Knife at My Throat and a Psychic Phone Call

...As I was getting out of the cot to get it, a body jumped on top of me and held me down. The body shape looked like my soon-to-be husband, but I wasn't wearing my contacts, so I couldn't see him clearly. He was wearing a mask. I wondered what the shiny instrument was that he held near my throat....

...My daughter stirred in the bedroom and the guy with the knife grabbed me around my throat with one arm and held the knife to my throat with the other. "What was that?"...

...At a time when nobody owned cell phones, I also called my fiancé whose line was repeatedly busy, which was odd considering it was 4 o'clock in the morning...

To read all of this true story, please click Psychic Phone Call with a Knife at My Throat.

You’ve Been Cursed! How Do You Remove That Curse?

Nothing is more powerful than belief – YOUR belief. What you believe lays the groundwork not only for how you live your life but also for how you respond to anything that happens to you. If you feel that you have been cursed, for instance, and you walk into a darkly lit room to find a soothsayer who promises to relieve you of your curse, one thing and one thing only will unburden you from that curse – your belief that she knows how to remove your curse. But can you trust her? Read Do You Sometimes Feel that You’ve Been Cursed? for more.

A True Chicago Haunting – It's Halloween Every Day in a Haunted House – Buyer Beware

Previously published on Yahoo! Contributor Network

In 1985, long before the advent of cell phones, I returned home from work one night to discover that my (then) husband had kicked my fifteen-year-old daughter (oldest of four) out of the house for arguing with him about spending the night with a friend. The irony was that after finding nowhere to go, Keeley moved in with that friend's family the same night, a move that would prove to be immediately and truly supernatural.

After hearing about the argument, I allowed my daughter to live in their home, mostly because I didn't want to subject my daughter to a stepfather who so obviously abhorred her, but also because I was pursuing a divorce anyway.

Because the mom was a single parent with five children, I decided to award her some child support and I visited often. Before the argument, I had never met the family, but my daughter knew I would have allowed an overnight stay because I had often heard her speak fondly about them, and I would have met them when I picked her up.

Clare and I soon became very good friends. She and her children lived in a giant house in the Beverly area of Chicago and Clare had many teenage overnight visitors. To her, one additional child was merely a "what's one more?" minor inconvenience. To me, however, it was a big deal.

But rather than have my teenage daughter move back in with a man who so clearly disdained her, since I was already hatching my escape plan, I made it a point to get to know Clare. She truly enjoyed Keeley's company and convinced me that she would rather have my daughter live with her than with an unloving stepfather.

Upon first entering her home, however, my first thought was that it felt a little "creepy." I dismissed my thoughts and feelings while we drank herbal tea and talked at her dining room table. She put me at ease and then asked me if I wanted to see the rest of the house.

With trepidation, I followed her around like a frightened child. In the basement, my skin felt clammy and clenched tightly around my bones. My heart pounded so wildly in my chest, I felt as if I was facing my own death. I felt so uncomfortable underground, in fact, that I thought I was going to pass out. I must have looked like a Freddy Kruger victim entering a cellar in one of the Nightmare On Elm Street videos.

The second floor was no better, however, because as soon as I got to the top of the stairs I felt like running down them and out of the house as fast as I could. Never before had I been in a house that felt so scary, and never since. As somebody who has always been interested in paranormal activity, I have always believed in the possibility of ghosts, and have even had experiences with a couple of them (read Spirits of Ghosts - True Ghost Stories to find out about my true ghost experiences). http://paranormalminds.blogspot.com/2014/10/spirits-of-ghosts-true-ghost-stories.html

Because of my interest in all things metaphysical and paranormal, and because my daughter was in a rebellious phase, she believed in just the opposite of everything I believed - according to Keeley, ghosts did not exist, and everything "paranormal" was explainable. Mom was just plain weird, had a vivid imagination, or both.

