JAN'S TALES
A Familiar Terror Returns
Today is June 19th, 2004, and it has been well over 27 years since
I last encountered the paranormal entity from the Oakwood house. A vile,
supernatural being that had no name or definition, which could completely
describe its immoral nature. The word ‘evil’ seems so short, trite; a simple
stereotype representation. It had more substance then that and deserved a more
elevated explanation then to have just called it a ghost, a specter, a phantom
or an entity. To me it was a living thing, something very real. Something
that had the biological characteristics of being ‘alive’; it responded to
changes, it grew and developed, it interacted with the environment, it moved by
itself and fed off the emissions of pure fear. The only trait I did not witness
was the reproduction of itself or the physical structure of its form, except for
that one unblinking lava like eye that stared through the crack of the door one
night. If it had taken on a shape that could have been recognizable with the
human eye, an image that would have matched its most diabolical essence, I
believe there would have been no recovery from the sincere shock that would have
overtaken my sanity all those years ago. The memories of all those encounters
at the Oakwood Home have and will always be confined inside my mind, like a
curse, a sentencing of imprisonment, a matter of certainty, without the hope for
release, erasure, or closure. Those memories sit like ancient, crumbling,
fragile scrolls of sacred scriptures, never to be destroyed, too fragile to be
handled by the human hand, their context hidden from the unbelievers and
unworthy.
For the past 27 years I have attempted to conceal, from the rational part of
my mind, the facts of its existence.
A few weeks ago that same ‘entity’ made its presence known to me again with
an acute attack to my inner spirit, as if it wanted to own a part of me this
time. It seemed as if a black tide of wickedness had stained the serene
shores of my minds island; a place where my soul had sought rest from the other
complications of daily life. Let me take you back a few months. Back to when
the simple perceptions of feeling an invisible occupant were felt. You know the
feeling...when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a chill
runs along your spine like crushed ice sliding slowly down your backbone.
It was back in the early part of April, the sensation of being
watched by an unseen visitor proceeded slowly to alert my mental perception.
Moments of uneasiness while alone in my home nudged my sensitive insight into
recognizing a presence in the room with me. One that followed me through out
the entire house. One, which at first did not install fear within my soul but
rather an annoying bothersome emotion much like that of a silent child following
an adult around just for the company but not saying or doing anything; just
matching me step for step, a shadow observing my shadow. My first instinct was
that it was a newly released soul, one that had recently left its human flesh
host, someone whom had just died. Aloud, I spoke to it, prayed for it, and
offered it consultation as well as directions to seek the “Higher Light”, so
that it could find its true resting place. There had been no one close to me at
that time whom had passed away so I knew this was a ‘Stranger Specter’, an
uninvited spirit visitor that had choose to seek me out for some purpose of its
own accord. Nor did I feel that it was a person that I had known before that
had died years previously and had come back to visit once more. There was no
gentle recognition or familiar tones to this pesky element of energy. One other
unusual characteristic of this visitor was that it only made its presence known
when I was totally alone in the house; while my family was away or sleeping, or
when my two German Shepherds, Sam and Clarice, were outside. It was as if it
was studying me for some reason, trying to figure something out, trying to make
sure of something. Its erratic movements around me were odd also, distant at
first, in a corner, then rapidly moving closer as it stood in my own shadow,
then erratically changing positions to be right beside the flesh of my own
neck…back and forth, this way and that, rarely resting in one place too long. It
reminded me of a wild bird that had flown in an open window once and flittered
around in unpredictable patterns. It only took a few days to realize that this
was not the ‘normal’ paranormal encounter I was use to and an instinctive alarm
went off inside my mind. The protection and service of a Higher Being was
needed, and so began some deep conversations with God, much more serious then my
everyday communications and prayers with Him.
