in to a better position in font of the desk clerk in case, over all of the noise, he couldn’t be heard. “I am in room nine and Henry Clement is room seven”, he shouted once more. The clerk stood unresponsive, blankly looking straight through Jonathan. “I think Mr. Clement was in room seven but room nine was empty, I’m sure of it”, said the clerk working through his memory of the register of his guests. “Though Mr. Clement would have been due at camp this afternoon so I presume he’s safe”. he continued.
“This is absurd!” cried Jonathan, “I’m here, Jonathan Harper, standing right in front of you. I’ve been in room nine since I arrived, the day before yesterday. What the hell’s going on?” Still the response he was looking for didn’t come. He looked around the lobby at the rest of the guests; they too appeared not to notice him standing in front of them.
Suddenly, Jonathan was overcome by fear. If nobody saw him that meant he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t there, in front of them, he must be… dead! “But I can’t be!” he screamed. “I got out! I got away! I was outside when the plane hit the building I tell you!” His normal self-control had departed him as he ran furiously around each of the guests trying to attract their attention, as if in defiance of his slowly evolving conclusions.
“Harper?” a voice called out from behind. “Harper, you’re here”. Jonathan turned sharply to see his friend, Henry Clement standing in the doorway of the inn. “You made it then?” he added.
“Henry, you can see me? Then I’m here? Alive?” Jonathan queried. “Tell them all that I’m here, they can see me”, he pleaded. He turned his attention back to the other residents and the desk clerk. “You see! I am here. What the hell is the matter with you all?” Still, his ranting went unobserved by his fellow guests.
“They won’t hear you Harper. They won’t see or hear either of us”. Said a woeful Henry. “I’m afraid that we both went down with the plane. I managed to hold on for a minute or two in an attempt to steer her clear but you’d already gone”.
“What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t in that plane. I couldn’t have been, I was outside the building when I saw it crash”. Said Jonathan, imploring his friend to see sense.
“You were thrown clear by the impact, Harper”, replied Henry, “That’s how you ended up outside”
Jonathan continued to argue his corner. “I am a travelling sales representative and I arrived here on the 23rd. I have nothing to do with you except that I met you in the bar” Henry immediately responded. “Harper, you didn’t have a room here. You remained at the station with the crew. I only came here on the 23rd to get some rest while my billet was being repaired. You were never here!”
Gradually, Jonathan ran through the events of the evening of the 23rd in his head: He hadn’t received a room key on arrival at the Wayfarer’s, as the room was not ready for him. All of the furniture and décor was not contemporary to 1969, neither were the clothes the guests were in, especially Henry. The operator hadn’t been able locate his address or telephone number the previous morning. She didn’t even recognise his name. Henry didn’t recall the conversation they had over drinks at the fireside or even, that he knew him at all. All of these anomalies started to fix themselves clearly in his mind. But wait. There was something! Something had actually happened to him that could not be explained. During the business with the telephone the desk clerk actually spoke to him. “No he didn’t. He spoke to someone but it wasn’t you, Harper”. Said Henry.
The stark realisation of what had occurred steadily seeped through into Jonathan’s head. He was never going to see his wife and children again. How could he, as they had never happened? He wasn’t a travelling sales representative; he was apparently a co-pilot in the RAF under the command of Henry Clement, DFC as yet to be.
“But how did I end up here, at the Wayfarer’s?” Jonathan asked Henry.
“Quite simple, my dear friend. This is our main flight corridor for Germany. Something must have caught us off guard and we were hit. This particular corridor avoids all of the towns and villages in the area and was deemed the safest path over to Europe”, Henry informed his colleague. “As to how you are involved? Well, let me tell you. A driver, in a hurry to return home to his family at Christmas time finds himself in a thick fog; so thick that it becomes an unbearable nightmare trying to continue onward. Suddenly, from out of the mist, a light looms. It appears to be a safe haven for the weary motorist, the Wayfarer’s Inn. Not listed on any map for over 26 years, it was destroyed by a returning bomber crashing into it, yet here it was. A cheery welcome is accorded the traveller and the promise of a comfortable night. Naturally, the traveller accepts this luxury of avoiding possible peril in such horrendous conditions. Snugly relaxing in an armchair by the side of an open fire, the gentleman begins to reflect upon Christmas with his family. Was it, after all, going to be an enjoyable time spent with the children? They always find time to fight over something, don’t they? Perhaps the thought of the relatives dropping in caused the gentleman concern - either way, he wasn’t really looking forward to getting home, was he?”
“A welcoming face appears offering warm, friendly conversation. The traveller gratefully accepts the opportunity to converse with someone who is not part of his family. He has, by now, already made a subconscious decision to remain here. All that was left for him was to have the desire to find a resolution to the strange events that were unfolding before him. He began to doubt his reality and started to accept another. Once you make the decision to peep into an alternate reality it slowly becomes your reality and what is becomes what was. The events of the 23rd of December were very genuine but you looked a little too deep and for you and myself, and all of the guests here tonight, let this be a warning to other voyeurs of the past”.
The light gradually began to fade on both Jonathan and Henry as they continued their conversation. In the distance the sound of a radio could be heard. The interference was strong at first but became clearer as the light faded.
“Sierra one, seven. We’re at the scene. Abandoned vehicle. It looks like the driver lost the car in the fog and came off the road. Can we have a recovery team?” the voice on the radio said. “Incident call-out time logged as 2 am on Wayfarer Road. No sign of the driver, may have wandered into the fog for assistance”.
Outside a thick, cloying mist rolled in off the hills spreading icy tentacles across everything in its path. It wouldn’t be too long before the landscape were covered in a heavy, white coat of frost. The residents knew that they would be here for some time - transport to these far outreaches was, at the best of times, limited and as for their own vehicles, parked in the yard around the back of the inn, no one was going to risk driving in these conditions - no one with any sense that is.
The Wayfarer was a small Inn, only ten rooms; each one bijou but welcoming; yet it exuded a warmth that was easy to comprehend. This hotel, deep in the English countryside, offered a respite for the exhausted traveller. The site of a lonely inn, lights glowing like a beacon to the lost, would act as a welcome break for the weary.
Sat in a comfortable, wingback, leather armchair Jonathan mused over the day’s business. He had completed a successful mission into Scarborough and his company would reap the benefits of these labours with a healthy contract, sure to earn them a huge amount of money over the coming year. Jonathan took a sip of brandy and looked into the comforting fire that was burning brightly in the fireplace beside him. Thoughts of his family, the children opening expensive parcels on Christmas morning without him, left him with a small tear rolling down the side of his cheek; yet over the next few days he would have little more time to think of them - he would be too busy trying to survive.
It was about 5 minutes to 5 O’clock and he was almost asleep in his chair when he was approached by a cheery gentleman. Not too unusual a man, except for his dress. His clothes seemed odd, out of place for the modern style of the day. Jonathan, avoiding comment, stood and introduced himself. He invited his fellow resident to take a seat opposite him. The man appeared a jovial sort, ruddy cheeks and a broad grin that Jonathan responded to straightaway: “I couldn’t see myself going much further in that”, he said, pointing to the atrocious weather outside, “I’m just glad that I found this place when I did” he added. “It’ll be here for a while, according to the Inn keeper. Says it often gets like this in these parts with it being so open to the elements” said the man. He held out a warm hand of friendship to Jonathan, “Henry Clement, or should I say Pilot Officer Henry Clement, DFC”.
The two men sat down, Jonathan thinking it rather strange that his guest should introduce himself in such a way. It was a little unusual for people, in his experience, to introduce themselves twice, once to affirm military status. “Perhaps he assumes I am a military man too”, he thought to himself.
“Come far?” the gentleman asked.
“London - Kensington to be precise. I was hoping to get back home tonight but when I saw the fog was getting worse I phoned the wife to say I’d find somewhere to stay for the night and be home tomorrow,” Jonathan replied.
As soon had the words left his mouth he felt taken over by doubt. Was it the expression on the gentleman’s face? Was it the fact that the weather was that bad? Was it even, the thought that facing Christmas ‘alone’ somehow appealed to his sub-conscious? No specific reason occurred to him, he just sensed doubt. In any way the feeling of contentment, of comfort, in the company of Henry somehow appealed more than the prospect of leaving the safety of this place. Being with his family on Christmas day may still be possible if the fog lifted in time.
For a while the two men continued in deep conversation, occasionally laughing, occasionally arguing, but in all, remaining friendly with each other. It was apparent that his guest had been a serving officer during the Second World War, originally flying missions across Germany in the reconnaissance corp. before joining the mission to ‘Arnhem’ as a pilot transporting the parachute drop safely to their destination. Jonathan was fascinated. Such tales of heroism were often seen on the television yet here he was, listening to every aspect of a life as a pilot during this daring time.
“I haven’t so much as been involved in the boy scouts”, he told Henry, “And here you are, telling me all about a time I could only be in awe of. Well here’s to you, Henry”, added Jonathan, raising his glass. His companion gratefully accepted the plaudits.
Several hours had passed before both gentlemen chose to draw the evening to a close. Tiredness had encroached upon them without notice as they yawned almost in unison, neither having any idea how long they had been in conversation, except to say that several drinks had passed their lips and further chatter would result in either or both falling asleep where they sat.
Bidding his guest a good night, Jonathan moved slowly to gather his things. Since his arrival he had neglected to check into his room - he was told that it would have to be prepared as he was an unexpected, but never-the-less very welcome guest.
The gentleman at reception had a somewhat ‘odd’ appearance. The more he thought about it the more he noticed that his clothes resembled those of a similar period of dress to that Henry appeared to belong. He began to look around the whole reception area, at various objects, at the pictures on the wall behind the clerk, at the telephone exchange in the corner, everything reminded him of the 1940’s. Jonathan hadn’t noticed it before, but now the whole place appeared decked out as if in a bygone era.
“Excuse me?” he asked “I feel as if I have walked into some kind of themed Hotel, do you collect memorabilia at all?” A puzzled look upon the clerk’s face told him that this was not worth pursuing. “Perhaps he’s not the conversational type,” Jonathan thought to himself, contenting himself with the prospect of a warm bed and a peaceful night’s sleep.
On entry to his room he noticed that the theme downstairs carried on here too, however he was too tired to think about it any further. After turning on the bedside light and settling down his bedclothes he stepped into the bathroom for a quick wash and returned to the warm bed in anticipation of a comfortable night’s slumber. A few moments later and he was fast asleep - the rigours of a hard day’s work finally taking its toll.
It was approximately 2 am when Jonathan was disturbed by a knocking at his door. Rising from a heavy sleep, his eyes still not settled enough for him to turn on the lamp at the side of his bed; he wandered across to the door. On opening, the site of smoke rising from the corridor, in the direction of the stairwell gave cause for alarm. Calling out for whoever knocked at his door he suddenly became aware of a droning noise emanating from above. Within moments, the person responsible for waking him had returned. He couldn’t see the owner of the voice for smoke. “You’d better make your way downstairs to the lobby. We’ve been hit”.
“What?” cried Jonathan in astonishment, “You say, ‘we’ve been hit’?”
There was no reply. The disembodied voice had already made its way down the corridor, warning other residents to vacate their rooms. Jonathan followed his fellow guests safely making his way downstairs.
The lobby was crammed full with residents, so much so that chaos reigned. Nobody stood out as knowing what was going on as Jonathan searched for his friend, Mr. Clement. He was nowhere to be seen.
Grabbing at the desk clerk he asked him for some answers. “I can’t tell you much”, the clerk replied, “Except to say that we’ve been hit.”
“Hit? Hit by what? What do you mean, we’ve been hit?” Jonathan asked again, once more to be thwarted by the clerk. Nothing could explain the smoke and there did not seem to be any damage that would add weight to being ‘hit’ by anything.
Jonathan had almost forgotten about the droning noise he had heard earlier when he was still upstairs, rushing around the corridor looking for the stairwell. On deciding to ask one or two of the other guests if they had heard it too he was surprised by their response.
“That’ll be the bombers flying overhead. They’re always around at this time of night” one cried out. Another said one might have crashed on its way back home.
“On its way back to where? Where’s home? Jonathan asked, curious to know what this was all about. “Is there some kind of airbase near here? Is this a flight path for aircraft?” he questioned further; nobody offered any more information. They all appeared too concerned with themselves to give him any answers.
At that moment, a rather dishevelled and bloodied gentleman entered the building. His head was adorned with a leather cap and flying goggles. Thinking it rather strange that anyone would be flying on an evening such as this Jonathan overlooked the man’s injuries. There was something else peculiar about this chap, a familiarity about him that he couldn’t quite place. “If I’m not mistaken”, he thought, “I’ve seen his face before”. Within moments there was sudden rush of guests towards the man, each one offering assistance and subsequently disturbing Jonathan’s concentration.
“Quick, someone help the gentleman to a chair. He looks as if he’s been in the thick of it”, shouted the desk clerk. Standing in amazement, Jonathan realised something was not right here and he intended getting to the bottom of it, though he would have to wait until the morning, as the main concern was the comfort of this apparent victim of an accident.
Running to the bar Jonathan grabbed a glass, filled it with brandy before taking a swig himself and then took the remainder over to the bewildered patient.
“It came at me, straight from nowhere. I tried you know, I tried!” the mystery man mumbled.
Jonathan could not make head or tail of what he was muttering about. “Poor fellow, he must be deluded”, he thought to himself. “Whatever it was that had happened outside must have given him a shock and he’s confused”. Within moments the man had fallen into an unconscious state. Efforts to bring him round again proved fruitless; he was out for the count.
Checking on his safety, the clerk advised that the gentleman be given breathing space, whilst he felt for a pulse. With a sigh of relief, he realised that the patient would be likely to recover after some much needed rest. Putting the man’s feet onto a stool he proceeded to call out to the other guests for a blanket. Someone with forethought had already arranged for this and it subsequently was laid across the patient in order that he remain warm while he slept comfortably.
Gradually, the chaos died down and everyone began making their way back to their rooms. Jonathan following suit, felt quite confused by recent events. He was determined to find out what had happened that night but this was no time to ask.
Leaving the clerk to deal with the mystery gentleman Jonathan retired to his bedroom once more, still puzzled by the poor chap’s condition and the reasons for such. He took one final look out of his window to see if there was anything that could satisfy his curiosity but all he saw was thick, thick fog and a white landscape. Nothing else could be gleaned by further enquiries that night so, resolving to sort things out in the morning, he decided to get some much-needed sleep; it would be a long day tomorrow. Jonathan hoped he would be able to travel home for a family Christmas. The fog would make travel difficult but he was determined to make it home.
The weather conditions for Christmas Eve had not improved any. In fact, if anything they had become increasingly worse since the previous evening. Pulling his curtains apart, Jonathan noticed that where he could see the white carpet covering the surrounding countryside the night before, this morning visibility was almost down to zero. There was no way he could travel under these circumstances at all. “It would be incredibly stupid to set off in this”, he murmured to himself.
Once Jonathan had carried out his daily ablutions and dressed himself he made his way downstairs, determined to call his wife and advise her of the dangerous conditions and to tell her that he would try again later that day if things improved.
On the stairwell, crossing his path was Jonathan’s friend of a few hours, Henry Clement. “What was all the fun and games about last night then?” he asked.
Henry stared for a moment in bewilderment, almost as if he hadn’t met Jonathan the previous evening, before replying that he had no recollection of what was being asked of him. “The crash!” said Jonathan. “Last night there was some kind of accident and a gentleman was rescued. He’s probably still downstairs at this moment. I must say the poor man looked in an awful state”, he continued “I suppose they couldn’t raise you up last night so you probably missed it all. Quite a commotion, I’d say”
Again Henry stared blankly into his face. Now Jonathan was beginning to feel rather uneasy about his friend. “Henry, It’s Jonathan, we met yesterday evening, do you remember?” he asked, puzzlingly.
Without wishing to appear absent minded or ignorant, the distinguished gentleman acknowledged his companion and in an attempt to avoid embarrassment responded, rather wishing to save awkwardness on both accounts. “Of course. Yesterday! I remember. Of course you’ll have to forgive me, I may have drunk a little too much and that’s when the memory plays up, isn’t it? You’re the gentleman that erm… that erm…” said Henry, gracefully covering his ignorance. “Jonathan. Jonathan Harper”, he affirmed. “I’m sorry, I should have realised that you have probably just woken up. “Nonsense. Not at all”, said an apologetic Henry, “Perhaps we can meet up in the bar later? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my room”, he added. And with that, Henry marched off in the appropriate direction. Once again, Jonathan felt overcome by confusion. “I could have sworn he didn’t recognise me”, he thought to himself, continuing his way down the stairs to the lobby.