The movie Ghost Busters had been released just the year before, and while Keeley looked upon paranormal activity as "stupid," her stay with Clare and Clare's children would challenge her beliefs and change them forever.

On her way up the stairs to sleep in the room the family had assigned to her on her first night in their house, everybody asked if she would be OK up there all by herself. In her usual nonchalant style, my daughter said, "Yeah, if he bothers me, I'll just call Ghost Busters."

All of them immediately became concerned and admonished her, "You shouldn't have said that. He's not going to like that you said that." She shrugged, brushed them off, and went upstairs.

Clare and her children experienced several incidents with the not-too-friendly ghost. One day, for example, as they all watched television, they saw a bicycle roll across the huge expanse of their hardwood living room floor, its pedals rotating as if somebody was riding it. Not wanting to admit to seeing what so clearly had to have been a hallucination, everybody ignored the phenomenon and nobody discussed the experience until much later when they compared notes and discovered that yes, they had all witnessed the same event.

On her first night at the house, after climbing the stairs to the second floor, Keeley sat down on the bed. The moment she lifted her feet from the floor, she watched the table next to her rise off the floor and hover for several seconds. Instant fear engulfed her, and she tried to scream, but her voice choked silent in her throat.

It was to be one of many such experiences that forever changed Keeley's view on paranormal activity.

Everybody, it seemed, learned to live with the ghost, but I remained terrified of it. Not long after Keeley moved in (the move was only temporary), the family sold the house and moved on. The night before the move, I dreamed I was helping Clare move. As would be my feeling in reality, I rushed to grab boxes and race out of the house. In this dream, however, as I grabbed a box and ran behind Clare, the doors slammed shut after Clare exited the house - I couldn't get out. So on my last day at the house, as Clare was moving boxes, I made sure I was the first one out of the house.

I later asked Clare if she had any qualms about leaving the house to people who knew nothing about the ghost, and she told me that nobody had mentioned any paranormal activity to her when she moved in - if the new owners had had any apprehension about purchasing a haunted house, they shouldn't have bought it in the first place. And besides, the ghost never actually hurt anybody.

Only one word entered my mind when she said that - YET! But maybe I've seen too many programs that deal with paranormal activity and ghosts.

Clare and I remain very close friends. I still wonder from time to time about the current owner(s) of the house, and possible subsequent owners after that. Were any of the homeowners aware of a presence in the home? If they weren't sensitive to things outside the bounds of sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell, would it be possible to live with a real ghost and not know about it?

I never saw any scary spirits or ghostly apparitions in that house, and ghost hunters, if they were around back then, were unknown to me. I know with certainty, though, that I would never knowingly purchase a house I thought was haunted. To me, living in a haunted house would be like celebrating a fright-filled Halloween every single night.

But maybe a haunted Halloween-type experience is not an accurate assessment of a home that feels eerie. Maybe it's more a matter of positive and negative energy left behind by previous owners. Maybe the paranormal experiences we perceive to be in haunted toys, haunted music, or haunted houses signify our ability to feel the positive and negative effects of residual energy.

If you are thinking of buying a haunted house and if you are curious about how you might react to living in a supernatural environment - or even if you think you might be sensitive to positive and negative energy in a home you are considering purchasing - check out Cathy Montville's Buying a House? Research State Law or Live with that Ghost article before you buy. http://expertspages.com/2014/08/buying-a-house-research-your-states-law-or-live-with-that-ghost/

Happy House Haunting - I mean Hunting!

The Pact – Two Friends Promise to Visit Each Other After Death

Katherine and I met on Superbowl Sunday in 1982. We were both pregnant and we were both due one day apart that following July – me on July 25th; her on July 26th. Unlike most people who meet at parties and agree to keep in contact, Katherine and I actually did. And as our due dates drew closer, we kept in more frequent contact.

By August, we discovered another commonality - both of our babies were overdue. Katherine finally gave birth on August 4th. The following day, I had the nurses wheel me into Katherine's room to announce to her that I, too, had given birth to a son. Our babies were born hours apart on different days.