Sam and Clarice stayed inside with me more. No longer did I let them lounge
around in the backyard without me as I tried my best not to be alone in the
house. Even in the middle of the night when they had to get a potty-break in I
would go outside with them and wait, listening to the clinking tags on their
collars as they made their rounds visiting every tree; the darkness outside was
more welcoming then the darkness I felt from within my own home. Even as my
husband and son slept inside, I could still feel those unblinking, unwavering
eyes upon me. It was as if a red laser beam from a snipers rifle was honed in
on my heart, following my every movement, as the gunman prepared to pull the
trigger for the perfect kill. The presence that waited patiently until it was
only ‘I’ that walked the halls alone, only ‘I’ that was fully awake, only ‘I’,
It could make itself known too, like a secret admirer that turns into a
stalker. A Wise man once said that ‘mysteries are to be lived, not understood’,
but to understand this particular mystery was an emotion too strong inside me at
the time and I felt I could not afford not to try and make some sense of it all.
The described events above, from the time of first recognizing the presence
around me to distinguishing its actual immoral intentions, took the course of
about 4 to 5 weeks to unfold. It was only until the latter part of the
second week of May that the inhuman visitor began to transform its intangible
nature into a figure that could be perceived by the human eye. The figure
took the shape of a very tall man with an amply muscular physique. The
well-defined features seemed to have been painted over with a dull black liquid
rubber. I could see the outline of his features from the help of two night
lights, one in the hallway and one in the bathroom that was connected to my
bedroom. Their illuminations lit up his figure with a subdued mystic glow
from behind as well as in front. He appeared as if naked, a three
dimensional ebony silhouette. I’m not describing the skin color but the
entire basis of its semi-physical state; a ‘shadow body suit’ that had been
inflated with air, like a blow up doll, to give it the form of its host.
There was no outline of hair on his head, nor wisps of the growth on his arms.
The body was solid not transparent, and completely jet-black, almost like a
character I once saw in an opera who wore a complete black body stocking that
hid his own movements while he maneuvered stage props around to make them look
like they were self animated. There were no eyes but yet the shapes of the eyes
were there. The mouth remained closed with lips of carbon, and there were no
nostrils at the end of the contoured nose. His face appeared as if it were
a raven colored mask, showing no emotion or movement
This being began showing himself in the doorway of my bedroom on certain
nights, his head almost touching the top of the door frame, his inky anatomy
filling the space with his powerful build. He would just stand there, staring
at me after I would awaken from the low growling of Clarice who had slept by my
left side on the bed. For a few minutes he would simply gaze in my
direction, motionless. I in turn would do the same, unmoving and looking
fixedly towards him. Then he would gradually turn around, take one step
and disappear into the hallway, vanishing until a few more nights had passed and
then re-appear to do the same. Clarice, after a few incidents of this same
behavior from our unwelcome visitor, re-framed from sleeping with me and would
retire on the living room couch for the night with Sam. I
missed the weight of her body against mine, which gave me a sense of security,
protection and comfort, so I didn’t sleep very well for the next week or so, and
had to endure the visitations of the dark caller alone. Even though my
husband lay a few feet from me in the king size bed, I still felt unconnected
and vulnerable when the dark guest arrived because my body was paralyzed with
dread. I’ve had ‘shadow beings’ come to me numerous times, but this was
something more then that, something more dreadful and frightening.
During the episodes of his visits nothing would co-operate with my minds
demands; my arms and legs remained motionless as if they were made of stone,
heavy and unyielding, my mouth would open and my lips would form the words but
no sounds would utter forth, and even my eyes could not blink shut. It wasn’t
fear that held me bound; it was something far more influential then my own
undoing of emotions. This paralysis was coming from him, by some type of
supernatural, diabolical energy. Only my prayers could reach out, move and
escape my inert form, to seek the divine help needed at these times.
After a few weeks, the shadowy man would no longer appear in the doorway, but
instead stand directly by the side of the bed where I lay, looking down over me
for a few minutes then fade away. I would always awaken, sensing the presence
watching me, and find myself staring at his muscular legs when my eyes first
opened as I lay there on my right side. I dared not look up. I didn’t want to. There was nothing inside
me that desired to make contact with this night
caller. I simply prayed and found I was given the strength to close my eyes
against the close vicinity of his form. Intuition told me that this ‘black form’
was not actually the being’s real anatomical design; it was merely an obscure
spectral costume that hid his true natural substance, like a wolf in sheep’s
clothing.