Jonathan’s search for a telephone took him to an old fashioned booth at the far side of the reception area. In a fashion, this didn’t seem out of place; especially with the other furniture in the inn, but again it was not something he was accustomed to. However, his only thoughts were whether he could get through to his wife to inform her of the current situation.
Eagerly Jonathan dialled the number… 01 984 7325… “Hello operator, which number are you calling?” said a voice at the other end of the line. He hung up immediately. Calling the number twice more he received the same response. “Hello operator, which number…?”
“How odd!”, he exclaimed. Dialling once more he allowed the operator to continue before he answered her. “Yes, I’d like to place a call to London 984 7325 if I may?” he asked.
“I’m sorry sir, that number is not available”, came the reply. “May I ask who are you trying to reach?”
Nervous panic began to manifest itself in his speech as he passed details of his home address to the operator. “I’m trying to reach my wife, Mrs. Cathy… Catherine Harper, 94. Whiterush House, K… Kensington, London”.
Immediately the operator responded, “I have no such person listed at that address sir. Are you sure that you have given me the correct address?”
Jonathan was getting quite irritated by the operator’s inability to locate the correct telephone number. “It’s my home address and I should know where we live. Good God, we’ve lived there since ‘66”, he yelled back down the line. Red faced with anger he demanded that the operator try the number once more. She was having none of it. “Sir, the number you wish to call doesn’t exist and the address which you gave me does not list Harper as the subscriber and is not the number you have given me” she responded firmly. Panic, beginning to get the better of him, he slammed down the phone with such a bang that the noise attracted the attention of the desk clerk who was not amused by Jonathan’s behaviour. “Mr. Harper, may I remind you that our other guests may need to use the telephone?” Immediately Jonathan responded. “Well why can I not seem to get through to my home to call my wife? The operator keeps telling me that our address doesn’t exist. What’s going on here?”
“Perhaps the line is down sir and the operator can’t get through. The fog sometimes has that effect; causing problems with the telegraph cables. It may be better to wait until later in the day, try again then”, the clerk advised. “In the meantime, would you like anything else?” Stunned into silence, Jonathan just stood, staring at the clerk, as if he had just been informed that his dilemma with the operator was not all that important.
After a few moments Jonathan moved towards the stairs, muttering as he clambered up each step. “I can’t believe this place, what the hell is going on here?” he thought, his blood beginning to boil over. Deciding to do a little bit of finding out for himself he made up his mind to have a word or two with his friend Henry. “He may be able to provide me with some answers” mused Jonathan. On reaching the door of Henry’s room he knocked loudly. “Hello!” a voice called from within.
“It’s Jonathan Harper. I would like to have a word with you about something if I may?”
The same jovial, ruddy-faced gentleman opened the door to him. “Can I help you?” he asked. Once again, Jonathan’s friend appeared oblivious as to who he was. “We met yesterday, in the bar area, don’t you remember me?” cried Jonathan, desperate to find some familiarity. “You talked about your days as a pilot in the reconnaissance corps: The parachute drop over Arnhem? What about the bombing raids in Germany? Please tell me you remember all of that?” he pleaded, his voice progressively rising in a fit of pique, almost screaming at the bewildered gentleman standing before him.
“My dear fellow, I have neither been to Arnhem nor do I know anything about a parachute drop you refer to”, said a stern faced Henry. “And even if I had I couldn’t possibly tell you about it, could I? Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of things to do and I would appreciate the time to get on with it. I have to be at camp for 1600 hundred hours” he added impatiently.
An uncontrollable Jonathan forced his way into the room, grabbed at the lapels of Henry’s jacket, held the man firmly in his grasp for a few moments whilst staring into his eyes before turning his attention to the jacket that his friend was wearing: A blue surge, Royal Air Force jacket of the type worn during the Second World War. It was adorned with various badges, each representing something or other. Jonathan had a limited knowledge of military awards, having himself served his time in the draft a few years previously but the one thing he didn’t recognise was anything resembling a DFC.
“I thought you were awarded a DFC?” he asked, releasing his victim for a moment. “I distinctly remember you referring to yourself as Pilot Officer Henry Clement, DFC. Where is your DFC?” Jonathan said, accusingly.
“You have to earn one before you can attach it to your uniform and as yet, I have not received such an honour,” replied Henry, attempting to reassure Jonathan of his status. Unconvinced, Jonathan again asked about Arnhem. How would he know so much about Arnhem and the landings if they had not taken place? How would he know about the parachute drop? Operation ‘Market Garden’? The hundreds of troops flown over for the offensive? The bombing raids on Germany? How could he possibly know of Henry’s involvement if none of this had taken place? He wanted answers and he wanted them now! “Tell me what is going on and what all this has to do with the Wayfarer’s!” he demanded.
“Listen to me”, said Henry, confronting Jonathan. “Whatever it is that is causing you to be alarmed has little to do with me. I don’t know how you know of any planned military action and I don’t care how you came by this information but for the sake of national security, please keep it to yourself and don’t talk about it again. I’ll tell you what you need to know and nothing more if you will just calm down and have a drink with me”. With that, Henry moved over to his chest-of-drawers and retrieved a bottle of malt from a drawer and two drinking glasses. Pouring a measure into each he returned to an armchair ushering Jonathan to be seated and began relaying the events to which Jonathan had referred.
A couple of hours past before Henry, looking at his watch, decided to wrap up the conversation. “Now you promise that this information will remain between the two of us? Nobody outside of Whitehall knows of these events and they wish to keep it quiet until they know how things play out. Any leak and you could jeopardise tonight’s flight”, he warned. Jonathan said nothing for a few moments before responding to his friend. “It’s almost as if you believe this happened recently”, he replied, questioningly. “That was all over 26 years ago”. Rising from his chair, he began to back out of the room, still staring at Henry, occasionally nodding his head from side to side in defiance of what he had heard and was expected to believe. “26 years ago, Henry!” he cried out once more, as he exited.
Needing to have a lie down in order to get his head together Jonathan made his way to his own room, still musing over what he had just heard. “The poor fellow is living in the past. Maybe that’s why he’s here, recuperating from some delusion” he thought to himself.
It was long into the night when Jonathan awoke. Realising that he must have drunk too much whiskey whilst listening to Henry and his strange tale earlier that afternoon, he looked at his watch - It was 1.50 am. He’d slept way too long for comfort and his poor wife would be at home in Kensington, fretting about why her husband had not yet returned home safely to her and the children. Strangely, there was a noise; a droning noise emanating from above. It was a similar droning noise to the noise that he had heard the previous night; only on this occasion he could hear screeching too. It sounded like nothing Jonathan had heard before. Leaping from his bed he ran towards the window and pulled at the curtains. Nothing could be seen except a faint ball of light, something on fire perhaps and it was getting brighter by the second, its angle of elevation dipping downwards.
Suddenly Jonathan was aware something was happening; somehow he knew this mystery object was going to crash into the Wayfarer’s and he had to get out and quickly. Grabbing at his coat and suitcase lying by the side of his bed he hurriedly made his way for the door. There was little light in the hallway but Jonathan was un-perturbed as he felt his way to the stairwell, dropping his coat as he stumbled down the corridor. The droning noise was getting louder and the building had now started to shake. He had to get out fast and stopping for his coat was not a priority, or it wouldn’t have been if his car keys weren’t in the pocket. Jonathan had to turn back and pick them up. As he felt his way along the ground for the overcoat the noise from above became almost deafening. The walls were vibrating rapidly and pictures began falling from their hooks to the floor. Jonathan realised there was little time, if he didn’t make his escape now he would surely be caught in the middle of it all. The glass from the picture frames crunched beneath his shoes but he knew that unless he could get outside to safety, small cuts to his feet would be the least of his worries.
Jonathan tripped over each step as ran down the staircase, stumbling over objects that had fallen from the walls, catching his feet in the ill-fitting carpet. He eventually found the reception area. The droning was unbearable and now it appeared to be joined by a high pitch screaming or whining noise, like that of engines in high revs. He knew he had only seconds to find the exit and get outside. A clock in the reception area began the chiming of the hour as he found the doorway leading outside into the car park. Looking into the night sky Jonathan could see swirls of fog parting under the pressure of heat and flame as suddenly, the cockpit of an aircraft loomed clear through the mist. There was little time to recognise anything about the plane heading straight for the building he had just escaped from, except that it was big. Within seconds all around had became a huge ball of flame as the two objects, aircraft and building, met in a flurry of hurling brick, metal and burning debris. Diving onto the grass below his feet Jonathan covered his head with his hands and began praying. Praying for those still inside, the pilot and his crew and most of all, for his own safety.
The searing heat caused by the blast proved too much for Jonathan as he drifted in and out of consciousness. In the moments when he was aware he could just make out people running, some with buckets in hand, others with blankets, each one trying to douse the flames as they attempted to take control of the building. One whole side of the Wayfarer’s appeared to be gone, or was it just the smoke and fog? Jonathan tried rubbing his eyes in order to get a better view. No! It was indeed gone.
Wearily standing to his feet Jonathan surveyed the wreckage. What looked like a bomber aircraft was lying in flames at the rear of the Inn, its wing and engine on the right side missing from the main fuselage. It became apparent that the wing had parted company with the rest of the aircraft and collided with the back of the building causing a wall to fall away. He was lucky; if he had remained in his room he would surely have been dead by now. Gathering his thoughts he was alert enough now to realise that people inside must need help.
In the lobby Jonathan saw utter chaos as people were running in all directions trying to help each other or assist in some way with the clearing away of debris. Nobody had time for the full affects of the situation to get the better of him or her, they all co-operated fully with the desk clerk as he gave polite but firm orders. He had assembled the remaining guests in the lobby whilst he completed a thorough search of the building.
When all had calmed down inside and out people began to relax and take in the situation. Nerves gradually began to creep in with some of the female residents as they sought solace with their partners or other friendly guests. The clerk returned, grim faced as he recounted the damage to the back of his Inn. “Two rooms have completely gone; seven and nine. I’m sorry but there is no sign of any survivors at all” he said mournfully. Jonathan immediately recognised room nine as being his room. “I’m here”, he called out, “Room nine, that’s my room. I believe room seven was Mr. Henry Clement”, Jonathan added. Strangely, nobody responded to him. Again he informed the clerk. Again nobody responded to him. Jonathan manoeuvred himself in to a better position in font of the desk clerk in case, over all of the noise, he couldn’t be heard. “I am in room nine and Henry Clement is room seven”, he shouted once more. The clerk stood unresponsive, blankly looking straight through Jonathan. “I think Mr. Clement was in room seven but room nine was empty, I’m sure of it”, said the clerk working through his memory of the register of his guests. “Though Mr. Clement would have been due at camp this afternoon so I presume he’s safe”. he continued.
“This is absurd!” cried Jonathan, “I’m here, Jonathan Harper, standing right in front of you. I’ve been in room nine since I arrived, the day before yesterday. What the hell’s going on?” Still the response he was looking for didn’t come. He looked around the lobby at the rest of the guests; they too appeared not to notice him standing in front of them.
Suddenly, Jonathan was overcome by fear. If nobody saw him that meant he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t there, in front of them, he must be… dead! “But I can’t be!” he screamed. “I got out! I got away! I was outside when the plane hit the building I tell you!” His normal self-control had departed him as he ran furiously around each of the guests trying to attract their attention, as if in defiance of his slowly evolving conclusions.
“Harper?” a voice called out from behind. “Harper, you’re here”. Jonathan turned sharply to see his friend, Henry Clement standing in the doorway of the inn. “You made it then?” he added.
“Henry, you can see me? Then I’m here? Alive?” Jonathan queried. “Tell them all that I’m here, they can see me”, he pleaded. He turned his attention back to the other residents and the desk clerk. “You see! I am here. What the hell is the matter with you all?” Still, his ranting went unobserved by his fellow guests.
“They won’t hear you Harper. They won’t see or hear either of us”. Said a woeful Henry. “I’m afraid that we both went down with the plane. I managed to hold on for a minute or two in an attempt to steer her clear but you’d already gone”.
“What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t in that plane. I couldn’t have been, I was outside the building when I saw it crash”. Said Jonathan, imploring his friend to see sense.
“You were thrown clear by the impact, Harper”, replied Henry, “That’s how you ended up outside”
Jonathan continued to argue his corner. “I am a travelling sales representative and I arrived here on the 23rd. I have nothing to do with you except that I met you in the bar” Henry immediately responded. “Harper, you didn’t have a room here. You remained at the station with the crew. I only came here on the 23rd to get some rest while my billet was being repaired. You were never here!”
Gradually, Jonathan ran through the events of the evening of the 23rd in his head: He hadn’t received a room key on arrival at the Wayfarer’s, as the room was not ready for him. All of the furniture and décor was not contemporary to 1969, neither were the clothes the guests were in, especially Henry. The operator hadn’t been able locate his address or telephone number the previous morning. She didn’t even recognise his name. Henry didn’t recall the conversation they had over drinks at the fireside or even, that he knew him at all. All of these anomalies started to fix themselves clearly in his mind. But wait. There was something! Something had actually happened to him that could not be explained. During the business with the telephone the desk clerk actually spoke to him. “No he didn’t. He spoke to someone but it wasn’t you, Harper”. Said Henry.
The stark realisation of what had occurred steadily seeped through into Jonathan’s head. He was never going to see his wife and children again. How could he, as they had never happened? He wasn’t a travelling sales representative; he was apparently a co-pilot in the RAF under the command of Henry Clement, DFC as yet to be.
“But how did I end up here, at the Wayfarer’s?” Jonathan asked Henry.
“Quite simple, my dear friend. This is our main flight corridor for Germany. Something must have caught us off guard and we were hit. This particular corridor avoids all of the towns and villages in the area and was deemed the safest path over to Europe”, Henry informed his colleague. “As to how you are involved? Well, let me tell you. A driver, in a hurry to return home to his family at Christmas time finds himself in a thick fog; so thick that it becomes an unbearable nightmare trying to continue onward. Suddenly, from out of the mist, a light looms. It appears to be a safe haven for the weary motorist, the Wayfarer’s Inn. Not listed on any map for over 26 years, it was destroyed by a returning bomber crashing into it, yet here it was. A cheery welcome is accorded the traveller and the promise of a comfortable night. Naturally, the traveller accepts this luxury of avoiding possible peril in such horrendous conditions. Snugly relaxing in an armchair by the side of an open fire, the gentleman begins to reflect upon Christmas with his family. Was it, after all, going to be an enjoyable time spent with the children? They always find time to fight over something, don’t they? Perhaps the thought of the relatives dropping in caused the gentleman concern - either way, he wasn’t really looking forward to getting home, was he?”
“A welcoming face appears offering warm, friendly conversation. The traveller gratefully accepts the opportunity to converse with someone who is not part of his family. He has, by now, already made a subconscious decision to remain here. All that was left for him was to have the desire to find a resolution to the strange events that were unfolding before him. He began to doubt his reality and started to accept another. Once you make the decision to peep into an alternate reality it slowly becomes your reality and what is becomes what was. The events of the 23rd of December were very genuine but you looked a little too deep and for you and myself, and all of the guests here tonight, let this be a warning to other voyeurs of the past”.
The light gradually began to fade on both Jonathan and Henry as they continued their conversation. In the distance the sound of a radio could be heard. The interference was strong at first but became clearer as the light faded.
“Sierra one, seven. We’re at the scene. Abandoned vehicle. It looks like the driver lost the car in the fog and came off the road. Can we have a recovery team?” the voice on the radio said. “Incident call-out time logged as 2 am on Wayfarer Road. No sign of the driver, may have wandered into the fog for assistance”.
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Your story may or may NOT be accepted, we do not notify if your story is or is not accepted and you will need to check the updated stories to see if your story appears.
Friday, September 12, 2008
My Ghost Story - The Old Man In Our House
When my husband and I moved into our house, I began “seeing things” out of the corner of me eye, like a shadow moving across a wall. My husband said it was probably a reflection of a car going past or a tree blowing in the wind. I noticed our cat wouldn’t go all the way down the hallway or into the bedroom at the end of the hall. If you picked her up and tried to carry her down the hall, she would fight to get away.
