A House Of Spirits

I love the paranormal. I was born and grew up in a haunted house. I live in it to this day. So I have had paranormal experiences all my life.

My earliest memory of a paranormal encounter happened when I was 4 years old. I was laying in my bed and the light was on. Mom forgot to turn it off when she left the room. I yelled at her that the light was keeping me awake and a woman in a blue dress stepped into the room, smiled at me and turned the light off. I didn't know who she was but I remember not being afraid of her.

To this day I can remember  what she looked like and the dress she wore. Her hair pulled back and her blue dress with stripes that ran down the length of the dress. The bottom of the dress was very big and round. It was not until I was a bit older that I learned her dress was a "hoop" dress. The kind women wore during the Civil War era. She had ivory skin and the kindest face. When I was 10 I saw a photo of one of my great grandfather's aunts and realized this was the woman I had been seeing at different times in the house. She was also the woman who turned out the light in my room that night when I was 4.

This farm has been in my family for over 200 years. The current house was built in 1859. And though it has gone through many changes and remodeling through the years, the beauty and character of it has remained. The house has a rich history and is full of spirits.

There are at least 7 spirits in this house who make themselves known. The spirits in this place are all ancestors of mine with the exception of a man who was ran over by a wagon and was brought into the house and died a couple days later. There is also the spirit of a female slave. Our family did not own slaves but it was a safe house for run away slaves heading north for freedom. She was ill when she got here and died that night.  I guess her spirit decided to stay. Maybe because of the kindness  she was shown during her short stay here or maybe because she had no place else to go.

One of the spirits, I believe, is my maternal grandfather.  He was crippled in World War II and walked on crutches as long as I knew him.  He had one finger missing as a result of an accident in a coal mine in Kentucky.  A job he worked until this farm passed to him.  Grandpa was a big man with a kind heart and a hot temper. Even though he chewed tobacco and smoked a pipe on occasion, he hated the smell of cigarette smoke. And he especially hated to see women smoking.

One night a few years back I had friends over. We were sitting around the kitchen table and some of us lit up our cigarettes. I was about to take a puff from mine when I felt an invisible hand slap mine and knock the cigarette to the floor then the ash tray went flying across the table.  Needless to say I quit smoking and to this day those friends will not come back into my house. When they do visit I have to stand in the yard to talk to them.

I have hundreds of stories I could tell about this house and the experiences I've had through the years. Time and space does not allow for them all. I can say I have not at any time been afraid to stay in this house alone. Even though at times I can feel them watching me or I have caught glimpses of them as I walk through the house. Or even the times I have walked into a room and came face to face with one of them.

I just think of them as family that will sometimes drop in for a visit. Or at least to let me know they are around watching over me.