Since he began coming around during the night, the daytime pestering ceased. There was
no method to this madness, as his appearances always seemed at
random. Some times a few nights would go by with no incidences, but they only
gave me false hope. It was during the last week of May that he actually sat on
the edge of the bed, beside my arms that held a pillow between them as I slept
on my right side. I stirred in my sleep as I felt the weight of the bed go
down, and thought it was Clarice leaning up on the edge to try and wake me up to
let her go outside as she did every early morning. I reached out to pet her
head but there was no fur to touch, only the shock of a substantial body of
coldness, like that of a refrigerated cadaver. Instantly the vision of the
Oakwood House invaded my mind, and continued with a vibrating slide show of
images, like someone was shaking a running projector with an old scratched up
movie playing. Sepia toned snap shots shot through my brain with numerous frames
of the same image but taken at different angles, close ups and distant twisted
ones, even some were upside down. These were not my memories re-birthing
themselves, no; these were a forced intrusion of portraits seen from another’s
perspective. Scenes of the ragged hole in the basement wall, footprints in the
snow, impressions of wet naked feet on the concrete floor, the chain lock
hanging loose, and the basement door ajar with one vile eye peering through the
crack. The rabid slide show of mental photos ended with a close up of that eye
and then the sounds of hammering erupted in my ears, which sounded like someone
trying to beat down a heavy door with a massive log. After all these years, “It”
had somehow decided to seek, hunt and find the prey it had lost so long ago. My
eyes shot open and I saw him sitting there, a familiar terror had returned.
“GOD, I NEED YOU, NOW!” my soul screamed inside me. Adrenalin raced
through my veins and for the first time in over a month I found I could react
with swift deliberate movements. I lurched my body backwards, pulled the
blankets up in front of me, sat halfway up and threw the bed covers over the
figure, still holding on to the edges and began struggling with the captive.
My husband, Jim, woke up startled and I screamed at him to turn on the lights,
which he did while he watched in utter confusion as to what I was fighting with
under the covers. We had no bedside lamp so he had to get up and turn on the
overhead light. The bed was a total wreck, but there appeared to be a
sizeable lump in front of me where I had thrown part of a comforter over
something. Quickly I yanked it away, inhaling and exhaling excited breaths
with a determined confidence, not really comprehending what it was I was really
going to do if ‘It’ had actually been caught. The trespasser had vanished.
Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks as an unimpeachable fear,
the most unwanted of all human emotions, smoothly delivered itself through out
my entire being.
The whole episode left me stripped of self-reliance, exposing myself to my
own mortal terrors, as I felt mentally and spiritually molested. However, those
sentiments did not last long as I realized that this was how “It” wanted me to
react, so it could easily and passionately feed off the turmoil of my emotions.
Of all the years of spiritual and religious studies I had done on my own, there
is one similar course of instruction taught in almost all walks of faith, and in
so many words it is, “There is nothing to fear but fear itself.”
Should you
fear your own fear, tremor at your own terrors, or lose courage because you are
not courageous? All negative emotions are your own creations, you allow them to
grow, fester and shrink your confidence, like jealousy, envy and greed. Fear
was now an uneasy conflict for me to deal with, but with the faith I carried in
Gods protection, I became determined to remain sane and trust that this entity
would soon be seized and sent away. I dared not mention to any of my family
exactly what type of ‘visitor’ was in our home after the above incident. The
subject of the Oakwood Home was never mentioned except at our annual Halloween
True Ghost Story Bon Fire Party. It was considered taboo, with a foreboding
that it might actually conjure up the spirit again, just as we never mentioned
‘Man’ inside the house either. (Note: See story of ‘Man’ for further
explanation.) I did not believe in causing an intrepid dread of alarm in my
family so I merely passed it off as a very bad nightmare, and kept the
whole thing a secret from them. In fact, they won’t know unless they look up
this story on the Guardian Tales Web Site, go through my Word Documents, or find
a copy of the story when finished in a folder in my desk. It is best they do
not know what has come this way to cause havoc, for their control of fear is not
like my own.