Our oldest daughter often came to visit and on one occasion asked me if I had ever seen anything strange in this house. I told her about the shadows and she said “Yes, I see them too”. One night while she was visiting, my daughter and I were watching TV and my husband had gone to bed as it was very late. The lamp on the table between our chairs was on and my small dog was laying beside me in the chair. He stood up and was looking toward the doorway, (wagging his tail like he was glad to see someone) when I saw a softball sized shadow run toward my chair, like a spider running across the floor. I instinctively lifted my feet and it disappeared under the chair. My daughter had seen it too and asked what that was. My dog jumped down, and stuck his nose under the chair, still wagging his tail. I looked under the chair and even moved it, but didn’t see anything. My daughter and I, though startled by this, talked how it was strange that we weren’t frightened by whatever we had just witnessed.
A few months later, while again watching TV, my husband had fallen asleep in his chair after eating supper and my dog was in his usual spot beside me in my chair. Once again he stood up looking toward the hallway, and was wagging his tail. I looked over at the hallway and saw what at first I thought was smoke, then realized it was mist rolling into the room. The mist stopped and began to take the shape of an old man, dressed in colonial garb. When I yelled at my husband, the old man disappeared. My husband said I must have fallen asleep too and dreamed it.
My husband never believed our daughter and I was seeing anything strange in this house until we had a contractor here measuring the family room for new flooring. After he was through taking measurements, he was standing in front of the hallway, giving us the information on the new flooring. Every so often, he looked over his shoulder and down the hall. He asked us if there was any one else in the house. When we said no, he said it was strange, but he could swear he saw an old man standing at the end of the hall. I spun around and said to my husband, “See? I told you so!” I told the contractor about seeing the old man and he too said he felt no fear in this house.
Shortly after this took place, my husband and I went to a Halloween party where there was a fortune teller there for entertainment. We didn’t participate, just watched and listened to him tell the other guests things about their life and themselves. Later that evening he approached me and asked me if there was something I wanted to know about in my house. I immediately assumed my husband had told him about what I had seen, so I told the guy my story. He in turn told me this spirit wasn’t going to harm us, but wanted us to know he was there. He also told me that now that I had seen this man, I wouldn’t be seeing shadows any more and that was true. To this day, I don’t see things out of the corner of my eyes and my cat now goes all the way down the hall and into the bedroom.
Our oldest daughter often came to visit and on one occasion asked me if I had ever seen anything strange in this house. I told her about the shadows and she said “Yes, I see them too”. One night while she was visiting, my daughter and I were watching TV and my husband had gone to bed as it was very late. The lamp on the table between our chairs was on and my small dog was laying beside me in the chair. He stood up and was looking toward the doorway, (wagging his tail like he was glad to see someone) when I saw a softball sized shadow run toward my chair, like a spider running across the floor. I instinctively lifted my feet and it disappeared under the chair. My daughter had seen it too and asked what that was. My dog jumped down, and stuck his nose under the chair, still wagging his tail. I looked under the chair and even moved it, but didn’t see anything. My daughter and I, though startled by this, talked how it was strange that we weren’t frightened by whatever we had just witnessed.
A few months later, while again watching TV, my husband had fallen asleep in his chair after eating supper and my dog was in his usual spot beside me in my chair. Once again he stood up looking toward the hallway, and was wagging his tail. I looked over at the hallway and saw what at first I thought was smoke, then realized it was mist rolling into the room. The mist stopped and began to take the shape of an old man, dressed in colonial garb. When I yelled at my husband, the old man disappeared. My husband said I must have fallen asleep too and dreamed it.
My husband never believed our daughter and I was seeing anything strange in this house until we had a contractor here measuring the family room for new flooring. After he was through taking measurements, he was standing in front of the hallway, giving us the information on the new flooring. Every so often, he looked over his shoulder and down the hall. He asked us if there was any one else in the house. When we said no, he said it was strange, but he could swear he saw an old man standing at the end of the hall. I spun around and said to my husband, “See? I told you so!” I told the contractor about seeing the old man and he too said he felt no fear in this house.
Shortly after this took place, my husband and I went to a Halloween party where there was a fortune teller there for entertainment. We didn’t participate, just watched and listened to him tell the other guests things about their life and themselves. Later that evening he approached me and asked me if there was something I wanted to know about in my house. I immediately assumed my husband had told him about what I had seen, so I told the guy my story. He in turn told me this spirit wasn’t going to harm us, but wanted us to know he was there. He also told me that now that I had seen this man, I wouldn’t be seeing shadows any more and that was true. To this day, I don’t see things out of the corner of my eyes and my cat now goes all the way down the hall and into the bedroom.
The Vampire Tour of San Francisco
Before, you read this article, I stand corrected by lady vampire Rhiannon. She sent me this email, correcting my article. Thank you for allowing the readers and I, to better understand the vampire culture. Here is her email in her own words:
"Thank you for sending this article. This is a very detailed and interesting piece, good work, but there are two problems I noticed, and you said we should point out to you any problems with what was written when we got this.
One was a misquote of what Cole said about blood drinking. You state that he said he drinks blood, but that is not what he said. Cole does not drink blood, but he did say that even vampires who drink blood rarely drink very much at a time, and sometimes only perhaps a teaspoon or two per feeding, maybe once in a month.
I will elaborate a little for you, since you forgot to ask us about it. This can vary, actually, from blood drinker to blood drinker, and some take more than the amounts he was talking about, just not usually. Some vampires, though it is the energy that they require, and not the blood its self, they feel that this is the only way they are able to connect enough to take from another person. I think they might be able to learn how to do it other ways, some like to do it both ways, since it is a very intense way to connect.
And since you were curious but didn't ask me, I will tell you that though what I usually take is energy, I do drink a little blood, but my blood drinking is only from two of my closest friends, both people I know are healthy and clean of infection, and have lifestyles that would not make them likely to contract things like AIDS, hepatitis, or other blood carried disease.
I am able to pull the blood through the skin in a very tightly concentrated area with my mouth, and this is good because I don't like the risk factor for scarring or infection involved with anything that breaks the skin. I take much more energy, more deeply in this way, but since this method is not required for me, I don't do it often.
The second thing I would ask you to be more careful about how you put is when you talk about us having fangs. You make it sound like we're walking around with theatrically huge pointed teeth, and claiming they are natural. In fact, our teeth might be considered subtly unusual (a thing I was careful to point out is something I think is purely coincidence), but they are well within the realm of normal length or sharpness for humans. People reading your article as it you have it now might easily get the impression that we have huge fangs, when really, they're just healthy teeth." -Rhiannon
Now, let's dive into my article, where I did some misquoting or did some misinterpretation, I apologize to Cole and Rhiannon.
Shannon McCabe, President of H.P.I. (Haunted and Paranormal Investigations) of Northern California learned about The Vampire Tour of San Francisco through Ricardo Pustanio of Haunted America Tours. Like I have said many times before, we investigate all things 'paranormal' and vampires are not an exception to the rule. September 29, 2007, Saturday, I headed over to Shannon's home and met up with fellow paranormal investigator Chris Grissom. The three of us were heading to San Francisco this day in Shannon's Ectoplasmobile aka Ecto 1, with Shannon driving. It was around 1:30pm when I arrived at Shannon's and she told Chris and I, we're going to pound flesh and hand out fliers at Sierra 2 Center and Curtis Park, where they were having a festival in the park. The fliers indicated that HPI is having a Halloween Bash at the Sierra 2 and the community was invited. So, that is what we did, introduced ourselves as HPI paranormal investigators and handed out fliers. After walking around the park for a good couple of hours, I heard my stomach growling, it was time to eat and head off to San Francisco. We got back in Ecto 1 and stopped at Shannon's favorite eating spot. AM/PM Mini Mart for hamburgers and hot dogs. Okay, maybe that's not Shannon's favorite eating spot, but the meal was a reasonable price and we weren't hungry anymore. Shannon treated Chris and I, to bottles of Starbucks ice coffee that she had in the trunk of the car. Now, that was a good pick me up.
Shannon, like a bat-out-of-hell, zoomed down Hwy 80 towards San Francisco and maneuvered through the streets of San Francisco with the experience of a street cop. We finally located a place to park and headed over to the elegant Hamilton Hotel to meet with our first vampire. As we waited for our first vampire interview, we dined on decadent spring rolls with shrimp and crab and chased down some Heineken and Anchor Steam beer. Then as I looked over to the left corner, I glimpsed a lady in black, it was our first vampire. She calls herself Mina Harker (a character from Bram Stoker's book Dracula). Her real name is Kitty Burns.
I learn all kinds of fascinating things about Kitty. She was actually a host at a vampire tour in Transylvania twice and once spent the night in Dracula's Castle. She hosted one tour with Eddie Munster aka Butch Patrick. She tells me how she once booked a vampire tour in New Orleans, during a business trip and wondered why San Francisco doesn't have a vampire tour in their own city. Then it dawned on her, she is a published playwright and why not start her own tour, she immediately started writing a script for the tour and has been giving the tour for 6 years now. She says the tour is more lighthearted and really doesn't dwell on the dark side of vampirism. It's more comedy than horror. I can just imagine that the script must have been pouring through her mind, while she cruised down the Mississippi River, when she made that business trip in New Orleans.
As I let Kitty talk, she discussed a very colorful character Emperor Norton and how no mortal could pull off printing his own money and collecting taxes from the people. She talked about James Flood, a successful businessman and how the vampire community loved him. In fact the vampire community learned how to start their own businesses through James Flood. We discussed various vampire clubs in existence around San Francisco and how people have embraced the vampire culture. Some of the vampires play the game Masquerade. Masquerade is a role playing vampire game. I mention to Kitty, that role playing games like Masquerade can sometimes get out of hand.
For an example:
A group of three teenagers were charged with the bludgeoning death of a Florida couple, parents of a fourth girl in their group. These teenagers were involved in the fantasy role playing game Vampire the Masquerade. Police said They "tortured puppies" and even "drank one another's blood." "Police said [the teens] were attracted to vampires by the best selling role-play game.
A Virginia Beach man was sentenced to 26 years in prison for sexually molesting [and biting] eight teen-age girls he [had] recruited for his vampire 'family' through the playing of "a game in which players assumed the roles of ancient vampires."
This is the dark side of vampirism that Kitty shuns and doesn't want to think about. It made me think, that everything seems to be a balance of Yin and Yang. There is the balance of good and the balance of evil. There will always be a balance of good and evil, it has been with us since the beginning of mankind and it will be with us to the end of days. Fortunately, this evening we are seeing the good side of vampirism through Kitty's eyes.
Kitty tells me that she dresses for the tour and wears a vampire costume of all black. Many Goths have taken her tour. She was approached once by a vampiress . The vampiress placed her hand on her shoulder and said "some of us really do exist darling."
Mina Harker, aka Kitty Burns, gets 15 to 30 people that take her nightly tour, at one evening she had 95 people show up! The vampire movies that Kitty loves are Abbott and Costello Meets Frankenstein, Interview with a Vampire (except that it was too bloody for Kitty's taste), Bela Lugosi's Dracula. She goes on to tell me that one time Kim Basinger took her tour and she didn't point out Kim to the crowd and just let her enjoy the tour. After the tour, Kitty approached Kim and said..."has anyone ever told you, you look like Kim Basinger?" Kim laughed and said..."yes, all the time!"
After I interviewed Kitty, I went over to the park across the street to interview two more vampires. Shannon introduced me to Cole and Rhiannon.
Cole states that when he was 17 years old, he had misconceptions on vampirism, he compared vampirism to what he watched from Hollywood movies, until he met a woman that explained to him what vampirism is really about, then he knew that true vampirism implied to his own persona. This is a woman he met at a Goth club. Rhiannon said she didn't realize it at first, but something was different about her, starting from what she felt in the 3rd grade. She felt other people's energy, she felt empathy for others, she could feel people's energy signatures left behind on objects, sort of like psychometrics. She could go past a school desk and feel the energy signature of the person that sat on that desk. Cole says that the scientific community needs to catch-up and discover what vampirism really is, it could be referred to as bio-deficiency syndrome as Cole likes to call it. Rhiannon says maybe vampires should be called energy absorbers. Cole elaborates and says that certain people as we call vampires, don't create enough energy within their beings and must acquire energy from others. Blood is a source of energy, some vampires may take their energy from ambient energy sources, like from a Black Sabbath concert, where there is a high abundance of energy. Rhiannon says she does better from one person, a willing host to her energy feeding. She and Cole can absorb energy from a touch and do not attempt to take energy from an unwilling host. The touch can last from 30 seconds to a minute.
Rhiannon, a lovely red haired vampiress tells me that she met Cole at a vampire oriented club called The Glass Cat. The Glass Cat was having a vampire ball. The Glass Cat is known to play electronic and industrial music. When Rhiannon met Cole, they knew they'd be friends for a long time to come.
I asked Rhiannon and Cole how they acquired their canines. Both have small fangs that stand out a bit more than usual, and they told me that their fangs are actually natural. Cole is a handsome young man, that wears a black trench coat, black shirt, black pants, black tie and has long black hair, he definitely looks the part of a vampire. These two were a pleasure to meet and I and HPI thank them very much for letting us into their world.
As the interview ended and I saw Rhiannon and Cole walk away, I remembered something that Cole had told me. He said that at times he takes in 2 or 3 teaspoons of blood. I forgot to ask him if that was human blood or animal blood and how does he acquire that blood? Does Rhiannon also drink blood? I was completely absorbed with the energy absorbing topic, I completely forgot about the consumption of blood. (Found in Rhiannon's email above.)
Well, it was time to move on as Shannon, Chris and a Berkeley journalist named Kevin Jones were approaching me. Kevin Jones was here to interview Shannon, Chris and I, about our ghost hunting. He has a show for the Berkeley University radio station called the Berkeley Radio Magazine.
As I was walking with Shannon, Chris and Kevin, I remembered how Cole told me that psychos are psychos as I questioned about the darker side of vampirism. Such as the serial killer Richard Trenton Chase, aka The Vampire of Sacramento. Cole also told me that he was aware of 10 true vampires in San Francisco and how vampirism is a condition. The reason why vampires wear black, is because black is an absorbent color. I talked about physical vampires, vampires that get their boost from the physical exertion of others, or sexual vampires, a person who goes from one partner to another, acquiring energy from their conquests. Cole tells me that in all cases, it's energy they are acquiring. To have sex, is exerting energy. To be physical as being pushed to do a lot of exercises, is exerting energy. I can only wonder if Army drill sergeants who push soldiers over the limits are energy vampires? I can only wonder again, if playboys like Warren Beatty who go from one conquest to another, are also energy vampires?
Cole and Rhiannon are two delightful people that enjoy life and Rhiannon's favorite vampire movie is Interview with a Vampire, while Cole enjoys the old Bela Lugosi's Dracula movies.
Vampires are everywhere. Right down the street from where I live, I have a vampire neighbor named Tremaine. He has silver plated vampire fangs. How Tremaine became a vampire is anyone's guess, he really doesn't discuss it, but he came from a family that was once associated with the Los Angeles Crips, his family is now disassociated with the Crips and live a descent suburbia life in Elk Grove. In HPI we have a ghost hunter named Carol Gillis that is a self-proclaimed vampiress. Also, in HPI another ghost hunter named Cherie Vincent embraces the vampire culture and has two vampire bite tattoos on her neck. Like I said, they are everywhere...
The SF Vampire Tour commences: Kitty takes on the character of Mina Harker. Mina Harker tells of falling victim to Dracula. She discussed Bram Stoker's book Dracula and elaborates her transformation of a living human being to a vampiress. There is black lining around her eyes, her skin is pale white, she wears a black cape and her outfit is all black. Mina carries a candleabra as she starts her tour. She discusses everything about an underground vampire culture that originates in Nob Hill, San Francisco. She blurs fiction with history as she talks about the following:
1. First Stop: The Grace Church. Mina talks about the battleship General Harrison and many ships that are part of the landfill that San Francisco is built upon. Beneath San Francisco are buried opium dens and brothels. That Hollywood has us snowed on what real vampirism is all about, that vampires can actually walk into churches. While Mina is talking about the graveyard of ships that San Francisco is built upon, towering behind us is the majestic Grace Church where once Charles Crocker lived on that land, before the church was built. Charles Crocker is the founder of the Crocker Bank. Mina discusses the Wall of Spite and the presence of skull and crossbones near the wall. How fires at the church were blamed on the vampire community and further discussions of Mark Twain residing in San Francisco and the colorful character Emperor Joshua Norton, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico and that the things that he pulled off, he couldn't have been a mere mortal, that he must have been a vampire to excel with the accomplishments during his reign. Some of those Norton accomplishments were making it a misdemeanor if anyone said the name 'Frisco' referring to the city of San Francisco. San Franciscans do not like the name Frisco and until this day, this misdemeanor is still in the law books. Mina connects Dracula to Emperor Norton and goes on to discuss a Masonic cemetery. She tells how the Bay Bridge may be renamed to the Norton Bridge.
