JAN'S TALES...A Medley of Spectral Contacts

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JAN'S TALES

A Medley of Spectral Contacts

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Bear with me readers, as I am going to do something totally different with this particular submission. Instead of leading you through one meticulous story, I will attempt to guide you briefly through several selected events during the course of my life. By all means theses are not limited to every encounter but only reflect a handful of occurrences. For now, turn the lights out, let only the illumination of the computer screen bathe your face softly, have your cappuccino and cigarettes handy, and enjoy a medley of ghostly confrontations.)

BILLY

A few years ago we had a black Shitzu as one of our pets. His name was Billy and he was a fluffy ball of energy; always giving our two shepherds a delightful run through the yard on a daily basis. I believe he was around 6 years old, when his sight started going quickly, which is a very common trait with this type of breed. He somehow escaped the fenced back yard one evening and found his way to a nearby heavily traveled road and met his untimely end. Not only did the family grieve over his death but my two other dogs, Sam and Clarice, did their share of moping around with sadness also. It was about a week later that I started noticing a small black bouncing object in my peripheral vision that would always head for the back door. Sam and Clarice would follow and make their noises for me to come let them outside. Between their legs I would see the transparent figure of Billy racing down the stairs trying to get in front of them before their feet hit the grass. Once in the yard the two shepherds would race next to each other, chasing after the fading haze in a playful romp. This went on for a few weeks and then for some reason Billy never showed himself again. I guess he went on to travel along the famed ‘Rainbow Bridge’ to a special heavenly place where all our pets go to wait for their masters to come rejoin them when the time comes.

(Note: Update: As I was writing up these short encounters another ghost of a more recent pet appeared in our kitchen. His name was Vladimir and was a part Siamese cat. I won’t go into details about his passing a few weeks ago, but just the other day as I was sitting in the kitchen I noticed that Clarice, one of my shepherds, was staring at something in the hall way that connects to the kitchen. She lay down, with her chin on the floor and emitted a soft whimpering sound; I followed her eyes and was amazed to see Vladimir emerging from the hallway to sit a few feet from Clarice and begin to groom himself. His image stayed before us for about three to four seconds then he faded away. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he was at peace and out of pain on the other side. It is a very humbling and healing experience to witness the spirit of a deceased pet, friend or member of the family, trying to communicate with you from beyond the fine curtain that separates our world from theirs.)

THE TATTOOED MAN

Several years ago, before I resigned from my job, I awoke in the middle of the night to the movement of Montana, (A previous German shepherd we owned.) jumping off the bed, running half way down the hallway, stopping, turning around and then growling. She was looking up at something, her teeth showing through a clenched snout, and the nape of her neck hairs was standing straight up. All this wasn’t unusual behavior as it happens quite frequently so I rose up on one elbow to await the unknown visitor. From the illumination of the night light coming from the bathroom into the hall, I saw Montana calm down a bit, relax and then lower herself on the carpet where she lay, still looking up at ‘someone’ standing in front of her. A shadowy figure appeared then turned to walk through my doorway and as it did it instantly became a man. I could see most of him from the night light coming from my own bedroom. (I told you I sleep with several night lights throughout the entire house…smile.) He was well over six foot tall, with a very stocky build, much like that of a wrestler who hasn’t worked out in a few months. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, the kind that has the thin shoulder straps, extra large armholes and has that tiny thin ribbed design going from top to bottom. His shirt was sloppily tucked in his blue jeans and he wore no belt. His arms and neck were covered with colorful tattoos but I couldn’t make out their designs. He had long dark brown hair, and dark brown goatee and mustache. I felt no threat from this man as he just stood there and gazed at me for a moment then took something out of one of his pockets, a bandanna, worked it in his hands until it formed what looked like a do-rag similar to what bikers wore, then raised both his arms and began the process of placing it on his head around his forehead and tying it in the back. I remember talking to him quietly, asking if he needed assistance, but he stood there just silently staring in a sad sort of way. With a gentle smile I told him he needed to go towards the brighter light above him to find the peace he seemed to need. He nodded his head once, and then turned to fade away while walking through the door frame.

The next day, while driving home after work and after picking Josh up from the sitters, we got held up on a street that crossed over a set of railroad tracks a few miles from our home. We were waiting right behind an ambulance, a coroner’s car and a few police cars, that were just this side of the tracks. The officials had the railroad crossing arms down to keep traffic at bay while they attended to something down the tracks. Within a few minutes, Josh and I saw 4 men walking down the tracks carrying a large gurney; there was someone laying on it with a sheet over it, covering the complete body. Following along side were a few police officers and a man in a dark suit with a clipboard. They continued off the tracks, down the short stretch of blacktop road to the back of the ambulance, and proceeded to try and turn the stretcher around to try and load it inside. The body that was on the stretcher was quite large as you could see the 4 men struggling with the weight of the cadaver, even one of the body’s arms fell out from beneath the covering. It was all tattooed and had some dark round blotches, like bullet holes, up around the shoulder area. One of the men lost his grip and the backside of the stretcher dropped at an odd angle while the rest tried to retain their grasp on the device. Half of the protective covering slid off and revealed the upper torso of the dead man. More ‘bullet holes’ could be seen on his red stained sleeveless t-shirt and from what I could see, being within 12 to 15 feet from the back of the ambulance, I felt rather confident that this was the same tattooed man that had visited me the night before. For the next week or so I would scan the newspapers and listen to the news but there was never anything ever printed up or said about a body being found in that area. I felt the only thing I could do was to pray that justice would be done and to let the Higher source take care of the situation.

