paranormal-weekly

[paranormal-weekly]

*thunder crack* maniacal laughter

[paranormal-weekly]

Reflected Fates

Dear Readers, I had a very qualmy experience this morning. I recently bought a mirror while my husband, Jake, and I were antiquing. The shop owner said it came from an estate known for the loss of two young children (run over in the driveway by a runaway roadster in the twenties) whose deaths were followed quickly by the suicides of the mother and father. The father’s journal reveals much about his torment just before his death. I asked the shopkeeper where I could find a copy of this journal but he had, unfortunately, sold it without the mirror. He did, however, give me the woman’s phone number and she agreed to meet with me, even making a copy of the journal for me to leaf through at my leisure. 

The journal shows that Gerald Winthrop’s symptoms, for lack of a better term, started out as such: There was “something queer” about his reflection, something he couldn’t place. He had recently moved the mirror out of the children’s bedroom (where Mrs. Winthrop had sadly hung herself) and into his own. Not long after this he started seeing shadows moving behind him “as if my children were on the floor there.” Eventually it grew to the point where he felt the shadows were coming “out of the damned mirror.” A few weeks later he fatally shot himself, standing in front of the very same mirror.

Here is the thing, Dear, Dear Readers: I foolishly believed the rumors of the mirror being cursed were false or at fairly farfetched. We have all seen things that prove this to be otherwise. So this morning when I regarded my reflection in the mirror I was shocked.  There was indeed something “queer” about my face (more so than usual I mean) and it took a few moments to figure it out. Dear readers, some of you may know I only have freckles on one side of my face. This morning they were on the wrong side. I reached out, following that insatiable instinct to touch the glass as sometimes some of us have, and readers, oh Dear Readers...it was not glass. It felt rather like the kinetic sand my therapist prescribed for my anxiety. It was gritty and cool to the touch; my fingers sunk into whatever portal it had become.

The mirror has since moved  to our attic where it sits, covered with a spare blanket. I have told Jake to leave it alone and keep his rabbit’s foot on him at all times. I am currently looking into having it, and the house, cleansed. If anyone has ideas on how to rid our house of these sad souls, please drop me a note.

Until our next fateful find, Dear Readers. Be safe.

[paranormal-weekly]

And a Blessing for Luck

Dear Readers, one thing Jake and I habitually have are lucky rabbit feet. Ours are from black rabbits, not those audaciously dyed abbhorents. Not long after we began dating I gave Jake his first foot – it’s the one he carries today. It was a six-month anniversary present. It is not uncommon for me to meet with a religious figure of some sort and I will have the foot, feet if possible, blessed. We have been blessed by a Shinto priest, a Lenape shaman, several Christian denominations, and a Hindu pujari, just to name a few. (Yes, Dear Readers, we have been blessed by Jehovah’s Witness. Faith is faith.)

I have had a rabbit’s foot for well over twenty years now. In my early twenties, I had my first encounter: I moved into my first haunted apartment. It was a modern grey lady. After a few months I realized what was happening and consulted a local psychic who sanctified my suite. She suggested if I weren’t currently carrying one, to get a rabbit’s foot: it would help protect me. It has been on my person at all times ever since. (Dear Readers, please note, I do not suggest showering or swimming with your rabbit’s foot. Risk the bad luck, not the damage to your foot. Be wary of water.)  When I met Jake, and I was sure I wouldn’t scare him off, it was only natural that I give him one. We’ve carried them everywhere ever since.

Wishing you luck and safety, Dear Readers.

[paranormal-weekly]

Guiding Lights

Dear Readers, I have mentioned before a peculiar portent I’ve found on both Cimmerian and stellar nights. I have not seen it with Jake, only when alone. I’m not sure if it is a will-o-wisp or some other sightly spirit or it is, in fact, the opposite and is some sort of principled pathfinder.

It’s a strange spirit: a milk-white cat. It appears before me in my weariest hours, only on my way home, never in the same spot twice. It walks in its own fog bank, fixed betwixt my headlights, following the arc of the road. It stays there for a while, its back to me, content to guide me home. And then it comes closer...and closer...and just before I am about to hit it…it disappears.

Until our next haunt, Dear Readers.    

[paranormal-weekly]

For Want of an Audience

I found a pair of ballet slippers on the side of I-76 today. They are the color of my grandmother’s wallpaper and smell of old cheese. Once I saw them I had to pick them up, Dear Readers. I say this because, be skeptic if you will, when they think someone is looking, and sometimes when you aren’t, they’ll twitch. And then they’ll plie. And then they’ll arabesque. I was pulled over on the way home and they just pirouetted in glee. (The officer, Dear Readers, decided it wasn’t worth calling in to his superiors – something about being “completely off his rocker” – and he let me – and the slippers – go.)

They are not quite as pure as a rose (a bloomed out rose but isn’t that just as beautiful as a bud?) but they will no longer turn into chameleons in my grandmother’s living room. That, Dear Readers, was a chore. They do not like being held for any amount of time. Yes, Craig the Cat is more tolerant to being held than these slippers. They just promenaded out of my grip and sissone-d in contempt. 

Though they may be restored to their former glory, buyer beware: Not only do they reject the idea of human feet, the slippers themselves thrash and flail like rosy whips when simply held by the binding.

Until our next fantastic find, my Dear Readers.