As I surveyed the crowd, I came upon another HPI paranormal investigator named Hanako Zeidenberg. When Hanako lived in Sacramento, she participated in the 400 Capitol Mall Haunting Investigation. She now lives in Oakland and decided to see what the vampire tour is all about. Shannon and I, gave Hanako a big warm welcome hug. Hanako has been away from HPI since her move and Shannon tells Hanako, she is always HPI and is part of the family forever. Hanoko radiates a big beaming smile and I tell her about the Mt. Shasta UFO/Bigfoot Pre-Investigation that is coming up and she is interested in participating in this pre-investigation. I hope she does!
2. Second Stop: Nob Hill Cafe. Mina explains that Jack the Ripper (who she claims is a vampire) came to San Francisco and changed his name to Choker Barnes. She claims at the cafe, the greatest vampire vs. mortal battle happened, in which 20 people were killed. It was because that a vampire den was discovered at the cafe and since vampires are very secretive, they fought the mortals to retain that secrecy. Mina elaborates on another Hollywood myth and talks about Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She says that Buffy can kill vampires with any type of wood, that this is an untruth. Vampires can only be killed with ashwood, the wood from the cross that Jesus Christ was crucified on. Mina says that San Francisco City Hall is the 2nd most haunted building in San Francisco and Alcatraz is the most haunted and takes the #1 spot.
3. Third Stop: James Flood's Home, which is now Pacific Union Club. Mina explains how the vampire community gave James Flood protection and security, because they respected his knowledge on business affairs. They also wanted to make James Flood a vampire and James stood up to the vampires and proclaimed that he came into the world as a mortal and is leaving this world as a mortal. James Flood had an underground tunnel from his mansion to his mistress house across the street. Some underground tunnels in San Francisco lead to brothers and clubs, Mina explains. When Mina entered James Flood's home one night, she heard an unearthly voice tell her 'it's true!' from a comment that Mina had made in the house. Mina talks about the comedian/ accused murderer Fatty Arbuckle and how he was associated with the St. Francis Hotel.
4. Fourth Stop: The Fairmont Hotel. Many movies were made at this hotel from Vertigo to The Rock. Prince Charles to Mick Jagger have stayed in this hotel as guests. The 7th Floor is reputed to be very haunted. It could be haunted by WWII soldiers that once stayed on that floor. A lady of the evening was murdered in the tower area of the hotel and a guest once saw the phantom of this murder victim as she laid on a 4 poster bed that no longer exists in the hotel, she was in a red teddy and actually talked to the guest. When the guest told hotel management, the management explained to him that they no longer have 4 poster beds in the room and when they went back to the room, there was no woman laying on a 4 poster bed in a red teddy. The guest was startled and realized he encountered the phantom of the murdered woman that night. The penthouse of this hotel is reputed to be haunted and Mae West's ghost is sometimes seen near the Penthouse. President Truman once stayed at the Penthouse. The lobby area of the Fairmont Hotel has a gorgeous staircase, this is where Gone with the Wind was filmed. Chris Grissom, HPI investigator, points out to Shannon "Ms. Macabre", that there was a figure in one of the darkened windows that peaked out at the crowd. Shannon saw the figure too, it was a head moving swiftly to the window and then moving back to hide. Chris and Shannon both thought this was quite odd. If it was a normal person, why wouldn't they just look normally from their window upon the crowd, why go back and hide behind the wall? Could this have been a phantom?
5. Last Stop: Mark Hopkins Hotel. During the last stop I was being interviewed by Kevin Jones about my own ghost hunting activities with HPI and didn't hear much about what Mina had to say about this magnificent looking hotel, and only gathered some information about 100 variety of martinis and the variation of martinis that is associated with this hotel.
The tour was fun and informative and Mina presented the information with enthusiasm and delight. As I was leaving the tour, I got a tap on my right shoulder. I turned around and a man dressed all in black asked me how I enjoyed the tour. I told him, it was a blast and wished it didn't have to end. He smiled and said that I have a lot more to learn about vampires. I asked him what his name was. With a hypnotic stare, he said 'Lee Stat' and walked backwards into the shadows. As I tried to follow his steps, he was no where around. As I rejoined Shannon and Chris, I thought about the name. Did he say Lee Stat or Lestat? Hmmmm.
After the insane day of vampire chasing Chris and I piled in Shannon's Ecto 1 and headed over to The Gold Cane on Haight Street and came upon Puppy, a guy we interviewed during the Haight Haunted Walking Tour. We talked with Puppy for a while, while Chris and I had a round of Jack and Coke. Shannon had to play the straight arrow, since she was driving Chris and I home. All three of us were getting tired and we rushed back to Ecto 1. Going to San Francisco, expenses gather and this is how I add things up for this trip.
Gas for Shannon's car: $20.00 Paul's pocket.
Parking for Shannon's car: $15.00 Chris's pocket.
Drinks at Hamilton Hotel: $20.00 Shannon's pocket.
Drinks at The Gold Cane: $15.00 Chris' pocket.
Midnight Snacks at McDonalds: $14.00 Paul's pocket.
The San Francisco Vampire Tour: Priceless!
"Thank you for sending this article. This is a very detailed and interesting piece, good work, but there are two problems I noticed, and you said we should point out to you any problems with what was written when we got this.
One was a misquote of what Cole said about blood drinking. You state that he said he drinks blood, but that is not what he said. Cole does not drink blood, but he did say that even vampires who drink blood rarely drink very much at a time, and sometimes only perhaps a teaspoon or two per feeding, maybe once in a month.
I will elaborate a little for you, since you forgot to ask us about it. This can vary, actually, from blood drinker to blood drinker, and some take more than the amounts he was talking about, just not usually. Some vampires, though it is the energy that they require, and not the blood its self, they feel that this is the only way they are able to connect enough to take from another person. I think they might be able to learn how to do it other ways, some like to do it both ways, since it is a very intense way to connect.
And since you were curious but didn't ask me, I will tell you that though what I usually take is energy, I do drink a little blood, but my blood drinking is only from two of my closest friends, both people I know are healthy and clean of infection, and have lifestyles that would not make them likely to contract things like AIDS, hepatitis, or other blood carried disease.
I am able to pull the blood through the skin in a very tightly concentrated area with my mouth, and this is good because I don't like the risk factor for scarring or infection involved with anything that breaks the skin. I take much more energy, more deeply in this way, but since this method is not required for me, I don't do it often.
The second thing I would ask you to be more careful about how you put is when you talk about us having fangs. You make it sound like we're walking around with theatrically huge pointed teeth, and claiming they are natural. In fact, our teeth might be considered subtly unusual (a thing I was careful to point out is something I think is purely coincidence), but they are well within the realm of normal length or sharpness for humans. People reading your article as it you have it now might easily get the impression that we have huge fangs, when really, they're just healthy teeth." -Rhiannon
Now, let's dive into my article, where I did some misquoting or did some misinterpretation, I apologize to Cole and Rhiannon.
Shannon McCabe, President of H.P.I. (Haunted and Paranormal Investigations) of Northern California learned about The Vampire Tour of San Francisco through Ricardo Pustanio of Haunted America Tours. Like I have said many times before, we investigate all things 'paranormal' and vampires are not an exception to the rule. September 29, 2007, Saturday, I headed over to Shannon's home and met up with fellow paranormal investigator Chris Grissom. The three of us were heading to San Francisco this day in Shannon's Ectoplasmobile aka Ecto 1, with Shannon driving. It was around 1:30pm when I arrived at Shannon's and she told Chris and I, we're going to pound flesh and hand out fliers at Sierra 2 Center and Curtis Park, where they were having a festival in the park. The fliers indicated that HPI is having a Halloween Bash at the Sierra 2 and the community was invited. So, that is what we did, introduced ourselves as HPI paranormal investigators and handed out fliers. After walking around the park for a good couple of hours, I heard my stomach growling, it was time to eat and head off to San Francisco. We got back in Ecto 1 and stopped at Shannon's favorite eating spot. AM/PM Mini Mart for hamburgers and hot dogs. Okay, maybe that's not Shannon's favorite eating spot, but the meal was a reasonable price and we weren't hungry anymore. Shannon treated Chris and I, to bottles of Starbucks ice coffee that she had in the trunk of the car. Now, that was a good pick me up.
Shannon, like a bat-out-of-hell, zoomed down Hwy 80 towards San Francisco and maneuvered through the streets of San Francisco with the experience of a street cop. We finally located a place to park and headed over to the elegant Hamilton Hotel to meet with our first vampire. As we waited for our first vampire interview, we dined on decadent spring rolls with shrimp and crab and chased down some Heineken and Anchor Steam beer. Then as I looked over to the left corner, I glimpsed a lady in black, it was our first vampire. She calls herself Mina Harker (a character from Bram Stoker's book Dracula). Her real name is Kitty Burns.
I learn all kinds of fascinating things about Kitty. She was actually a host at a vampire tour in Transylvania twice and once spent the night in Dracula's Castle. She hosted one tour with Eddie Munster aka Butch Patrick. She tells me how she once booked a vampire tour in New Orleans, during a business trip and wondered why San Francisco doesn't have a vampire tour in their own city. Then it dawned on her, she is a published playwright and why not start her own tour, she immediately started writing a script for the tour and has been giving the tour for 6 years now. She says the tour is more lighthearted and really doesn't dwell on the dark side of vampirism. It's more comedy than horror. I can just imagine that the script must have been pouring through her mind, while she cruised down the Mississippi River, when she made that business trip in New Orleans.
As I let Kitty talk, she discussed a very colorful character Emperor Norton and how no mortal could pull off printing his own money and collecting taxes from the people. She talked about James Flood, a successful businessman and how the vampire community loved him. In fact the vampire community learned how to start their own businesses through James Flood. We discussed various vampire clubs in existence around San Francisco and how people have embraced the vampire culture. Some of the vampires play the game Masquerade. Masquerade is a role playing vampire game. I mention to Kitty, that role playing games like Masquerade can sometimes get out of hand.
For an example:
A group of three teenagers were charged with the bludgeoning death of a Florida couple, parents of a fourth girl in their group. These teenagers were involved in the fantasy role playing game Vampire the Masquerade. Police said They "tortured puppies" and even "drank one another's blood." "Police said [the teens] were attracted to vampires by the best selling role-play game.
A Virginia Beach man was sentenced to 26 years in prison for sexually molesting [and biting] eight teen-age girls he [had] recruited for his vampire 'family' through the playing of "a game in which players assumed the roles of ancient vampires."
This is the dark side of vampirism that Kitty shuns and doesn't want to think about. It made me think, that everything seems to be a balance of Yin and Yang. There is the balance of good and the balance of evil. There will always be a balance of good and evil, it has been with us since the beginning of mankind and it will be with us to the end of days. Fortunately, this evening we are seeing the good side of vampirism through Kitty's eyes.
Kitty tells me that she dresses for the tour and wears a vampire costume of all black. Many Goths have taken her tour. She was approached once by a vampiress . The vampiress placed her hand on her shoulder and said "some of us really do exist darling."
Mina Harker, aka Kitty Burns, gets 15 to 30 people that take her nightly tour, at one evening she had 95 people show up! The vampire movies that Kitty loves are Abbott and Costello Meets Frankenstein, Interview with a Vampire (except that it was too bloody for Kitty's taste), Bela Lugosi's Dracula. She goes on to tell me that one time Kim Basinger took her tour and she didn't point out Kim to the crowd and just let her enjoy the tour. After the tour, Kitty approached Kim and said..."has anyone ever told you, you look like Kim Basinger?" Kim laughed and said..."yes, all the time!"
After I interviewed Kitty, I went over to the park across the street to interview two more vampires. Shannon introduced me to Cole and Rhiannon.
Cole states that when he was 17 years old, he had misconceptions on vampirism, he compared vampirism to what he watched from Hollywood movies, until he met a woman that explained to him what vampirism is really about, then he knew that true vampirism implied to his own persona. This is a woman he met at a Goth club. Rhiannon said she didn't realize it at first, but something was different about her, starting from what she felt in the 3rd grade. She felt other people's energy, she felt empathy for others, she could feel people's energy signatures left behind on objects, sort of like psychometrics. She could go past a school desk and feel the energy signature of the person that sat on that desk. Cole says that the scientific community needs to catch-up and discover what vampirism really is, it could be referred to as bio-deficiency syndrome as Cole likes to call it. Rhiannon says maybe vampires should be called energy absorbers. Cole elaborates and says that certain people as we call vampires, don't create enough energy within their beings and must acquire energy from others. Blood is a source of energy, some vampires may take their energy from ambient energy sources, like from a Black Sabbath concert, where there is a high abundance of energy. Rhiannon says she does better from one person, a willing host to her energy feeding. She and Cole can absorb energy from a touch and do not attempt to take energy from an unwilling host. The touch can last from 30 seconds to a minute.
Rhiannon, a lovely red haired vampiress tells me that she met Cole at a vampire oriented club called The Glass Cat. The Glass Cat was having a vampire ball. The Glass Cat is known to play electronic and industrial music. When Rhiannon met Cole, they knew they'd be friends for a long time to come.
I asked Rhiannon and Cole how they acquired their canines. Both have small fangs that stand out a bit more than usual, and they told me that their fangs are actually natural. Cole is a handsome young man, that wears a black trench coat, black shirt, black pants, black tie and has long black hair, he definitely looks the part of a vampire. These two were a pleasure to meet and I and HPI thank them very much for letting us into their world.
As the interview ended and I saw Rhiannon and Cole walk away, I remembered something that Cole had told me. He said that at times he takes in 2 or 3 teaspoons of blood. I forgot to ask him if that was human blood or animal blood and how does he acquire that blood? Does Rhiannon also drink blood? I was completely absorbed with the energy absorbing topic, I completely forgot about the consumption of blood. (Found in Rhiannon's email above.)
Well, it was time to move on as Shannon, Chris and a Berkeley journalist named Kevin Jones were approaching me. Kevin Jones was here to interview Shannon, Chris and I, about our ghost hunting. He has a show for the Berkeley University radio station called the Berkeley Radio Magazine.
As I was walking with Shannon, Chris and Kevin, I remembered how Cole told me that psychos are psychos as I questioned about the darker side of vampirism. Such as the serial killer Richard Trenton Chase, aka The Vampire of Sacramento. Cole also told me that he was aware of 10 true vampires in San Francisco and how vampirism is a condition. The reason why vampires wear black, is because black is an absorbent color. I talked about physical vampires, vampires that get their boost from the physical exertion of others, or sexual vampires, a person who goes from one partner to another, acquiring energy from their conquests. Cole tells me that in all cases, it's energy they are acquiring. To have sex, is exerting energy. To be physical as being pushed to do a lot of exercises, is exerting energy. I can only wonder if Army drill sergeants who push soldiers over the limits are energy vampires? I can only wonder again, if playboys like Warren Beatty who go from one conquest to another, are also energy vampires?
Cole and Rhiannon are two delightful people that enjoy life and Rhiannon's favorite vampire movie is Interview with a Vampire, while Cole enjoys the old Bela Lugosi's Dracula movies.
Vampires are everywhere. Right down the street from where I live, I have a vampire neighbor named Tremaine. He has silver plated vampire fangs. How Tremaine became a vampire is anyone's guess, he really doesn't discuss it, but he came from a family that was once associated with the Los Angeles Crips, his family is now disassociated with the Crips and live a descent suburbia life in Elk Grove. In HPI we have a ghost hunter named Carol Gillis that is a self-proclaimed vampiress. Also, in HPI another ghost hunter named Cherie Vincent embraces the vampire culture and has two vampire bite tattoos on her neck. Like I said, they are everywhere...