A HAND ON MY SHOULDER

Back in the late 70’s, around the end of 1977 I believe, I had a very close cousin of mine, David, pass away. I was still living in Missouri and he lived in Kentucky. We had just seen each other that summer, as he had to travel to St. Louis for several doctors’ appointments after having a terrible car accident earlier on in the year. He had to see some specialists, as Kentucky back then didn’t have certain medical technologies needed for his recovery and reconstructive surgeries. For months since the accident he dealt with a variety of pain and suffering on a daily basis and it seemed an end was not in sight for at least several more months.

I lived in a duplex next to my grandma at the time and had just left her front door and was entering my own and closing the door behind me when I felt a very firm hand upon my right shoulder. I turned around wondering who was standing in the corner by the door and saw nothing, but the firm hold on my shoulder did not waiver, but only turned it’s position as I had turned my body.

“I’m at peace now, there is no more pain, tell my family,” said a voice in a hushed whisper, like it was carried by a gentle breeze. It was my cousin, David’s voice. I said his name aloud in a question, and the voice responded again, “I have no more pain…it’s peaceful here…my brother and sister are here to help me…tell mom I love her and tell dad I’m sorry…take care of Ronda and Joey.” The presence I held felt on my shoulder reached out and engulfed me with a serene and most tranquil embrace; like a hug goodbye. And then he was gone. (My aunt had two previous children that had passed away by different circumstances.)

My mom had seen me come in the front door only to turn around and face the corner. After a few seconds she saw my body lean forward and my arms go up to hold something that was not visible. “What was that all about?” she asked as I slowly turned around to face her coming into the living room. “Mom,” I began, “that was David… he’s dead”. We just stood there staring at each other, both of us in disbelief; me over what I had just experienced and her over what she had just heard. At that moment we heard grandma’s phone ring next door and we just continued standing there very still. It was only a few seconds later that we heard the loud cry of grandma repeating the same word over and over, “NO, NO, NO…”

Tears fell down both our faces and we met halfway and hugged each other. I told mom what David had said just a few moments before and we both turned and left out the door to go over to grandmas. It was my aunt on the phone telling grandma about David dying about an hour before.

MILK AND A BELAIR

About 5 or 6 years later after David passed away, his father, Fred died also. (My aunt has had a terrible share of tragedies as you can tell by now.) I had lived up in Indiana at the time and had to travel down to Kentucky for the funeral. I stayed at my aunt’s house and slept in the living room on the floor on the night before the funeral. The couches were taken by Ronda and Joe, as they didn’t want to sleep in their own bedrooms, but wanted to remain as close as they could with the rest of the family at the time. During the night I heard my aunt’s bedroom door open and someone walking towards the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator open, and a moment later heard what sounded like liquid being poured into a glass. Then I heard one of the kitchen chairs scooting across the floor as it was being pulled back to be sat in. Immediately the sound of a lighter being clicked open (one of the old fashion kind of lighters, not the modern Bic) and the small metal wheel being stroked to ignite the fluid, broke the silence as I could imagine her sitting in there drinking a glass of tea and smoking a cigarette. I rose up and uncovered myself to go join her thinking I could comfort her in some way or just to share a moment of quietness together. As I got up on my knees to stand I could see into the kitchen then from around the corner of the living room. There at the kitchen table was my uncle Fred, sitting in the chair wearing only his white underpants, a glass of milk in one hand and a Belair cigarette in the other. I sat there on my haunches watching him with fascination and remembering him during all the summers I had spent there with this family that he always use to get up in the middle of the night and have a glass of milk and smoke a few cig’s, all the while sitting in his underwear. I didn’t want to move, but only waited and observed while he finished his milk and put out the butt. He then turned my way, smiled at me, got up, scooted the chair back into place under the table and retreated back into the bedroom. It was then I got up to investigate and saw the empty Tupperware glass with a thin film of milk still clinging to the sides and bottom and it was still chilled from its previous contents. The butt still smoldered in the ashtray next to his Zippo lighter that had a tiny fly-fishing lure suspended in some type of liquid in the bottom of it.

I didn’t mention this for several years until one holiday I was visiting at my aunts again and we all sort of started talking about ghosts. The whole family had admitted to seeing Fred numerous times since his death, roaming around the house, even outside on the patio in the porch swing. David’s ghost had been seen also. (See the story above, “A Hand On My Shoulder”.) The house to this day still remains in the family even though my aunt has moved away and remarried. And the ghosts of Fred and David can still be seen and heard throughout the entire home.

-Jan Thompson.