Tag: ghosts

A Haunting, Evening Stroll.

10/22/21

It took me forever today to stop watching YouTube videos, get up off my ass, and do some grocery shopping, but I finally got motivated around seven thirty. Rather than drive the truck the short distance, I decided to walk there and enjoy the cool, evening air, which I supposed I needed.

Taking a right out the parking lot of my apartment complex, I walked down the sidewalk, passed by some houses, then the cemetery. As I was approaching the short tunnel beneath the bridge, I looked across the street at a house that had put up some pretty cool Halloween decorations, but I kept getting distracted by an elderly, roundish fellow headed in my direction on the sidewalk, carrying grocery bags. At first I thought maybe he was having an aggressive talk with someone on the phone, but as I came closer, it became apparent this was not the case. He was holding a conversation with someone who wasn’t there — or some disembodied being I couldn’t see, for all I fucking know, but it didn’t seem to me that he was merely talking aloud to himself. As I got within a foot or two of him, he finally seemed to notice me, or so I thought he did, and I greeted him with a warm smile, a nod of the head, and a “how you doing?” He said, “oh!” as he stepped aside, returned my smile, nodded, and said, “thank you.”

‘Twas a little strange, but given the town I work in and the strange people that inhabit it, I am well-adapted to such encounters at this point.

So I proceeded to enter the short, dark tunnel, and as I do so I hear something buzzing, like electricity. I continue to walk my way through it and suddenly, out of nowhere, as I’m about two-thirds the way through, my adrenile surges, my anxiety heightens, and I get the overwhelming, terrifying feeling that someone is right behind me. I actually turn around and look over my shoulder just as I exit the tunnel, but no one is there. Until I cross the street, however, that sense that someone is tailing me still lingers nonetheless.

I get my groceries and then begin the walk back, entering the tunnel yet again just as a train begins to go over the bridge above. All is well until, yet again, I’m about two thirds the way through, when the same thing happens. Adrenaline surges. Anxiety breaks through the ceiling. Someone is behind me, following me, and the sense is remarkably intense. I don’t remember if I bothered looking behind me as I did on the first occasion, but the feeling of being followed remained with me for most of the way home this time.

I know of the hypothesis that electromagnetic fields (EMF) and infrasound may explain many ghost sightings, as being sensitive to such fields can cause, for instance, the sense that one is being watched. Perhaps the electric buzzing I heard on my first walk through the tunnel — and likely also on my way back, though I didn’t notice it over the sound of the train plowing by on the bridge above me — may suggest one or the other was the true culprit here. After all, I am reasonably convinced that I constitute what is known as a Hypersensitive Person (HSP), as I’m hypersensitive in nearly every conceivable respect, so perhaps EMF hypersensitivity is just one more aspect of that.

Fucked if I know.

And maybe the two dreams as of late that I’ve had regarding dead people, the most recent of which was this morning, provided a context that led me to interpret the sensations I had when walking through the tunnel in just the way that I did. Not to mention that its Halloween season.

Even so, I find it curious that on both occasions the sensation came on abruptly and amazingly strong only when I was about two-thirds the way through the tunnel, yet it wasn’t in the same area within the tunnel, but rather at equal distance from opposite ends. I find it hard to believe that the source of the EMF would be moving, particularly in that specific fashion.

And then there was that roundish, elderly fellow arguing with someone that wasn’t there — or someone I couldn’t see — just as he was walking towards me from the direction of the tunnel. Did he experience it, too, perhaps more profoundly than I, and was he seeing and talking to an entity I only felt, however profoundly? Or was he even more sensitive to EMF or infrasound than I was, and so his experience was more multifaceted and intense than my own?

Melany & the Dead (10/22/21 Dream).

When my family moved to a more rural location in 1988, when I was about ten, Melany was the first friend I made at school. She lived on a dirt road just off the road we lived on, too, and I spent a lot of time over there, at her trailer, or she came over to our place, and her and I and a few other friends in the area hung out even more often during the summer.

It remained that way until high school, when things in my life became remarkably weird and I changed as a result, and in many respects. The distance between Melany and I grew, mostly because I felt she expected me to be someone that I no longer was, and honestly believed I had never truly been in the first place.

We’re Facebook friends now, both of us are in our forties, but we’re not close anymore at all, nor do I ever suspect we will ever be again. That’s one reason why the dream I had of her this morning is so curious to me.

The other is this new, recurring theme of dead people in my dream-life.

We were on a front lawn somewhere, and though I can’t be certain, it feels like the front lawn of the suburban home I lived in for the first decade of my life. From out of frame we both hear the voice of who I know to be her daughter calling, though I never saw her. She was explaining to Melany that someone was in her trailer, and when Melany asked her who, her daughter informed her it was Melany’s father.

Instantly, Melany stops doing the yardwork, or whatever it was that she was doing. Her face falls, her eyes tear up and quickly grow red. I know her immediate sadness is due to the fact that her father has been dead now for years and the mere mention of him overwhelms her with unbearable emotion.

It was as if the whole possibility that the ghost of her father hanging out in her trailer was immedeately forgotten, that the possibility that it might be true wasn’t entertained by her for as long as a milisecond, so intense were the emotions she was experiencing. She was absorbed in her grief entirely. Rather than consider that he might have actually returned, the mention of him only reminded her that he was gone, reminded her of how agonizingly much she missed him.

My heart went out to her. Impulsively, I came up to her, wrapped my arms around her, she wrapped her arms around me, and I hugged her — one of those incredibly long, deep hugs where you open up completely, where you don’t hold back, where your energy and that of the other person melds, resonates, temporarily merges into one. The hug lasts a long time, but its not awkward or uncomfortable — even when, during this period, our faces come close to each other at least twice and I fight this odd impulse to kiss her. I find this not just inappropriate but bizarre, as she is merely a friend. Even so, its quickly forgotten by me — as swiftly and mysteriously as the prospect of the ghost of her dead father waiting for her at home was evidently forgotten by the both of us.

When the hug is over, she seems disappointed with me, frustrated, even angry. She tells me that I was supposed to do more. I honestly feel confused. I ask her, “What is it you wanted me to do?”

I don’t know what happens to her after that or how our interaction ended. All I recall is that shortly thereafter I feel frustrated and depressed and I walk away, behind the house, and out into a large field behind it. With me I have my cigarettes, a lighter, and a bowl with some very loosely-packed weed in it (its just shake; essentially bottom-of-the-baggie weed dust).

Though the field looks nothing like the field that used to exist just beyond the chain-link fence of my family’s first house, in the dream, that’s exactly what it was. It looks like autumn. I remember thinking how I want to go out into the field one more time before I left, which was exactly how I felt, and what I in fact did, just before we moved from the first house in 1988.

Nearby some tall weeds, I crouch down to take a smoke — be it the weed or a cigarette, I can’t be certain, but as I crouch down and look in the direction of the house, I see my mother inthe far distance and seem to lock eyes with her, and so immediately abandon the plan anyway.

I stand up and walk further, through the field, passed the field, until I come across an open doorway to a strange, creepy building. I step inside before I really take the time to consider the idea and, with a sudden surge of anxiety, immedeately realize my mistake. I get the sense that its a huge warehouse or something, though before me is only this vacant, sort of lit hallway that leads to somewhere I can’t see.

I immedeately try and step back out of the doorway, but as I step into the frame some guy abruptly walks up to the door, gets uncomfortably close to me, seems to take something from my pocket, and walks away. Though I have no idea what he’s taken, I feel violated, afraid, and angry.