The SF Vampire Tour commences: Kitty takes on the character of Mina Harker. Mina Harker tells of falling victim to Dracula. She discussed Bram Stoker's book Dracula and elaborates her transformation of a living human being to a vampiress. There is black lining around her eyes, her skin is pale white, she wears a black cape and her outfit is all black. Mina carries a candleabra as she starts her tour. She discusses everything about an underground vampire culture that originates in Nob Hill, San Francisco. She blurs fiction with history as she talks about the following:
1. First Stop: The Grace Church. Mina talks about the battleship General Harrison and many ships that are part of the landfill that San Francisco is built upon. Beneath San Francisco are buried opium dens and brothels. That Hollywood has us snowed on what real vampirism is all about, that vampires can actually walk into churches. While Mina is talking about the graveyard of ships that San Francisco is built upon, towering behind us is the majestic Grace Church where once Charles Crocker lived on that land, before the church was built. Charles Crocker is the founder of the Crocker Bank. Mina discusses the Wall of Spite and the presence of skull and crossbones near the wall. How fires at the church were blamed on the vampire community and further discussions of Mark Twain residing in San Francisco and the colorful character Emperor Joshua Norton, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico and that the things that he pulled off, he couldn't have been a mere mortal, that he must have been a vampire to excel with the accomplishments during his reign. Some of those Norton accomplishments were making it a misdemeanor if anyone said the name 'Frisco' referring to the city of San Francisco. San Franciscans do not like the name Frisco and until this day, this misdemeanor is still in the law books. Mina connects Dracula to Emperor Norton and goes on to discuss a Masonic cemetery. She tells how the Bay Bridge may be renamed to the Norton Bridge.
As I surveyed the crowd, I came upon another HPI paranormal investigator named Hanako Zeidenberg. When Hanako lived in Sacramento, she participated in the 400 Capitol Mall Haunting Investigation. She now lives in Oakland and decided to see what the vampire tour is all about. Shannon and I, gave Hanako a big warm welcome hug. Hanako has been away from HPI since her move and Shannon tells Hanako, she is always HPI and is part of the family forever. Hanoko radiates a big beaming smile and I tell her about the Mt. Shasta UFO/Bigfoot Pre-Investigation that is coming up and she is interested in participating in this pre-investigation. I hope she does!
2. Second Stop: Nob Hill Cafe. Mina explains that Jack the Ripper (who she claims is a vampire) came to San Francisco and changed his name to Choker Barnes. She claims at the cafe, the greatest vampire vs. mortal battle happened, in which 20 people were killed. It was because that a vampire den was discovered at the cafe and since vampires are very secretive, they fought the mortals to retain that secrecy. Mina elaborates on another Hollywood myth and talks about Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She says that Buffy can kill vampires with any type of wood, that this is an untruth. Vampires can only be killed with ashwood, the wood from the cross that Jesus Christ was crucified on. Mina says that San Francisco City Hall is the 2nd most haunted building in San Francisco and Alcatraz is the most haunted and takes the #1 spot.
3. Third Stop: James Flood's Home, which is now Pacific Union Club. Mina explains how the vampire community gave James Flood protection and security, because they respected his knowledge on business affairs. They also wanted to make James Flood a vampire and James stood up to the vampires and proclaimed that he came into the world as a mortal and is leaving this world as a mortal. James Flood had an underground tunnel from his mansion to his mistress house across the street. Some underground tunnels in San Francisco lead to brothers and clubs, Mina explains. When Mina entered James Flood's home one night, she heard an unearthly voice tell her 'it's true!' from a comment that Mina had made in the house. Mina talks about the comedian/ accused murderer Fatty Arbuckle and how he was associated with the St. Francis Hotel.
4. Fourth Stop: The Fairmont Hotel. Many movies were made at this hotel from Vertigo to The Rock. Prince Charles to Mick Jagger have stayed in this hotel as guests. The 7th Floor is reputed to be very haunted. It could be haunted by WWII soldiers that once stayed on that floor. A lady of the evening was murdered in the tower area of the hotel and a guest once saw the phantom of this murder victim as she laid on a 4 poster bed that no longer exists in the hotel, she was in a red teddy and actually talked to the guest. When the guest told hotel management, the management explained to him that they no longer have 4 poster beds in the room and when they went back to the room, there was no woman laying on a 4 poster bed in a red teddy. The guest was startled and realized he encountered the phantom of the murdered woman that night. The penthouse of this hotel is reputed to be haunted and Mae West's ghost is sometimes seen near the Penthouse. President Truman once stayed at the Penthouse. The lobby area of the Fairmont Hotel has a gorgeous staircase, this is where Gone with the Wind was filmed. Chris Grissom, HPI investigator, points out to Shannon "Ms. Macabre", that there was a figure in one of the darkened windows that peaked out at the crowd. Shannon saw the figure too, it was a head moving swiftly to the window and then moving back to hide. Chris and Shannon both thought this was quite odd. If it was a normal person, why wouldn't they just look normally from their window upon the crowd, why go back and hide behind the wall? Could this have been a phantom?
5. Last Stop: Mark Hopkins Hotel. During the last stop I was being interviewed by Kevin Jones about my own ghost hunting activities with HPI and didn't hear much about what Mina had to say about this magnificent looking hotel, and only gathered some information about 100 variety of martinis and the variation of martinis that is associated with this hotel.
The tour was fun and informative and Mina presented the information with enthusiasm and delight. As I was leaving the tour, I got a tap on my right shoulder. I turned around and a man dressed all in black asked me how I enjoyed the tour. I told him, it was a blast and wished it didn't have to end. He smiled and said that I have a lot more to learn about vampires. I asked him what his name was. With a hypnotic stare, he said 'Lee Stat' and walked backwards into the shadows. As I tried to follow his steps, he was no where around. As I rejoined Shannon and Chris, I thought about the name. Did he say Lee Stat or Lestat? Hmmmm.
After the insane day of vampire chasing Chris and I piled in Shannon's Ecto 1 and headed over to The Gold Cane on Haight Street and came upon Puppy, a guy we interviewed during the Haight Haunted Walking Tour. We talked with Puppy for a while, while Chris and I had a round of Jack and Coke. Shannon had to play the straight arrow, since she was driving Chris and I home. All three of us were getting tired and we rushed back to Ecto 1. Going to San Francisco, expenses gather and this is how I add things up for this trip.
Gas for Shannon's car: $20.00 Paul's pocket.
Parking for Shannon's car: $15.00 Chris's pocket.
Drinks at Hamilton Hotel: $20.00 Shannon's pocket.
Drinks at The Gold Cane: $15.00 Chris' pocket.
Midnight Snacks at McDonalds: $14.00 Paul's pocket.
The San Francisco Vampire Tour: Priceless!
What is The True Story Behind Vampires?
Vampire. The word conjures up images of suave, handsome, or strikingly beautiful creatures, such as is depicted in Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. Those of you who are fans of her books are quite familiar with the arrogant and sexy Lestat.
One of the most famous vampires of all time is, of course, Count Dracula. The brain child of Bram Stoker who based his immortal monster on a Hungarian ruler know as Vlad Tepes, also know as Vlad Dracul-a, which when translated means "son of the dragon", a nicknamed that was well earned, for the count was a blood thirsty and ruthless ruler.
He was also known as Vlad the Impaler due to his habit of impaling people on very sharp stakes and letting them suffer until they died a horrible and extremely painful death. The legends of vampires were around long before Stoker wrote his book.
From very early times there have been reports and tales of vampires, or vampyr, which means, when roughly translated, "blood drinker". In nature there are all kinds of vampires. Mosquitoes, tick, fleas, bedbugs, and a species of bat that drinks blood, named most aptly the vampire bat.
But, what about the vampires of legend? Do they exist? There are some well documented accounts that indicate they do.
There was the case of Arnold Paole. It was reported that Arnold was bitten by a vampire while he was serving as a soldier in his country's army. When he returned home from service he became a farmer. One day while cutting hay Paole had an accident which killed him. A few days later, people started dying from loss of blood. The people started saying there was a vampire in their midst.
There were several eye-witness reports that said they had seen Arnold walking around after his death. His eye were glassy and his teeth had grown long and sharp. The locals went to dig up Paole's body, and when the had unearthed the corpse, there was no decay and there was fresh blood on the lips and a bloom of color in the cheeks. Arnold looked as fresh as the day he had died. The locals pounded a stake through the vampire's heart and heard the vampire screech in agony. Then they cut off the head and burned the body. The deaths stopped.
Count Dracula ~ Vlad Tepes
HISTORICAL BACKGROUND:
Transylvania was a region where the Hungarian king allowed German people to settle down in the 11th century. In the 15th century, when Dracula was born, Transylvania was one of the richest regions of Europe, which made it one of the main goals of the Turkish invasions.
Vlad's father, which was the first one to be called "Dracula", was a warlord, who was set on the throne of the Wallach country (in the south of Transylvania) by Hungarian and Transylvanian rulers, after he swore to protect Christian regions against Turkish Invasions. But he was beaten, and his two sons, Vlad and Raul, were taken to Turkey to force their father to cooperate and send large amounts of silver to Turkey each month.
While Raul became a friend of the Sultan, Vlad used the time to study the Turkish language, Turkish torture methods and Turkish strategy. After his father's death the two sons could return to Transylvania, Vlad took his father's place and refused to cooperate with the Sultan. He chose the Danube as a border the Turkish army shall not cross and founded today's Romanian capital Bucharest as a strategic base.
In his three reigns, he became known as a cruel, but genius warlord, and he remained victorious until he was killed in a battle against his own brother Raul.
THE NAME:
In his lifetime, Dracula was known as Vlad Tepes, where Tepes means "The Impaler". It was always said that "Dracula" comes from "The Dragon Order", whose members, like his father, swore to defend the Christian world against Islam, especially the Turkish Invasions. But if you look at any Romanian source or ask local people, you get another answer: "dracul", in the Romanian language, originally means "the devil" - therefore, Vlad the cruel impaler gave it a whole new meaning.
THE BLOODTHIRSTY:
Vlad was known for his cruelty. There are paintings of him, having lunch while enjoying to see people die on the sticks. It was said that after a great battle there was a whole forest of sticks with impaled Turkish soldiers, which made the Sultan withdraw in horror, although he had the better chances to win the war.
There are also stories about Vlad killing children and drinking their blood in front of their parents. Also, cooking people and solving the poverty problem by burning hundreds of poor in a locked off building.
But, today Vlad Tepes is seen as a Romanian hero. For it was said that he was the only ruler who managed to control the country. It was said that there was a lonely spring in the middle of a forest, where he laid a golden cup so that all wanderers could drink, and that it wasn't stolen during his whole reign. Although he used cruel methods, it was said that he had a great sense of justice.
HIS DEATH, THE MYTH:
One legend says that Dracula dressed himself as a Turkish soldier to spy on the Turkish troops, and, by accident, was killed by his own soldiers. Raul took his head to Turkey, while his body was buried on a small island in a lake. After that, it was said that paranormal things happened round that lake. For example, once a group of prisoners crossed the bridge to the island, every one tied to his next, when the bridge broke down - none of them survived.
This information about Count Dracula and Vlad Tepes was provided to us by Irmi Meister, who was actually born in Transylvania.
Vampires Amongst Us
Our culture delights in tales of the Vampire; that suave, powerful creature that preys on the blood of mere mortals for its sustenance. But no one has ever dragged a blood drinking, immortal "Count Dracula" wanna-be into the light for proof so this creature continues to thrive in myth and storytelling. But behind all good tales there lies a grain or two of truth and herein we expose the vampires amongst us.
First let us dispel the classic form. Through misunderstanding of disease and only recently studied aspects of the physics of decomposition have scientists been able to adequately explain the cause of some of these myths. There are conditions of humidity, airtightness and makeup of human bodies that have been shown to slow down and sometimes even suspend the decomposition process. However, when these preserved bodies are exhumed; brought into the sunlight as it were, the reintroduction of fresh air has disrupted that balance and the decay sets in, sometimes at accelerated speeds.
The pathology of comas are even now not entirely understood but sometimes research doctors have studied people who's life signs have dropped so low that it requires advanced technological devices to see that they ARE still corporeal. So it is no wonder that people in the past would be horrified when someone "dead" would suddenly rise up again.
Since the first recorded instances of vampires; coming from the Sumerians who five thousand years ago wrote of the "ekimmu" the "evil gust of wind" that drains the life force, people have tried to determine what comprises vampirism. Today, research has shown that there is truly a vampiric force at work in the world. Any scientist will tell you that all life is comprised of energy and it is this energy that is the target of transference by what has come to be known as the "psychic vampire".
No, the psychic vampire is not a demonic revenant; it is a much more frightening phenomena in that they are living, mortal humans. They are the individuals who's life force, the "pranic energy" which emanates from all living things, has gotten out of balance or has been depleted.
Under normal circumstances, we each create and use this energy to propel us through our lives. It is usually a balanced flow from creating it with the energy absorbed from food and air and used through the muscle and mental activities we perform. There is a normal fluctuation in the energy flow. When fatigue toxins build up in our bodies we feel "tired". After a rest, so these toxins can be removed by the blood, we will feel "refreshed".
The psychic vampire is a person in whom this flow is perpetually imbalanced and therefore they boost their own levels by contact with other people and "absorb" that energy for themselves. You will most likely recognize the signs of psychic vampires. They are the individuals who need constant attention, sympathy, or reaffirmation of their worth. They are the often belligerent people we meet who demand they be noticed and obeyed; the ones who waste our time being made to give them our attention or else.
To their credit, this phenomena is not usually a conscious process. They feel weak and run down and for some reason talking to or being around other people makes them feel better, for a while. Without realizing it, they create a psychic vortex around themselves that draws life energy towards them. Meanwhile, those who have been in balance find themselves increasingly "drained" of energy and can find themselves "exhausted" after dealing with these people.
The main defense against this type of parasitic attachment is to recognize the symptoms and try to avoid these people. Keep a clear mental shield up in your thoughts that they cannot absorb you and make sure to hang up the phone when you are through, no matter how hard they try to keep you on the line and sucking you dry.
Vampires Amongst Us Contributed by Wm Douglas & Simone Mefford and Copyright © 2007 True Ghost Tales all rights reserved. No part of this story may be used without permission.
One of the most famous vampires of all time is, of course, Count Dracula. The brain child of Bram Stoker who based his immortal monster on a Hungarian ruler know as Vlad Tepes, also know as Vlad Dracul-a, which when translated means "son of the dragon", a nicknamed that was well earned, for the count was a blood thirsty and ruthless ruler.
He was also known as Vlad the Impaler due to his habit of impaling people on very sharp stakes and letting them suffer until they died a horrible and extremely painful death. The legends of vampires were around long before Stoker wrote his book.
From very early times there have been reports and tales of vampires, or vampyr, which means, when roughly translated, "blood drinker". In nature there are all kinds of vampires. Mosquitoes, tick, fleas, bedbugs, and a species of bat that drinks blood, named most aptly the vampire bat.
But, what about the vampires of legend? Do they exist? There are some well documented accounts that indicate they do.
There was the case of Arnold Paole. It was reported that Arnold was bitten by a vampire while he was serving as a soldier in his country's army. When he returned home from service he became a farmer. One day while cutting hay Paole had an accident which killed him. A few days later, people started dying from loss of blood. The people started saying there was a vampire in their midst.
There were several eye-witness reports that said they had seen Arnold walking around after his death. His eye were glassy and his teeth had grown long and sharp. The locals went to dig up Paole's body, and when the had unearthed the corpse, there was no decay and there was fresh blood on the lips and a bloom of color in the cheeks. Arnold looked as fresh as the day he had died. The locals pounded a stake through the vampire's heart and heard the vampire screech in agony. Then they cut off the head and burned the body. The deaths stopped.
Count Dracula ~ Vlad Tepes
HISTORICAL BACKGROUND:
Transylvania was a region where the Hungarian king allowed German people to settle down in the 11th century. In the 15th century, when Dracula was born, Transylvania was one of the richest regions of Europe, which made it one of the main goals of the Turkish invasions.
Vlad's father, which was the first one to be called "Dracula", was a warlord, who was set on the throne of the Wallach country (in the south of Transylvania) by Hungarian and Transylvanian rulers, after he swore to protect Christian regions against Turkish Invasions. But he was beaten, and his two sons, Vlad and Raul, were taken to Turkey to force their father to cooperate and send large amounts of silver to Turkey each month.
While Raul became a friend of the Sultan, Vlad used the time to study the Turkish language, Turkish torture methods and Turkish strategy. After his father's death the two sons could return to Transylvania, Vlad took his father's place and refused to cooperate with the Sultan. He chose the Danube as a border the Turkish army shall not cross and founded today's Romanian capital Bucharest as a strategic base.