Throughout that year and the next we further developed our relationship when we both gave birth to girls a month apart in 1984. We got together as often as we could and we maintained our relationship with phone calls when we couldn't get together. We were each other's link to sanity when our lives spun out of control.

After we both divorced, Katherine moved west of the city and I moved south, but we kept in close contact with phone calls, emails, and visits. Our discussions always centered around family and the paranormal.

As the days, weeks, and months passed, Katherine and I became more strongly bonded. Her beliefs were aligned with mine and we both shared a passion for all things paranormal. Spirits, ghosts, hauntings, auras, crystals, ESP, UFOs, Tarot cards - everything paranormal captured our attention - especially astrology. I had taken a class in astrology and taught Katherine how to draw charts and analyze them.

Katherine took my teachings and started casting her own charts, making phenomenal predictions that more often than not came true. She developed a client base, quit her job, and became a full-time astrologer.

We read for each other and decided that because of our belief in life after death, whoever died first would contact the other. That was our pact.

In 2006, Katherine developed physical problems that, according to Katherine, baffled doctors. Katherine went from doctor to doctor, from hospital to hospital, no closer to an answer after several months than before she started visiting them.

As her health deteriorated, her spirit suffered as well. She thought friends didn't understand the severity of her problems and that they were taking advantage of her by hounding her for readings and not caring about the medical problems she endured.

Despite repeated attempts to get together with her, Katherine grew to believe that nobody, including me, truly cared about her. In the fall of 2006, I finally convinced her to meet me midway between where we both lived. The visit was the most unusual one we ever had.

As was our custom, we informed the wait staff that we would be in their establishment for several hours but that we would compensate them for their time. Unlike her usual cheery attitude, Katherine's demeanor was serious and morose. Something about that luncheon bothered me and I could sense something in Katherine, a sad resolve, perhaps, that her physical problems would never be addressed.

The holidays were extremely hectic for me that year. In a period of two years, my family had expanded considerably with the addition of two marriages and more babies. I was also moving during the month of December. I tried to let Katherine know what my new address would be, but though I tried on several occasions, I could never reach her.

I always call friends and family on Christmas, but for the entire month of December, I was unable to get a hold of Katherine. Her voice mail box was full and it wouldn't allow me to leave a message.

I even tried sending emails, but Katherine never responded to any of them. Maybe she still considered me to be one of those friends who had abandoned her in her time of need. By January, I was becoming more and more concerned, and I called her again and again.

One night, alone in my room, I discovered a new reason to call her that would certainly excite her. Upon awakening in the middle of the night, I felt a presence in the room, a heaviness that alerted me to the fact that I was no longer alone. As surely as I could feel a hug from a loved one, I felt the presence of someone in that room.

Though I have felt the presence of spirits before (you can read about those experiences in the article, Spirits of Ghosts - True Ghost Stories), I remained frightened by them. I didn't know who the spirit was, but I apologized to whoever it was for being afraid. Once I acknowledged its presence, the heaviness lifted and the presence left.

Katherine knew about my other spirit visits and I couldn't wait to share this new experience with her. I continued to call her throughout January and into February, all the while wondering what was going on and why I couldn't contact her. I was getting angry with her for never emptying her voice mail box so I could leave her a message and I was angry with her for not responding to my emails.

I thought I might be able to reach her through one of her children on myspace so I tried there first. Eventually, I located her son. On February 20th I received a message from him telling me that Katherine had passed away from organ failure on January 10th. His father had died the following day. The shock I felt was compounded by knowing how sad her children were at the passing of both their mother and their father within one day of each other.

Thinking back to the day when I felt a spirit in my room, I understood now that the spirit who visited me was Katherine. She had kept her promise to visit me if she died first.