Although, the above descriptions of events would no doubt scare the living
Dickens out of the normal person, this does not end the tale. Not in the least,
for there are two more particular nights that need to be unfolded to you the
reader so you can get the whole picture of this profane unholy affair. “How in
the world”, you might ponder, “did she crawl back into the same bed knowing what
lay in wait for her?” Well, it’s like the same process of getting back into
another vehicle after you’ve had a traumatic car accident, or praying lightning
doesn’t strike twice, or maybe even being foolish enough to continue smoking
after seeing a close family member die of emphysema. Whether it is courage,
faith or stupidity in another’s eyes, it’s the basic manner in which I live my
daily life; I do not let outside interferences interrupt my natural surroundings
or routines. It was a difficult process to develop and retain that sense of
peace over the years to withstand the onslaught of rigors the world has to
inflict. To surrender to the enemy is not a choice for me, because I see the
term ‘turning the other cheek’ as a means to simply turn away. You yourself may
have experienced the frustration when you have been in an argument with someone
and they choose to set silently while you ranted and complained. They embraced
their own decision not to be involved with the chaos you were trying to create.
‘Silence is golden’ is still a grand rule.
The next few days involved much prayer, going around the house and property
and asking the Divine to bless and cleanse it, also invoking His protection and
guidance. One would be vain in imagining they could go up alone against
something as powerful and diabolical as what this specter being was. We are but
mere mortals; meek and unpretentious flesh creatures, accessible to death.
On or around the last day of May, another conflict ensued. It was after
my husband left for work, past 3:00 AM, and I had just lain down from letting
the dogs out and was trying to catch a few more hours of sleep. In the
moment before reaching the first stage of sleep, I felt like I was ripped out of
my body, that my soul had been split away from my flesh. It happened so
quickly that I felt stunned and confused as I found myself hovering above my
sleeping figure below.
For one brief moment I believed I had actually died, because it was so
similar to a life after death experience I had some 25 years prior. This
was no ordinary out of body experience either, no; this was as if something
yanked me away from somewhere tranquil and placed me into a mysterious
atmosphere of a frigid thick liquid. I felt suspended inside a freezing
gel that filled my bedroom like a morbid aquarium. It was a dimension
between a dimension, and the somber murky image of the entity loomed before me
at the end of the bed.
The outline he had taken as a man dissolved into a mass of solid shadow, his
outstretched arms resembled an English man from the 1800’s who had a flowing
black cape on, as he advanced towards me swiftly. That umbra of obscurity
offered no shelter but instead eclipsed all that was around me, enclosing me
within a pervading tomb. As if the ‘gel’ wasn’t constricting enough, this
new form of suffocation was dangerously intolerable. I was in the womb of
the unnatural and it was moving me away from my earthly reality. I was
acutely aware of my state even though I had the sensation of being drugged.
No nightmare would have come so quickly after laying down for a few minutes, nor
would a night terror have enveloped a sleeper so rapidly. This was a one
sided seduction, one most vile and contemptible.
I remember opening my mouth and feeling it fill up with the cryptic plasma as
I tried to yell, “What is it you want of me…why are you doing this?” The
sound was muffled and the words bubbled out over my lips slowly. I realize
now that what I said then was the wrong thing to utter, it was an invitation for
a reaction, it gave way for the being to form a connection to my spirit, an
encouragement for it to respond. It was on the same basis one would use
the Ouija board to open a portal, a doorway, or an avenue for the other side to
communicate. I had failed in two ways at that moment, one was a failure to
‘turn the other cheek’ and avoid a confrontation, and the other was the downfall
of not relying on my spiritual faith. The womb was crossing over into an
unknown realm, one with the chaotic visions of a hundred diseased rotted hands
clamoring for my legs, pulling and dragging me through their threshold like they
were trying to perform an abortion at a Black Mass. Feet first I was being
born into their own mundane and unexplainable universe.
