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Three Seperate Tales of The Paranormal

"These stories are all true."

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Competition Entry: Spooky Tales

#1. It was the year I was doing a show in Omaha, Nebraska that I met Sandy, a self-proclaimed white witch. I had been fascinated by the dark arts for some time and began to read and dabble in them attempting to expand on my sometimes ESP experiences. I was standing by my stage in between shows when I saw this mildly attractive woman walking by with two children in tow.

I looked at her, and the name Sandy just jumped into my head. As she walked up to the puppet stage, or rather she was pulled by her charges I asked, "Is your name Sandy?"

She smiled and said, "Yes it is," she seemed to concentrate for a minute and then said my name out loud. She took a seat and we chatted for about an hour until her children grew restless, she left saying she would see me later.

She did return later that day, having stashed her children with a sitter. We talked at length about the paranormal forces and what we have experienced. Sandy also met my little groupie, Linda, who could not stay long as her Grandmother had just passed, and she was en route to the funeral home.

Sandy offered to hand make a crucifix wristband and write a poem that Grandma could have, Linda was pleased as Grandma had always loved poetry. I did not see Sandy for a day, but I received a call that evening at my motel, Sandy invited me over for coffee and more conversation.

With her children asleep and her husband out of town, we were free to chat as long as we wanted. The hours passed, as we were chatting the house suddenly went ice cold, I mean really cold. We both knew there was a presence there and performed the proper chants to protect us.

I suddenly got a buzzing in my head and the house seemed colder."What do you have here that belongs to someone?" I asked Sandy.

"I have the cross wristband and poem that I made for Linda's grandmother," she responded, "but I missed the funeral."

I took the items and placed them on the mantle and said to the presence that these were hers. The house warmed slightly, but it was still cold and we still felt the presence. Suddenly Sandy's voice took on an eerie faraway tone and said, "Read the poem." I took the paper and read the words that Sandy had penned, and the house warmed up and we no longer felt any presence, just a sense of happiness that seemed to wash over us.

The following day I recounted my experience for Linda. When I got to the part about the poem Linda's face went white and her eyes grew quite large. "What's the matter?" I questioned.

"My Grandma was Mexican and could not read English. BUT she understood it very well."

#2. While doing a show in PA one year, my partner and I stumbled onto what looked to be a 200 to 300-year-old house. It was HUGE and similar looking to the mansion in Ohio that was turned into a haunted house attraction. We decided to investigate.

All the doors and windows and been boarded over, and I don't mean with common plywood, but heavy construction grade material. As we were visible to the passing traffic on the main road and did not wish to attraction to ourselves and invite trouble we went around to the back of the house. There we discovered a back door with a sliding bolt device made of 2x4's.

My partner was a biker, and while not afraid of much he asked, "Why bolt it from the outside?"

"What's in there you don't want to get out?" I laughed because I had been in alleged haunted places and was never bothered or frightened, so I pushed back the bolt and pushed open the door to peer inside

Now houses that sit boarded up can be a little cool inside, no matter how warm it is outside, the one in Ohio was like that. As we start to walk inside a gust of the coldest air, short of being outside in the Winter, seemed to gust from the inside and pushed us back outside and the door shut. We redid the bolt and ran like hell. We did not speak of it again for several years. You decide.

#3. Another time while out riding my dirtbike in Sandusky, Ohio I discovered an old forgotten cemetery off of a dirt road. Headstones were dating back to the 1700s. I returned to my parent's cottage and told everyone what I had found and was surprised that about a dozen of the others wanted to see it. So I agreed that I would lead a pack of about ten riders.

As we were getting ready to depart one of the elders in the group came forward. 

"Y'all better be careful, or one of them ole demons will come outta the ground to get ja," he stated.

"I fear no common demon," I said in my best Dracula voice. "Besides I have been in dozens of haunted places and the spirits will tolerate me."

We must have spent a couple of hours respectfully exploring the grounds of that long-forgotten graveyard. Upon returning home everyone noticed that they had a red rash on their arms but me.

My Dad said it was just because they walked where I didn't. I reminded him that I had led the group. Again you decide.

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