Today, probably knowing I'm still not comfortable with spirit visits, she enters my dreams. I once asked her in a dream what if felt like to be dead. She responded that it really wasn't much different from life on Earth and that she was still learning.

I'd like to believe she finally found the peace she so deserved. 

Spirits of Ghosts - True Ghost Stories

Originally published on (the now defunct) Yahoo! Contributor Network Jul 17, 2009

When I was in grammar school, I fell madly in love with a high school senior who played drums in a band. Since I was only 13 years old, my parents wouldn't allow me to go out with him, so he came to our house and visited with my father after Dad sent me to bed (very embarrassing). The following year - my freshman year of high school - George joined the service and was sent to Viet Nam.

Probably because of the age difference, and definitely because of my father, George never kissed me. He never even tried to kiss me, but, filled with the spirit of youth, I held out hope that one day George would become so completely enamored with me that he wouldn't be able to help himself.

He did write to me though - often. And the joy I experienced when I received his letters contrasted sharply with the disappointment I felt when I searched vainly through his letters for any mention of, "I love you." I sifted through page after page of the day-to-day things like, "I had to sit in a tree today," hoping to find one shred of evidence that he loved me. Never did he mention his love for me - the words I longed to see never appeared. He droned on and on about how secretive his mission was and how he was commanded not to tell me anything about what was going on in Viet Nam.

And then one night I had a dream about receiving George's typical letter, which I perused with my usual hopefulness. Again, he made no mention of love, but something unusual appeared in the letter, words that stood out from the rest. I didn't remember immediately upon awakening what they were. And then they slammed me in the head like a set of brick bookends. Clearly written in the letter I had read in my dream were the words, "Oh, by the way, I'm dead."

Several days later his mother called to tell me that George had died (the day I had "read" his letter).

That experience led me to believe that spirits have the ability to visit "loved ones" in dreams, and I convinced myself that, even though he never said the words, the fact that he attempted to maintain contact with me even after he died meant that I was at least somewhat significant to him.

Perhaps the most unusual ghostly appearance I ever experienced, though, came in the early 1970's when I was nineteen years old and studying ESP.

Marilyn and Jeannie, close friends who took breaks and lunches together at the insurance company where they worked, invited me, the newbie, to join them. We became friends and often met outside of work for picnics and other get-togethers.

A couple of months after I met my new coworkers, Marilyn's cousin, Dennis, drove Marilyn to my house for a visit. As Dennis sat in my driveway watching his cousin climb the steps to the home I shared with my parents, sisters, and daughter, I stood in the doorway to welcome Marilyn, and when I looked into the car and saw him, I felt a powerful and instantaneous connection with him that would draw me closer to him every time we got together.

Unlike some of the guys I had met, Dennis treated me with tenderness, affection, and respect. It was an easy relationship that we both took great care to nurture as we waited for our divorces to finalize. We were both still very young, we both had little girls, we shared the same principles, and we loved the same types of music.

Though I was separated from my husband, Dennis was still living with his wife, so we took our time in developing our relationship. Marilyn insisted that his divorce truly was in its final stages and that I had nothing to worry about, but I wanted to go slowly and so did Dennis.

One night when Dennis and I were supposed to get together, and after several nights of my parents reluctantly babysitting, my parents decided that they were so embarrassed by all of the motorcycles rumbling down our street every night that, even though Dennis would be coming without his entourage that night, they refused to babysit any longer if I continued to date the "rebel." I told him I would try to get together with him over the weekend instead.

Because I was deeply involved in enhancing my extra sensory perception (ESP) during that time, I practiced Harold Sherman's How to Make ESP Work For You exercises daily. I surprised people at work (and myself) with my accuracy. It was fun and it was entertaining.

The day after we were supposed to get together, though, I was haunted by my perceptions. I awoke with a queasy feeling and a gnawing suspicion that something was wrong with somebody. I couldn't articulate why I was so upset, however, or whom my feelings referenced. I carried my daughter to the sitter trying not to let my mind run me over with worry. I walked to the bus stop and rode the hour-long bus ride to work, wondering and worrying the whole time about why I was feeling so strongly that something was seriously wrong.