Just as I felt the last bit of dark afterbirth still surrounding my face and
neck I was wrenched backwards violently in one motion, back to my body, back to
reality, making my eyes shoot open in wild shock. My breathing was frantic
and labored. My mind felt groggy and disorientated but still retained the
deranged images of the miscarriage. The rational side of my brain pleaded with
my sanity telling me that this had all been just a haunting and gruesome dream.
Earnestly I prayed and gave thanks for the rescue, whether it had been from an
actual inhuman transportation or from the depths of the dramatic realm of
nightmares. (Who is to say that we do not walk on the other side when we are
unconscious? I am not one to argue with another over this subject, especially if
it be someone who has never felt the impossible, or had a certain ‘darkness’
embrace their whole being. A non-believer or a skeptic would scoff at this
story and might offer the explanation of “It was only heartburn, a heart attack
or a hallucination that made her see these things.” To those individuals,
I pray you will one day have eyes to see and ears to hear.)
Another couple of evenings went by before the entity came once more. This
time it arrived in the fashion of a smoky orb of energy and awoke me just as the
sun was coming up and peering through the window by my head. A loud rush of
wind is what stirred me to consciousness. It was unlike the gentle rhythmic
sound that came from the fan I had on. It was more like the gust of air you
hear when a diesel truck’s air brakes are released. My eyes only got a chance
to blink a few times as they tried to focus on the floating pulsating sphere
beside the bed, then in an instant it was upon me, slamming me back hard against
the mattress.Without delay those same erratically convulsing pictures of the
Oakwood House once again invaded my mind and I was forced to re-watch the
macabre movie over again.
The orb gave the impression that it was recoiling
around inside my chest cavity, torso, even up into my throat, trying to adhere
to everything and anything, but it seemed it couldn’t stay attached long enough
to form a union with me personally. At first I believed it was my own body and
soul that was rejecting the unwelcome trespasser but a more exalted explanation
was prevalent; a sacred guardian had come to slay my dragon. Once more I lay
paralyzed, not able to speak, to move or to even blink. This time it wasn’t
because of a malevolent force that held me rendered, instead it was due to a
battle going on within. There was no pain, but yet tears spilled down my
cheeks. My mouth formed the words for ‘help’ but nothing audible came forth,
only the reasoning instinct inside my heart could plead for assistance, and no
one in the house could hear me calling.
The need for physical assistance was
never needed as my rescuer already dwelled within, keeping my body and soul
safe. The confrontation between the two forces did not seem to last long; it
seemed to be a brief engagement of rivalry, with no real competition to contend
with or maybe it lasted longer then I thought. (Time has the impression of
whisking by when in another existence. Similar to people that were abducted by
aliens; they seem to be gone for only a short time but when they return hours
have passed by.) As before, I felt a part of myself taken out of the flesh, my
ghostly feet hovered over the pillow by my head below. I was literally ‘lit’ up
inside with the brightest of lights, moving and spreading itself gently to
surround and capture the dark ball of the trespasser. It was similar to
radiation eradicating a cancerous tumor. I could see the orb’s energy wearing
down under the presence of the surreal illumination until it finally surrendered
and succumbed to the ‘Radiances’ will. The orb was engulfed with a shower of
miniature golden fireworks, which sparkled, expanded and then contracted into a
brilliant white gold circle, encompassed by glowing rings of the same color
After the Celestial guardian had secured the unwelcome guest, it seemed to
compress its shape into an even smaller globe and then just as quickly as it had
appeared it jaunted outward, upward and away, vanishing before it reached the
ceiling of the bedroom. My spirit slipped downward like it was on a rushing
water slide and found its place back inside its body. Sam and Clarice came
running into the room, jumped up on the bed and began licking my face.
Paralysis no longer held me bound and I could move to embrace their company.