In his three reigns, he became known as a cruel, but genius warlord, and he remained victorious until he was killed in a battle against his own brother Raul.
THE NAME:
In his lifetime, Dracula was known as Vlad Tepes, where Tepes means "The Impaler". It was always said that "Dracula" comes from "The Dragon Order", whose members, like his father, swore to defend the Christian world against Islam, especially the Turkish Invasions. But if you look at any Romanian source or ask local people, you get another answer: "dracul", in the Romanian language, originally means "the devil" - therefore, Vlad the cruel impaler gave it a whole new meaning.
THE BLOODTHIRSTY:
Vlad was known for his cruelty. There are paintings of him, having lunch while enjoying to see people die on the sticks. It was said that after a great battle there was a whole forest of sticks with impaled Turkish soldiers, which made the Sultan withdraw in horror, although he had the better chances to win the war.
There are also stories about Vlad killing children and drinking their blood in front of their parents. Also, cooking people and solving the poverty problem by burning hundreds of poor in a locked off building.
But, today Vlad Tepes is seen as a Romanian hero. For it was said that he was the only ruler who managed to control the country. It was said that there was a lonely spring in the middle of a forest, where he laid a golden cup so that all wanderers could drink, and that it wasn't stolen during his whole reign. Although he used cruel methods, it was said that he had a great sense of justice.
HIS DEATH, THE MYTH:
One legend says that Dracula dressed himself as a Turkish soldier to spy on the Turkish troops, and, by accident, was killed by his own soldiers. Raul took his head to Turkey, while his body was buried on a small island in a lake. After that, it was said that paranormal things happened round that lake. For example, once a group of prisoners crossed the bridge to the island, every one tied to his next, when the bridge broke down - none of them survived.
This information about Count Dracula and Vlad Tepes was provided to us by Irmi Meister, who was actually born in Transylvania.
Vampires Amongst Us
Our culture delights in tales of the Vampire; that suave, powerful creature that preys on the blood of mere mortals for its sustenance. But no one has ever dragged a blood drinking, immortal "Count Dracula" wanna-be into the light for proof so this creature continues to thrive in myth and storytelling. But behind all good tales there lies a grain or two of truth and herein we expose the vampires amongst us.
First let us dispel the classic form. Through misunderstanding of disease and only recently studied aspects of the physics of decomposition have scientists been able to adequately explain the cause of some of these myths. There are conditions of humidity, airtightness and makeup of human bodies that have been shown to slow down and sometimes even suspend the decomposition process. However, when these preserved bodies are exhumed; brought into the sunlight as it were, the reintroduction of fresh air has disrupted that balance and the decay sets in, sometimes at accelerated speeds.
The pathology of comas are even now not entirely understood but sometimes research doctors have studied people who's life signs have dropped so low that it requires advanced technological devices to see that they ARE still corporeal. So it is no wonder that people in the past would be horrified when someone "dead" would suddenly rise up again.
Since the first recorded instances of vampires; coming from the Sumerians who five thousand years ago wrote of the "ekimmu" the "evil gust of wind" that drains the life force, people have tried to determine what comprises vampirism. Today, research has shown that there is truly a vampiric force at work in the world. Any scientist will tell you that all life is comprised of energy and it is this energy that is the target of transference by what has come to be known as the "psychic vampire".
No, the psychic vampire is not a demonic revenant; it is a much more frightening phenomena in that they are living, mortal humans. They are the individuals who's life force, the "pranic energy" which emanates from all living things, has gotten out of balance or has been depleted.
Under normal circumstances, we each create and use this energy to propel us through our lives. It is usually a balanced flow from creating it with the energy absorbed from food and air and used through the muscle and mental activities we perform. There is a normal fluctuation in the energy flow. When fatigue toxins build up in our bodies we feel "tired". After a rest, so these toxins can be removed by the blood, we will feel "refreshed".
The psychic vampire is a person in whom this flow is perpetually imbalanced and therefore they boost their own levels by contact with other people and "absorb" that energy for themselves. You will most likely recognize the signs of psychic vampires. They are the individuals who need constant attention, sympathy, or reaffirmation of their worth. They are the often belligerent people we meet who demand they be noticed and obeyed; the ones who waste our time being made to give them our attention or else.
To their credit, this phenomena is not usually a conscious process. They feel weak and run down and for some reason talking to or being around other people makes them feel better, for a while. Without realizing it, they create a psychic vortex around themselves that draws life energy towards them. Meanwhile, those who have been in balance find themselves increasingly "drained" of energy and can find themselves "exhausted" after dealing with these people.
The main defense against this type of parasitic attachment is to recognize the symptoms and try to avoid these people. Keep a clear mental shield up in your thoughts that they cannot absorb you and make sure to hang up the phone when you are through, no matter how hard they try to keep you on the line and sucking you dry.
Vampires Amongst Us Contributed by Wm Douglas & Simone Mefford and Copyright © 2007 True Ghost Tales all rights reserved. No part of this story may be used without permission.
Ghost Hunting
If you've been looking for a no-nonsense guide to get you quickly started on your first ghost hunt or to help improve your next one, then you've found it. With our simple, concise ghost hunting guidelines, tools and expert tips you can become an effective ghost hunter or paranormal investigator in your own right and save time, money, and effort while avoiding embarrassing and costly mistakes. Let us help guide you to the best results possible.
Through first-hand experience, unique insights, and proven techniques, you'll be able to handle hauntings and other ghostly activity simply and inexpensively while keeping a cool head and a steady hand.
Ghost Hunters Guide to Hauntings, Paranormal Activity,
Ghosts and Spirits
This report scrapes away the fluff and filler and helps you hit the ground running with key guidelines and insights that will help ensure that your search for ghostly and paranormal activity is a success.
This Amazing Report Will Open Your Eyes
Dreaming of succesfully hunting and sighting ghosts is one thing. Taking the steps to actually live that dream is another. This report will open your eyes to what is possible and how to start making your ghost hunting ambitions a reality.
A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal draws from thousands of hours of research and first-hand experience. It pulls no punches and tells it like it really is.
This Comprehensive Report Explodes the Myths
and Exposes the Truth
Forget the media hype. If you want to know what a real ghost hunt or paranormal investigation is all about then you owe it to yourself to gather as many behind-the-scenes and in-the-trenches insights as possible. It's the nuts & bolts, proper background information, and due consideration of others that make all the difference between success and frustration. We've compiled and distilled the very best and most useful information available from years of research activity. Now you can benefit from this extensive experience and massive resource at a fraction of the normal price.
"Fascinating... Your instructions for newcomers to the field of ghost hunting and spirit research are excellent and your no-holds-barred discussion of the paranormal community is delightful. Many thanks for a great read."
- C.M. Cole
United Kingdom
Real Ghost Hunting -- from a Ghost Hunter's Perspective
Ghost Hunters and paranormal investigators are a different breed. Most have a different way of looking at things. Their inherent initiative demands shrewd insights and solid information sources to help them hit the ground running. A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal was written by ghost hunters for ghost hunters. We've done the groundwork, so you don't have to.
Experience the Fascination and Thrill of a Paranormal Encounter
If you're considering a first step into the fascinating and thrilling world of ghost hunting, or if you're looking to dramatically improve your experience the next time you go ghosting, then you need access to top-notch information and first-hand knowledge. A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal was created to help guide you through the maze.
Avoid Frustration and Spend Your Time More Effectively
Some say that you can't learn from the mistakes of others. We beg to differ. The experiences of others can provide essential insights and guidance. This informative report gives you the chance to learn from the experiences of those who have not only been there, but have learned the hard way. Let them teach you.
"... invaluable information for the budding ghost hunter and veteran investigator alike."
- Shawn
United States
Which Approach is Best For You?
You have your own reasons for wanting to search out ghosts and spirits. Perhaps it's to learn more about life after death. Perhaps you'd like to experience the thrill of your first paranormal encounter. Maybe you'd like to establish your own paranormal research or ghost hunting group to investigate purported hauntings in your area. Perhaps you're simply looking for a bit of extra excitement in your life. Or maybe you'd like to enjoy one or more of these benefits while helping others to better understand and deal with strange paranormal events that may be going on around them. Whatever your reasons, they're what make your situation and approach unique, and why you need real answers.
Like an Old Friend, Guiding You Each Step of the Way
Like an old friend, this report can help you find your way through the maze of theories, practices, legal issues, equipment, paperwork and alternatives that you will be presented with. It's a different world out there. Be prepared.
We'll Even Tell You How We Get Our Best Results in Record Time!
We'll walk you through the entire ghost hunting process from a simple ghosting vigil to a full-blown paranormal investigation. We'll tell you what we and others have done to get the best results in the shortest possible time. And just as importantly, we'll tell you to what to expect and what to be prepared for both before and after you arrive on site. Along the way we discuss gems of inside observation that only insiders can provide.
How to Find the Best Haunted Buildings, Structures, and Sites
We'll provide the tools and information necessary to help you find the best hauntings and the houses, graveyards, structures, roads and sites most likely to display ghost and spirit activity.
"... we love the report and the resources. Keep up the good work!
- Sue & Brad
Canada
Loaded with Timely Information Worth a King's Ransom
If only this report had existed when we were first getting started in scientific ghost hunting. We would have gladly paid ten times more than it's ridiculously low price today. If just one idea or bit of information could help keep you from making a costly mistake, imagine how much you stand to gain from the hundreds of suggestions, tips, resources, links and ideas laid out in this comprehensive report -- it's truly priceless!
A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal is bulging with a wealth of information, resources, links and tips to get you started, and more importantly, to help keep you moving toward your goal. Just take a look at this partial list of contents:
Partial List of Comprehensive Contents
Bulging with a wealth of information, guidelines, resources, links and tips, this comprehensive report has something for everyone.
Here are just some of the topics and sections included in A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal:
* Why Hunt Ghosts?
* Are Ghosts Real?
* What Types of People
See Ghosts?
* Ghosts In Our Culture
* Check Out the Stats
* Ancient Culture & the Paranormal
* What is a Ghost?
* Are Ghosts a Hallucination?
* Are Ghosts the Creation of a
Discarnate Mind?
* Are Ghosts a Dream?
* Are Ghosts Telepathic Images?
* Are Ghosts a "Glitch in Time?"
* Are Ghosts a Bundle of Energy?
* Five Major Assumptions
* Ghost Psychology
* Some Ghosts Are Clueless
* What's Common to All Ghosts?
* Grumpy, Testy, & Klutzy Ghosts
* Ghost vs. Spirit
* Cut 'em Some Slack...Be Humane
* The Forms Ghosts Take
* "What the Hell Did I Just
Experience?!"
* Mists, Orbs, & Vortices
* Poltergeists: Ghosts & Adolescent
Anger
* Imprints
* Truly "Organic" Cinema
* Phantom Rush Hour
* Be Careful What You Say
* Warps
* Entities
* "Ghosts" of the Living
* Doppelgangers
* OBE's (Out of Body Experiences)
* Ghosts Back "From" Tomorrow
* Harbingers
* Children and Ghosts
* It's OK to Leave the Light On
* Animals and Ghosts
* The Science of Ghosts
* Seasons & Weather
* Ghosts, Spirits, and the
Electromagnetic Spectrum
* Midnight... the Magic Hour
* Where Do I Find Ghosts?:
Location, Location, Location
* Ghost Photography
* Orbs, Vortices, & Mists
* Pros & Cons of Different Cameras
* Photography Tips
* Some Things Can Simply Never
Be Recorded
* Determining the Authenticity
Ghost Photos
* All about EVP
* How, and With What Do I
Find Ghosts?
* Precise Tools and
Techniques
* When the Media Misses
the Point
* You Don't Have to Go
Broke!
* The Bare Essentials
* A Better Ghost Hunting
Toolkit
* For the More Advanced
Investigator
* Why Do Ghosts Remain?
* Ghostly Motivations
* It All Happened So Fast
* A Never-Ending Story
* Revenge Is a Dish Best
Served Dead
* Fear of the Unknown
* Love is Forever
* Instincts Survive Death
* You Can't Take It With You
* Anyone Can Do This
* Increase Your Sensitivities
and Awareness
* Top-10 Things NOT to Do
* What Were You Thinking?!
* How to Conduct a Basic
Ghost Hunt
* How to Conduct a Full
Paranormal Investigation
* Why Clients Seek Paranormal
Investigations
* Watch Out For the Living!
* The Interview
* Research
* Where to Look
* Investigation vs. Ghost Hunt
* Beginning the Investigation
* Equipment Set-up
* During the Investigation
* Concluding the Investigation
* Filing It Away for
Further Reference
* Forms, Forms, and
More Forms...
* Commercial Ghost Tours
* "Dead" Zoos
* Where Have All the
Ghosties Gone?
* Back In the Day
* Mediums & Psychics
Fact or Fraud?
* A Case of the "Real Deal"
* Scammers vs. True
Sensitives
* A Short History of
Modern Spiritualism
* How They Did It
* "Prophets" for Profit
* How to "Shop" for a Medium
or Psychic
* Past Life Regressions
* Don't Go There...
No Really, Don't Go There!
* Oui, Ja... No! No!
* Malevolent Entities and
Ghostly Parasites
* Tips On Remaining In Control
of a Paranormal Encounter
* Conclusion & Final Thoughts
"... soooo interesting... opened my eyes to a whole new reality. Thanks a lot."
- Gary C.
United States
We're so sure that you will absolutely love A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal that we're willing to back it with not just a 30-day guarantee... not just a 45-day guarantee... but a full 8-week, 100% absolutely risk-free guarantee! Not only that, but we won't even ask you to delete the files if you decide that you don't like it!
Through first-hand experience, unique insights, and proven techniques, you'll be able to handle hauntings and other ghostly activity simply and inexpensively while keeping a cool head and a steady hand.
Ghost Hunters Guide to Hauntings, Paranormal Activity,
Ghosts and Spirits
This report scrapes away the fluff and filler and helps you hit the ground running with key guidelines and insights that will help ensure that your search for ghostly and paranormal activity is a success.
This Amazing Report Will Open Your Eyes
Dreaming of succesfully hunting and sighting ghosts is one thing. Taking the steps to actually live that dream is another. This report will open your eyes to what is possible and how to start making your ghost hunting ambitions a reality.
A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal draws from thousands of hours of research and first-hand experience. It pulls no punches and tells it like it really is.
This Comprehensive Report Explodes the Myths
and Exposes the Truth
Forget the media hype. If you want to know what a real ghost hunt or paranormal investigation is all about then you owe it to yourself to gather as many behind-the-scenes and in-the-trenches insights as possible. It's the nuts & bolts, proper background information, and due consideration of others that make all the difference between success and frustration. We've compiled and distilled the very best and most useful information available from years of research activity. Now you can benefit from this extensive experience and massive resource at a fraction of the normal price.
"Fascinating... Your instructions for newcomers to the field of ghost hunting and spirit research are excellent and your no-holds-barred discussion of the paranormal community is delightful. Many thanks for a great read."
- C.M. Cole
United Kingdom
Real Ghost Hunting -- from a Ghost Hunter's Perspective
Ghost Hunters and paranormal investigators are a different breed. Most have a different way of looking at things. Their inherent initiative demands shrewd insights and solid information sources to help them hit the ground running. A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal was written by ghost hunters for ghost hunters. We've done the groundwork, so you don't have to.
Experience the Fascination and Thrill of a Paranormal Encounter
If you're considering a first step into the fascinating and thrilling world of ghost hunting, or if you're looking to dramatically improve your experience the next time you go ghosting, then you need access to top-notch information and first-hand knowledge. A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal was created to help guide you through the maze.
Avoid Frustration and Spend Your Time More Effectively
Some say that you can't learn from the mistakes of others. We beg to differ. The experiences of others can provide essential insights and guidance. This informative report gives you the chance to learn from the experiences of those who have not only been there, but have learned the hard way. Let them teach you.
"... invaluable information for the budding ghost hunter and veteran investigator alike."
- Shawn
United States
Which Approach is Best For You?
You have your own reasons for wanting to search out ghosts and spirits. Perhaps it's to learn more about life after death. Perhaps you'd like to experience the thrill of your first paranormal encounter. Maybe you'd like to establish your own paranormal research or ghost hunting group to investigate purported hauntings in your area. Perhaps you're simply looking for a bit of extra excitement in your life. Or maybe you'd like to enjoy one or more of these benefits while helping others to better understand and deal with strange paranormal events that may be going on around them. Whatever your reasons, they're what make your situation and approach unique, and why you need real answers.