By the time I got to work, I was convinced that if something hadn't been wrong when I awoke, it was going to be wrong at some point during the day. Marilyn didn't show up for work that day, so I told Jeannie about my concerns. I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I couldn't relieve myself of the emotional anguish I was experiencing.

I called my mother, my sisters, my sitter, my friends - everybody and anybody I could imagine. I couldn't eat and I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the thought that something was seriously wrong somewhere.

Jeannie watched me closely throughout the morning and listened to me tell her repeatedly that I knew somebody was in trouble or that somebody was experiencing something truly awful.

Breakfast passed, break passed, lunch passed, but the nagging feeling didn't. By afternoon break, Jeannie told me she couldn't watch me suffer anymore and that she thought she knew why I felt so strongly that something was wrong with somebody - she had heard that the reason Marilyn hadn't come to work that morning was because the night before (the night I was supposed to be riding with him), Dennis had been killed in a motorcycle accident.

We called Marilyn's house to verify the rumor and discovered that Dennis had been run over by a Pepsi truck on the night I was supposed to go riding with him.

Instantly I knew that Dennis was the reason I felt as I did and that even people I knew for only a short while could impact me with so much power that no matter how long I'd known them or how much time I'd spent with them, my life had forever been changed because of them. I was soon to discover just how deeply I had affected HIM.

That night, after I pulled the string from the ceiling light and placed my head on my pillow, I heard a jumbled whisper of words in my ear. Everything I'd learned about ESP dissolved. In terror I flew out of bed to turn on the light, my heart pounding. I slept with the light on that night, apologizing over and over to Dennis for being afraid, but unable to stop myself from feeling the fear.

The following night, as I sat on my bed, after turning off the light, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Scared out of my skin, I jumped off the bed and turned on the light deciding never again to study ESP. For years afterward, I slept with the light on and never again felt his presence.

I learned something from those experiences. WE ARE energy and we either attract people to us or repel people from us. Energy surrounds us and energy impacts us whether through attraction or repulsion. When another person's energy embraces ours in a loving affectionate manner, we can feel that warmth even after the person is gone, because, as any scientist will tell us, energy never dies.

Want to read more from this author? Please visit any of the following places. Thank you for reading! 

Writing Creatively 

My Heart Blogs To You 

Help For Single Parents 

Theresa Wiza's Blog  

Your Weird Dreams 

Paranormal Minds 

Crystal Butterfly Creations

All Craft Connection 

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ESP Works - Harold Sherman Shows How

Originally published on Yahoo! Contributor Network Feb 1, 2009

Harold Sherman's, How to Make ESP Work for You, was first released in 1964. I was already interested in everything metaphysical and paranormal, so not only did I read the book, I also immersed myself in it. In truth, I absorbed it. I was 13.

With his step-by-step approach, Harold Sherman (1898-1987) taught me how to relax into receptivity, and I faithfully practiced his methods, amusing myself every time his instructions and my ESP worked.

Fortunately I had a friend who was as interested in the subject of ESP as I was. Kathie and I played little ESP guessing games and discovered that simply thinking of somebody could bring that person into being, whether through telephone lines or in person. However, Mr. Sherman's admonitions to be spiritually ready frightened me, and not knowing what he meant by spiritual readiness, I put my ESP development aside.

Several years passed. At nearly 18, I gave birth to my first daughter and decided I was probably ready to further develop whatever ESP I had brought into the world with me. I read the book again, cover to cover, and practiced the exercises.

The First Major ESP Experience

Shortly after I separated from my first husband, I found a job with an insurance agency in Chicago, my first real taste of life outside of high school. I quickly developed friendships with Marilyn and Jeannie. Though I wasn't planning on dating anybody yet (my divorce wasn't final), Marilyn's cousin, Dennis, found his way into my heart. We had a lot in common - he was not yet divorced, he had a young daughter, he treated me respectfully, and we had a great time together.