There was a feeling of clarity and emotional calm surrounding us, as well as all
through the house after I arose. Thankfulness and praise was given abundantly
and another house blessing was begun.
It took a few weeks for me to shake off
that terrible anxiety of having to re-live that source of horror again. It took
a few weeks of cleansing the house and property along with steadfast prayer and
meditations. Carefully and cautiously the corrupted, tainted sluice that had
surrounded my sanity was removed and excised. Sent back to its origin, back to
the foundations of its birth, its place of creation, its portal. Back to its
cradle; a nest of sordid degradation. Sealed with an injunction from God that
prohibits its return to my personal existence. The Dragon was slayed.
That entity, for whatever reason, had felt a desire to lay
siege to my personal existence, to combine ‘Its” viability with my own
metabolism. It attempted to meld its negative energy with my positive one. Why
it sought me after so many years is a most sublime mystery indeed, and there is
no doubt in my mind that this was the same depraved denizen that had
occupied the Oakwood House. Those convulsing images it projected from the home
years ago into my head are what assured me of that certainty.
Last weekend, while walking down the hallway and turning
into my bedroom I witnessed a glowing orb suspended at the end of my bed. Its
shape was like a huge fluffy white dandelion ready to be blown away by the wind
except it was golden and sparkling. Smiling, I walked over, reached my hand
out, palm up, and came up underneath it to try and touch it. My palm went
gently through it, making its shape expand slightly, and it felt like a thousand
bubbles of champagne were tickling my skin. As I moved around it to get into the
bed, I saw Sam and Clarice in the doorway looking at the orb also. Together we
watched it for a few more seconds, then an unseen breeze distributed the sparks
and it faded away. There was no fear. Only peace. We all slept well that
evening and ever since then.
Today is July 17, 2004, and the story is finally
finished. It has taken a few more weeks then I intended to see its completion
for it has been a challenging one to put together with the right words.
It is important to me personally that you, the reader, can
visualize the events in such a way that you are actually there seeing what I
saw, feeling what I felt. Please forgive me if I’ve failed somewhat in some of
the descriptions.
(Note: One might muse over the fact that my husband,
family and friends, would think me psychotic or cursed with all the constant
paranormal activities surrounding our lives, but on the contrary, many of them
have experienced, seen or felt some of the numerous events that I have written
about and shared. Their unwilling participation and witnessing have changed
many of their own personal beliefs and they are all very patient and
understanding when something new occurs.
Why me? Who really knows, as I didn’t
ask, choose or invite any of the supernatural phenomenon that have happened over
the course of nearly 40 years, into my life. I do know that I am not alone in
the world; there are thousands of others out there who have experienced similar
circumstances through out their own lives. So, I should really say, “Why Us?”
That will be a topic of another story, a very deep one indeed…stay tuned.
However, I will leave you with this quote to ponder I remember reading long ago,
“Sometimes God breaks us, in order to remake us. I truly believe that all the
episodes throughout my life have been for a reason, many in fact. One of the
most recent of revelations came to me from a reader of this web site, from an
email San forwarded on to me. I’ve corresponded with the woman and asked her
permission to quote something from her message, “Though I myself have never
dealt with the things described in her stories (and I pray to God I never have
to) I do understand what its like to feel afraid and helpless, not knowing what
may be out there. She also seems so strong to me, to be able to have seen and
dealt with these things, and still go on. Thus is the power of God, I suppose. I
guess you could say her stories touched me in a way. They made me really think
about the world, and what may be lurking out there.”
(NOTE: This was taken from an email
sent to me, which I forwarded to Jan.)
Needless to say, her words touched me deeply and they
really hit home with a purpose. It dawned on me that taking the time
to write about all these incidents could actually help others understand the
many mysteries they themselves encounter or are just curious about. I do
not write these for fame or recognition and this is the only web site you will
be able to read them on. They are only written to teach, inform and to let
the others who experience some of the same things know they are not alone, and
they are not crazy.)
-Jan Thompson.