Like an Old Friend, Guiding You Each Step of the Way
Like an old friend, this report can help you find your way through the maze of theories, practices, legal issues, equipment, paperwork and alternatives that you will be presented with. It's a different world out there. Be prepared.
We'll Even Tell You How We Get Our Best Results in Record Time!
We'll walk you through the entire ghost hunting process from a simple ghosting vigil to a full-blown paranormal investigation. We'll tell you what we and others have done to get the best results in the shortest possible time. And just as importantly, we'll tell you to what to expect and what to be prepared for both before and after you arrive on site. Along the way we discuss gems of inside observation that only insiders can provide.
How to Find the Best Haunted Buildings, Structures, and Sites
We'll provide the tools and information necessary to help you find the best hauntings and the houses, graveyards, structures, roads and sites most likely to display ghost and spirit activity.
"... we love the report and the resources. Keep up the good work!
- Sue & Brad
Canada
Loaded with Timely Information Worth a King's Ransom
If only this report had existed when we were first getting started in scientific ghost hunting. We would have gladly paid ten times more than it's ridiculously low price today. If just one idea or bit of information could help keep you from making a costly mistake, imagine how much you stand to gain from the hundreds of suggestions, tips, resources, links and ideas laid out in this comprehensive report -- it's truly priceless!
A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal is bulging with a wealth of information, resources, links and tips to get you started, and more importantly, to help keep you moving toward your goal. Just take a look at this partial list of contents:
Partial List of Comprehensive Contents
Bulging with a wealth of information, guidelines, resources, links and tips, this comprehensive report has something for everyone.
Here are just some of the topics and sections included in A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal:
* Why Hunt Ghosts?
* Are Ghosts Real?
* What Types of People
See Ghosts?
* Ghosts In Our Culture
* Check Out the Stats
* Ancient Culture & the Paranormal
* What is a Ghost?
* Are Ghosts a Hallucination?
* Are Ghosts the Creation of a
Discarnate Mind?
* Are Ghosts a Dream?
* Are Ghosts Telepathic Images?
* Are Ghosts a "Glitch in Time?"
* Are Ghosts a Bundle of Energy?
* Five Major Assumptions
* Ghost Psychology
* Some Ghosts Are Clueless
* What's Common to All Ghosts?
* Grumpy, Testy, & Klutzy Ghosts
* Ghost vs. Spirit
* Cut 'em Some Slack...Be Humane
* The Forms Ghosts Take
* "What the Hell Did I Just
Experience?!"
* Mists, Orbs, & Vortices
* Poltergeists: Ghosts & Adolescent
Anger
* Imprints
* Truly "Organic" Cinema
* Phantom Rush Hour
* Be Careful What You Say
* Warps
* Entities
* "Ghosts" of the Living
* Doppelgangers
* OBE's (Out of Body Experiences)
* Ghosts Back "From" Tomorrow
* Harbingers
* Children and Ghosts
* It's OK to Leave the Light On
* Animals and Ghosts
* The Science of Ghosts
* Seasons & Weather
* Ghosts, Spirits, and the
Electromagnetic Spectrum
* Midnight... the Magic Hour
* Where Do I Find Ghosts?:
Location, Location, Location
* Ghost Photography
* Orbs, Vortices, & Mists
* Pros & Cons of Different Cameras
* Photography Tips
* Some Things Can Simply Never
Be Recorded
* Determining the Authenticity
Ghost Photos
* All about EVP
* How, and With What Do I
Find Ghosts?
* Precise Tools and
Techniques
* When the Media Misses
the Point
* You Don't Have to Go
Broke!
* The Bare Essentials
* A Better Ghost Hunting
Toolkit
* For the More Advanced
Investigator
* Why Do Ghosts Remain?
* Ghostly Motivations
* It All Happened So Fast
* A Never-Ending Story
* Revenge Is a Dish Best
Served Dead
* Fear of the Unknown
* Love is Forever
* Instincts Survive Death
* You Can't Take It With You
* Anyone Can Do This
* Increase Your Sensitivities
and Awareness
* Top-10 Things NOT to Do
* What Were You Thinking?!
* How to Conduct a Basic
Ghost Hunt
* How to Conduct a Full
Paranormal Investigation
* Why Clients Seek Paranormal
Investigations
* Watch Out For the Living!
* The Interview
* Research
* Where to Look
* Investigation vs. Ghost Hunt
* Beginning the Investigation
* Equipment Set-up
* During the Investigation
* Concluding the Investigation
* Filing It Away for
Further Reference
* Forms, Forms, and
More Forms...
* Commercial Ghost Tours
* "Dead" Zoos
* Where Have All the
Ghosties Gone?
* Back In the Day
* Mediums & Psychics
Fact or Fraud?
* A Case of the "Real Deal"
* Scammers vs. True
Sensitives
* A Short History of
Modern Spiritualism
* How They Did It
* "Prophets" for Profit
* How to "Shop" for a Medium
or Psychic
* Past Life Regressions
* Don't Go There...
No Really, Don't Go There!
* Oui, Ja... No! No!
* Malevolent Entities and
Ghostly Parasites
* Tips On Remaining In Control
of a Paranormal Encounter
* Conclusion & Final Thoughts
"... soooo interesting... opened my eyes to a whole new reality. Thanks a lot."
- Gary C.
United States
We're so sure that you will absolutely love A Ghost in Every House - A Guide to Ghost Hunting, Hauntings, and the Paranormal that we're willing to back it with not just a 30-day guarantee... not just a 45-day guarantee... but a full 8-week, 100% absolutely risk-free guarantee! Not only that, but we won't even ask you to delete the files if you decide that you don't like it!
House Of Ghosts
Hello, my name is Chelsea, and what I am about to tell you is 100% true. I've had many previous ghostly experiences, and I will tell you a few.
The first time I encountered the paranormal was when I was about 7 or 8. Now, at that age, I used to wake up at about 7:30 or so, when no one else was up. This was in my old room, and if you were to be on my bed, you could turn your head to face the hallway.
One morning, I woke up early, and turned my head to look at the hall as always. To my surprise, there was a beautiful young woman, all white, long wavy hair, and in a wedding dress, running down the hallway. She was running into the washroom. I was quite terrified, although I felt she was harmless.
Well, about a week later, I was brushing my teeth in the washroom. I looked up to see none other than the face of the woman I saw in the hallway, looking at me.
Another time, age 13, I was brushing my teeth again, and I looked to my left, and saw a white figure, who immediately disappeared. I was sort of freaked, but continued on with brushing my teeth. I looked to my left again, and saw the same figure, who this time, ran down the hall, and disappeared. I began to brush my teeth again. I looked to the left one more time, and saw the same figure yet again. This time it just stood, watching me.
My room, which is now downstairs is home to what I believe to be three ghosts, one of who's name I believe is Armand. My computer is down here, in the basement, in my room. I will sometimes see a white figure peeking at me from around a wall corner, or standing in front of the T.V. He doesn't bother me too much.
Another time, I was on my computer, and I saw something walk behind me. I ignored it, and continued with what I was doing. After a while, it started to put it's arms on mine, hold my hands, tickle me, scratch my head, although he seemed to like me a bit too much, touching me all over. Whenever my dad would come downstairs, he would stop touching me, and just stand behind me, until my dad left. I think he was perhaps intimidated. Anyways, he is the ghost I believe to be Armand.
Another ghost is one who feels unwelcoming, he seems to scare Armand away. Also, when I am in bed, I feel as though he is laying beside me, and I am afraid to look, in fear of what I might see. He is the only ghost I don't feel comfortable with. I think Armand is VERY friendly, and trying to let me know.
One of the creepiest things that happened to me was that I was home alone. All of a sudden, I hear this cell phone ring. Now, there is no one home, and everyone had their phones with them, and mine was dead. A few minutes later, I heard a cat's meow, and guess what? We have no cats. The first one I had ran away the first day I got it, and the other one got locked out of my house by my mom when we went to the cottage, and ran away. I wonder what all this was.
Another time, I was in the washroom. I looked into the mirror, and behind me was an old-fashioned scene, with horses running by and such. I was freaked. One time, I even saw a soldier walk nearly behind me while I was on the computer.
I often see figures walking about, especially in front of the T.V., and all about. I've gotten used to them now.
This story is totally true.
The first time I encountered the paranormal was when I was about 7 or 8. Now, at that age, I used to wake up at about 7:30 or so, when no one else was up. This was in my old room, and if you were to be on my bed, you could turn your head to face the hallway.
One morning, I woke up early, and turned my head to look at the hall as always. To my surprise, there was a beautiful young woman, all white, long wavy hair, and in a wedding dress, running down the hallway. She was running into the washroom. I was quite terrified, although I felt she was harmless.
Well, about a week later, I was brushing my teeth in the washroom. I looked up to see none other than the face of the woman I saw in the hallway, looking at me.
Another time, age 13, I was brushing my teeth again, and I looked to my left, and saw a white figure, who immediately disappeared. I was sort of freaked, but continued on with brushing my teeth. I looked to my left again, and saw the same figure, who this time, ran down the hall, and disappeared. I began to brush my teeth again. I looked to the left one more time, and saw the same figure yet again. This time it just stood, watching me.
My room, which is now downstairs is home to what I believe to be three ghosts, one of who's name I believe is Armand. My computer is down here, in the basement, in my room. I will sometimes see a white figure peeking at me from around a wall corner, or standing in front of the T.V. He doesn't bother me too much.
Another time, I was on my computer, and I saw something walk behind me. I ignored it, and continued with what I was doing. After a while, it started to put it's arms on mine, hold my hands, tickle me, scratch my head, although he seemed to like me a bit too much, touching me all over. Whenever my dad would come downstairs, he would stop touching me, and just stand behind me, until my dad left. I think he was perhaps intimidated. Anyways, he is the ghost I believe to be Armand.
Another ghost is one who feels unwelcoming, he seems to scare Armand away. Also, when I am in bed, I feel as though he is laying beside me, and I am afraid to look, in fear of what I might see. He is the only ghost I don't feel comfortable with. I think Armand is VERY friendly, and trying to let me know.
One of the creepiest things that happened to me was that I was home alone. All of a sudden, I hear this cell phone ring. Now, there is no one home, and everyone had their phones with them, and mine was dead. A few minutes later, I heard a cat's meow, and guess what? We have no cats. The first one I had ran away the first day I got it, and the other one got locked out of my house by my mom when we went to the cottage, and ran away. I wonder what all this was.
Another time, I was in the washroom. I looked into the mirror, and behind me was an old-fashioned scene, with horses running by and such. I was freaked. One time, I even saw a soldier walk nearly behind me while I was on the computer.
I often see figures walking about, especially in front of the T.V., and all about. I've gotten used to them now.
This story is totally true.
THE HAUNTED PALACE
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace —
Snow-white palace — reared its head.
In the monarch thought's dominion —
It stood there!
Never Seraph spread his pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow —
This — all this — was in the olden
Time long ago —
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the rampart plumed and pallid,
A winged odour went away.
All wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well tuned law,
Round about a throne where sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The sovereign of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door ;
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate!
Ah, let us mourn — for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!
And round about his home the glory,
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door;
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh — but smile no more.
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace —
Snow-white palace — reared its head.
In the monarch thought's dominion —
It stood there!
Never Seraph spread his pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow —
This — all this — was in the olden
Time long ago —
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the rampart plumed and pallid,
A winged odour went away.
All wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well tuned law,
Round about a throne where sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The sovereign of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door ;
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate!
Ah, let us mourn — for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!
And round about his home the glory,
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door;
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh — but smile no more.
man--the angel--would come tonight
Dusty stood alone, wondering if the man--the angel--would come tonight. Soft lights glowed in apartment buildings around her; the living, settling into comfortable chairs, eating late dinners, falling in love. She thought she had known love once--but it ended too quickly--like life itself often does.
Snow drifted, fell on sidewalks, swirled in the chilly early evening wind. Eyes shimmered within intricate flakes; spirits of those long dead. Feathery hands reached out to her. Phantom choruses serenaded. If she looked hard enough she could see them and their celestial cathedral--a gateway
between Heaven and Hell--a place she could not reach. They stood within gables, lined altars, knelt in pews--souls of both dark and light.
She was bound to the Earth. Dusty--little girl--little waif. A ghost--wearing a skimpy jacket, and
torn jeans. Dark hair hung in limp ringlets down her back, sleepy eyes stared at traffic easing by. She gazed at pedestrians, bundled from head to toe in winter garb. The living couldn't see her. They couldn't see any of the ghosts who haunted the city.
*************
Arturio ached for the ghost girl, Dusty. He had watched her since her death. But he knew that her time had not yet come.
Ashes fell around him--ashes of the dead. He long ago had grown tired of his penance on earth, his duty as a gatherer of lost souls. He longed to be released from his prison as other fallen angels had been. He knew it would be years before he could claim Dusty as his--years before her spirit--her wispy life would free him. He needed her to end his sentence--one who was born, and who died on the winter
solstice. But he would have to wait--until she realized the truth.
Until then he watched her each night--each passing year, unable to reach out and touch her. He could merely walk by, never allowing his eyes to gaze into hers. "Until then," he whispered as ancient phantasms of the city gathered around him, praying to the dark angel, whispering his name in vain.
****************
Dusty, invisible in death as in life, one of five children. Her mother always too busy, too involved with
some guy or another, too drunk to notice Dusty, never realizing at the age of fifteen her daughter had fallen head over heels in love with a boy named Antonio.
He introduced her to drugs, thievery and physical abuse. On the night the police found Dusty's battered body in the alley--around the corner from where she now stood. Her mother was half way to California, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, the other tucked inside her latest boyfriend's jeans--too far away--too busy to notice Dusty.
Her spirit left her broken body as Antonio ran away, money stolen from an old man tucked in his pocket--the man's body in a parked car a few feet away.
A stray cat sniffed at her for a moment, then slipped away into a maze of garbage and rusted pipes. She rose upward where figures flickered by, none of them seeing her. The cathedral stood in the distance, wavering, cloudy. And even the gods, goddesses and saints who waited in the light only looked past her--to others making their way to the ethereal gates they guarded. She turned around, believing that she had been meant for the darkness. Falling like a cracked and withered Autumn leaf.
Demons brushed by, indifferent to her presence, too busy to welcome the waif of a girl named Dusty. The specter walked behind her, blending with the shadows until she came back to earth, to wander in confusion--her purgatory.
As time went on she learned there were others like her; Gelica and the boy named Billy, who drifted to her side when the sun sank behind the towering mall. He pressed close to her, as if trying to find the warmth death had stolen, whispering, peering at her with dull blue eyes.
Gelica wavered above them, yellow hair glowing beneath the winter moon, eyes laughing as music floated from bars by the water. She recited the same litany each evening. "I died in my dressing room. Took too many pills and never made my next number."
"Why didn't you go to heaven or hell?" Dusty asked the same question.
"Nobody came to claim me. I never tried to get into either place. I stayed here. It's where I want to be--for now anyway." She spun around as the music changed, an old disco tune, upbeat, lively. "Always loved the music." Her white face twisted in a macabre grimace.
Billy sighed. "I'm waiting for my Dad." Tears glistened in his eyes. "The cops called him after the car accident. I heard them say he'd come for me, to bury me near Mom, to take me home."
Dusty touched his face. "That was a long time ago. Isn't it time you tried to move on?"
"I don't know. I lost track of time. But it hasn't been that long--I think." He looked up at the moon. "My dad should be coming."
Dusty knew Billy had died thirty years before, in the famous car accident over by Sable Hill. Billy had been the victim of a hit and run by the drunken mayor. It happened when Gelica had been alive. One night she gave Dusty an account of the accident, how they’d found Billy's body twenty feet from the car he'd been driving.
Billy's image flickered as he moved gently away from her, rising above the city, then out of sight.
Gelica shook her head. "If you kids want to have a good time, take a walk to the pier some night." She spun around again, her sheer dress rose above transparent thighs. "You just don't know how to have fun. I love it!" She sailed away, towards the laughter, the music and the life she once lived.
Dusty smiled weakly at the happy-go-lucky ghost, knowing in time she'd grow too weak to hear the music, to appreciate the thrill of the night life she loved when alive.
A vision of the night she died flickered. Blood splattered the windshield where an old man slumped over the wheel of his car.
******************
Arturio looked to the stars, to the crescent moon hanging above. Sighing, he noted another decade had passed, another slice of eternity lost without Dusty's touch. Tucking hands into bottomless pockets where lofty spirits congregated, where the Realm of Shadows existed for that moment in time, he thought of her slight form, of her lips, the way she rode the wind through the city--graceful, sensuous--vital to his redemption.
********************
Dusty was alone again, the snow intensifying, wet sloppy, flakes slapping into windows, brick and cement. The traffic had nearly stopped and the dull rumble of trains running beneath the city mingled with distant music by the water.
Each night at this time, when the shopkeeper across the way shut off his lights and closed the blinds, the man, the angel--the one who'd followed her the night she died--strode out of the darkness. His face luminous white, eyes seemingly smudged with ash, lips stained with red. His steps sure, confident, strong, seeming to search the night for some sacred treasure, perhaps a wish made long ago on a
mystical moon. He seemed to look right at her, eyes piercing through the invisibility, penetrating her cloak of death--remembering his vigil on the night she died. And she wondered if he saw her again--if just for a moment--a flicker of light flashing before his eyes.
He rounded the corner, long hair catching on the wind, diamond earring glowing beneath neon lights. Perhaps next time she would follow.
And then a soft masculine voice whispered, "Fallen Angel know neither heaven or hell."
She remembered Antonio, his knife, the look of terror on the old man's face, and how her own hands shook.
***************
The angel sighed as the ghost named Gelica followed him, floating, longing to touch him. Quickly he turned, opened his arms to welcome her. Smiling into her transparent face he said, "Walk with me, savor the earth for while more, and I will tell you of the Realm of Shadow."
Gelica touched his cold face. Visions of angels, wings fluttering as dark faces with gleaming eyes, appeared in the velvet sky--with the stars and all creatures of darkness and light.
"Will I become like them." she whispered as he took her hand.
He didn't answer, only held her close. "Walk with me a while."
***********
When the sun showed its orange face over buildings, casting rays on dirty store windows, making snow shine like white glitter, Dusty drifted like mist, through the city. Like a puff of smoke, a soft breeze, She walked by the living, feeling their warmth for a moment, hearing their words ring--prayers, curses, promises--songs of life. She wondered where he could be, the angel who strode out of the darkness, the one who pierced her heart with his eyes. Then she saw him, seated by the window in Luciano's, the Italian restaurant at the corner of Grant and Fairway. He smiled at a woman--Gelica-- seated next to him. He leaned over, kissed her, wrapped her in his black cloak.
The waiter brought two steaming plates. The scene grew dim as mist moistened the window, leaving only faint images behind it, blocking Dusty's view.
She kept moving through the city, watching the clock on the tower of city hall. Time kept moving. She thought about him.
Later she passed the Italian restaurant again. Now the window was boarded up. A sign on the door said Luciano's had moved to Alms Street.
"Perhaps more than hours have gone by. I've lost track of time, the same as Billy," she whispered. The sky darkened, snow flurried, wind whipped at her face. She still wandered as people made their way into other restaurants, crowded into booths, ate salads, drank wine and discussed the busy day at work.
Shadows grew longer. She thought about the man with the charcoal-lined eyes. The living made their way home when the clock struck five--others stopped for drinks in dimly lit cafes. Women rushed into department stores to buy perfume or hosiery for late night dates.
She wondered how many hours, days, years it had been since her death.
As Billy cried, pounding his head against cold brick, calling for Gelica, Dusty wondered about if she would ever know a heaven--or a hell where her weary soul would spend eternity.
Billy reached out for her, "Dusty I think I'm drifting away. You seem so dim lately."
Dusty shook her head, "I think I'm the one who's drifting away, Billy." A tear trickled from her eye.
Billy's voice became an echo, silver chimes in a dream.
She remembered the old man's raspy voice as he begged for his life--as she too pleaded with Antonio. The knife gleamed beneath a full winter moon--the solstice moon.
***************
The angel spread his dark wings, casting a great shadow over the city, blocking the moon from view. He chuckled softly as he glimpsed buildings--life--death, concrete and souls that were all a part of the place where he had lived for decades--nearly a century of watching structures rise and fall, witnessing the births and deaths of many. Tonight he'd be free, leaving the city to others of his kind.
"For Dusty will be mine," he said, letting out a cry, a bellowing sound like thunder.
******************
When the shopkeeper across the way shut off his lights and closed the blinds, the angel strode out of the darkness. His coat was open, whipping in gusty air. He walked quickly, his gaze seemingly fastened on Dusty. He brushed by her, a tiny smile curling at the edges of his lips.
Another vision of the night she died wavered. Blood trickled from the old man's neck. She pointed the knife she held at Antonio, hands shaking. With cat-like swiftness he lunged at her.
The vision dissolved and she followed the angel. The top of his head was visible through a crowd of young people who made their way to a punk rock nightclub. She floated, concealed in shadows. And
when he glided down deserted subway stairs, a place where trains had ceased running years before, she hovered above him. She gasped as he looked upward, spread wings of shimmering black feathers, tipped with gold. Then, smiling, he raised his hand to her.
She reached out for him as smoke rose from cracked pavement and orange flames licked at his feet--consuming her spirit. He smiled again, clutching her hand, eyes swirling with silver and red. Fire swallowed Dusty as the world became invisible.
Angels beat their wings; fragile white faces, hands reaching out. Blood drenched the marble staircase where they stood. Their sighs mingled with the snow.
And when only ashes remained where the little waif spirit had stood, Arturio reached down and brushed his hands through the dark remains. He then ran his finger around each eye, intensifying the black that already lined his eyes. "Charm of life and death," he whispered. He stared at her remains, sniffed at the acrid smell and waited for what seemed another lifetime.
A wispy breeze ruffled his coattails, picked up the edges of his hair. He spread his great wings, taking flight, tasting freedom. He rose high above the cathedral. Phantom faces upturned; watched him. Elongated fingers pointed. Dusty's lips quivered, as she too watched his ascent from the gable where she stood. Then she opened a door to the world where she would reside for eternity--with other
murderer's and thieves...and began her climb downward.
Snow drifted, fell on sidewalks, swirled in the chilly early evening wind. Eyes shimmered within intricate flakes; spirits of those long dead. Feathery hands reached out to her. Phantom choruses serenaded. If she looked hard enough she could see them and their celestial cathedral--a gateway
between Heaven and Hell--a place she could not reach. They stood within gables, lined altars, knelt in pews--souls of both dark and light.
She was bound to the Earth. Dusty--little girl--little waif. A ghost--wearing a skimpy jacket, and
torn jeans. Dark hair hung in limp ringlets down her back, sleepy eyes stared at traffic easing by. She gazed at pedestrians, bundled from head to toe in winter garb. The living couldn't see her. They couldn't see any of the ghosts who haunted the city.
*************
Arturio ached for the ghost girl, Dusty. He had watched her since her death. But he knew that her time had not yet come.
Ashes fell around him--ashes of the dead. He long ago had grown tired of his penance on earth, his duty as a gatherer of lost souls. He longed to be released from his prison as other fallen angels had been. He knew it would be years before he could claim Dusty as his--years before her spirit--her wispy life would free him. He needed her to end his sentence--one who was born, and who died on the winter
solstice. But he would have to wait--until she realized the truth.
Until then he watched her each night--each passing year, unable to reach out and touch her. He could merely walk by, never allowing his eyes to gaze into hers. "Until then," he whispered as ancient phantasms of the city gathered around him, praying to the dark angel, whispering his name in vain.
****************
Dusty, invisible in death as in life, one of five children. Her mother always too busy, too involved with
some guy or another, too drunk to notice Dusty, never realizing at the age of fifteen her daughter had fallen head over heels in love with a boy named Antonio.
He introduced her to drugs, thievery and physical abuse. On the night the police found Dusty's battered body in the alley--around the corner from where she now stood. Her mother was half way to California, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, the other tucked inside her latest boyfriend's jeans--too far away--too busy to notice Dusty.
Her spirit left her broken body as Antonio ran away, money stolen from an old man tucked in his pocket--the man's body in a parked car a few feet away.
A stray cat sniffed at her for a moment, then slipped away into a maze of garbage and rusted pipes. She rose upward where figures flickered by, none of them seeing her. The cathedral stood in the distance, wavering, cloudy. And even the gods, goddesses and saints who waited in the light only looked past her--to others making their way to the ethereal gates they guarded. She turned around, believing that she had been meant for the darkness. Falling like a cracked and withered Autumn leaf.
Demons brushed by, indifferent to her presence, too busy to welcome the waif of a girl named Dusty. The specter walked behind her, blending with the shadows until she came back to earth, to wander in confusion--her purgatory.
As time went on she learned there were others like her; Gelica and the boy named Billy, who drifted to her side when the sun sank behind the towering mall. He pressed close to her, as if trying to find the warmth death had stolen, whispering, peering at her with dull blue eyes.
Gelica wavered above them, yellow hair glowing beneath the winter moon, eyes laughing as music floated from bars by the water. She recited the same litany each evening. "I died in my dressing room. Took too many pills and never made my next number."
"Why didn't you go to heaven or hell?" Dusty asked the same question.
"Nobody came to claim me. I never tried to get into either place. I stayed here. It's where I want to be--for now anyway." She spun around as the music changed, an old disco tune, upbeat, lively. "Always loved the music." Her white face twisted in a macabre grimace.
Billy sighed. "I'm waiting for my Dad." Tears glistened in his eyes. "The cops called him after the car accident. I heard them say he'd come for me, to bury me near Mom, to take me home."
Dusty touched his face. "That was a long time ago. Isn't it time you tried to move on?"
"I don't know. I lost track of time. But it hasn't been that long--I think." He looked up at the moon. "My dad should be coming."
Dusty knew Billy had died thirty years before, in the famous car accident over by Sable Hill. Billy had been the victim of a hit and run by the drunken mayor. It happened when Gelica had been alive. One night she gave Dusty an account of the accident, how they’d found Billy's body twenty feet from the car he'd been driving.
Billy's image flickered as he moved gently away from her, rising above the city, then out of sight.
Gelica shook her head. "If you kids want to have a good time, take a walk to the pier some night." She spun around again, her sheer dress rose above transparent thighs. "You just don't know how to have fun. I love it!" She sailed away, towards the laughter, the music and the life she once lived.
Dusty smiled weakly at the happy-go-lucky ghost, knowing in time she'd grow too weak to hear the music, to appreciate the thrill of the night life she loved when alive.
A vision of the night she died flickered. Blood splattered the windshield where an old man slumped over the wheel of his car.
******************
Arturio looked to the stars, to the crescent moon hanging above. Sighing, he noted another decade had passed, another slice of eternity lost without Dusty's touch. Tucking hands into bottomless pockets where lofty spirits congregated, where the Realm of Shadows existed for that moment in time, he thought of her slight form, of her lips, the way she rode the wind through the city--graceful, sensuous--vital to his redemption.
********************
Dusty was alone again, the snow intensifying, wet sloppy, flakes slapping into windows, brick and cement. The traffic had nearly stopped and the dull rumble of trains running beneath the city mingled with distant music by the water.
Each night at this time, when the shopkeeper across the way shut off his lights and closed the blinds, the man, the angel--the one who'd followed her the night she died--strode out of the darkness. His face luminous white, eyes seemingly smudged with ash, lips stained with red. His steps sure, confident, strong, seeming to search the night for some sacred treasure, perhaps a wish made long ago on a
mystical moon. He seemed to look right at her, eyes piercing through the invisibility, penetrating her cloak of death--remembering his vigil on the night she died. And she wondered if he saw her again--if just for a moment--a flicker of light flashing before his eyes.
He rounded the corner, long hair catching on the wind, diamond earring glowing beneath neon lights. Perhaps next time she would follow.
And then a soft masculine voice whispered, "Fallen Angel know neither heaven or hell."
She remembered Antonio, his knife, the look of terror on the old man's face, and how her own hands shook.
***************
The angel sighed as the ghost named Gelica followed him, floating, longing to touch him. Quickly he turned, opened his arms to welcome her. Smiling into her transparent face he said, "Walk with me, savor the earth for while more, and I will tell you of the Realm of Shadow."
Gelica touched his cold face. Visions of angels, wings fluttering as dark faces with gleaming eyes, appeared in the velvet sky--with the stars and all creatures of darkness and light.
"Will I become like them." she whispered as he took her hand.
He didn't answer, only held her close. "Walk with me a while."
***********
When the sun showed its orange face over buildings, casting rays on dirty store windows, making snow shine like white glitter, Dusty drifted like mist, through the city. Like a puff of smoke, a soft breeze, She walked by the living, feeling their warmth for a moment, hearing their words ring--prayers, curses, promises--songs of life. She wondered where he could be, the angel who strode out of the darkness, the one who pierced her heart with his eyes. Then she saw him, seated by the window in Luciano's, the Italian restaurant at the corner of Grant and Fairway. He smiled at a woman--Gelica-- seated next to him. He leaned over, kissed her, wrapped her in his black cloak.
The waiter brought two steaming plates. The scene grew dim as mist moistened the window, leaving only faint images behind it, blocking Dusty's view.
She kept moving through the city, watching the clock on the tower of city hall. Time kept moving. She thought about him.
Later she passed the Italian restaurant again. Now the window was boarded up. A sign on the door said Luciano's had moved to Alms Street.
"Perhaps more than hours have gone by. I've lost track of time, the same as Billy," she whispered. The sky darkened, snow flurried, wind whipped at her face. She still wandered as people made their way into other restaurants, crowded into booths, ate salads, drank wine and discussed the busy day at work.
Shadows grew longer. She thought about the man with the charcoal-lined eyes. The living made their way home when the clock struck five--others stopped for drinks in dimly lit cafes. Women rushed into department stores to buy perfume or hosiery for late night dates.
She wondered how many hours, days, years it had been since her death.
As Billy cried, pounding his head against cold brick, calling for Gelica, Dusty wondered about if she would ever know a heaven--or a hell where her weary soul would spend eternity.
Billy reached out for her, "Dusty I think I'm drifting away. You seem so dim lately."
Dusty shook her head, "I think I'm the one who's drifting away, Billy." A tear trickled from her eye.
Billy's voice became an echo, silver chimes in a dream.
She remembered the old man's raspy voice as he begged for his life--as she too pleaded with Antonio. The knife gleamed beneath a full winter moon--the solstice moon.
***************
The angel spread his dark wings, casting a great shadow over the city, blocking the moon from view. He chuckled softly as he glimpsed buildings--life--death, concrete and souls that were all a part of the place where he had lived for decades--nearly a century of watching structures rise and fall, witnessing the births and deaths of many. Tonight he'd be free, leaving the city to others of his kind.
"For Dusty will be mine," he said, letting out a cry, a bellowing sound like thunder.
******************
When the shopkeeper across the way shut off his lights and closed the blinds, the angel strode out of the darkness. His coat was open, whipping in gusty air. He walked quickly, his gaze seemingly fastened on Dusty. He brushed by her, a tiny smile curling at the edges of his lips.
Another vision of the night she died wavered. Blood trickled from the old man's neck. She pointed the knife she held at Antonio, hands shaking. With cat-like swiftness he lunged at her.
The vision dissolved and she followed the angel. The top of his head was visible through a crowd of young people who made their way to a punk rock nightclub. She floated, concealed in shadows. And
when he glided down deserted subway stairs, a place where trains had ceased running years before, she hovered above him. She gasped as he looked upward, spread wings of shimmering black feathers, tipped with gold. Then, smiling, he raised his hand to her.
She reached out for him as smoke rose from cracked pavement and orange flames licked at his feet--consuming her spirit. He smiled again, clutching her hand, eyes swirling with silver and red. Fire swallowed Dusty as the world became invisible.
Angels beat their wings; fragile white faces, hands reaching out. Blood drenched the marble staircase where they stood. Their sighs mingled with the snow.
And when only ashes remained where the little waif spirit had stood, Arturio reached down and brushed his hands through the dark remains. He then ran his finger around each eye, intensifying the black that already lined his eyes. "Charm of life and death," he whispered. He stared at her remains, sniffed at the acrid smell and waited for what seemed another lifetime.
A wispy breeze ruffled his coattails, picked up the edges of his hair. He spread his great wings, taking flight, tasting freedom. He rose high above the cathedral. Phantom faces upturned; watched him. Elongated fingers pointed. Dusty's lips quivered, as she too watched his ascent from the gable where she stood. Then she opened a door to the world where she would reside for eternity--with other
murderer's and thieves...and began her climb downward.
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