Usually we spent time riding on his motorcycle. When Dennis arrived at the home I still shared with my parents, he brought along his entourage of motorcycle buddies so we could all ride together. Mom and Dad hated him, insisting he belonged to a gang. They were also embarrassed by what they thought the neighbors might say, and they refused to babysit any longer if I insisted on dating this "rebel". So I told Dennis to take his daughter out for ice cream that night and I would figure out how we could get together the following weekend.

The next morning I awoke with a feeling of dread. The air around me felt heavy and stifling. My pulse quickened with a certain knowing that something was amiss. By the time I arrived at work, I was consumed with the thought that something was terribly wrong with somebody I loved.

Marilyn was not at work that day. Jeannie watched me call my childcare provider, my sisters, my parents, and my best friends. I told Jeannie that I KNEW something was terribly wrong with somebody. I couldn't eat breakfast. I couldn't concentrate on work. Morning break came and went, my mind still focused on reasons I might feel as uncomfortable as I felt. Jeannie kept watching me. By the time lunch arrived I still had no appetite and I hadn't eaten anything all day.

By afternoon break, Jeannie told me she couldn't stand to see me suffer anymore. She thought she knew why I was experiencing these feelings. Dennis and I had only begun to date. I never would have imagined my thoughts would have been connected to him, so I was surprised by my reaction to her news. Jeannie had heard that Dennis was killed in a motorcycle accident the night before and suggested we call to verify the rumor.

It was true. On the night I was supposed to be with him, a Pepsi truck crashed into Dennis, severing his head from his body. The moment I heard what had happened to him, I knew my feelings of dread were connected to him. I sobbed with a mixture of grief and relief - grief because I had lost somebody who was becoming more meaningful to me day after day, and relief because my family and the rest of my friends were fine.

During that time, I slept in the basement of my parents' home with my daughter's crib next to my bed. Exhausted from the emotions of the day, I turned out the light and crawled into bed. As my head touched the pillow, somebody whispered in my ear. I couldn't understand the words and I was too frightened to find out. I shot out of bed like a bullet and turned on the light.

The following night, after turning off the light, and as I sat on the bed, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I jumped to turn on the light. From that night on, I slept with a light on every night.

As much as I wanted to learn how to develop my ESP, I discovered I was too afraid to continue learning about it. I shut out the whispering and the touching and apologized to the spirit I believed to be Dennis for being too frightened to communicate with him.

The Lighter Side of ESP

But I was not able to stop the ESP from filtering in. When I was promoted from the typing pool, I entered a different department, where I toyed with my newly developed ESP on a much lighter level by playing the "I know what's happening" game with bewildered coworkers. One national manager, for instance, received a call at the same time I came across an agent's name in a file box. With certainty I KNEW the manager was talking to that agent.

In the 1970's we had no caller ID, so when I asked a coworker to sneak into his office to confirm my statement, she couldn't help but investigate. The caller could have been an agent anywhere across the country, a family member, a friend, a coworker, or even a subscriber. But that call came from the agent I named.

ESP Offers Help To Those Who Listen

I have often believed that ESP is merely an ability to ascertain all possible reactions generated from each action, and when certain energies are aligned, and somebody is receptive to those energies, they click. Some of us hear that click. Like computers, we have the ability to reason a "then" from an "if" in order to learn more about the world in which we live. By becoming aware of or sensitive to feelings, facial expressions and body language, and by listening to our consciences or our "sixth" sense, we have the ability to recognize signals that alert us to possible danger - if we listen - and if we act.

My ESP has helped me on many occasions. Driving to Great America one year when my children were young, I awoke with a sense that something was not quite right. A friend of one of my children demanded we not go because of a dream she had. Another friend cautioned us not to go as well. But we really wanted to go to Great America, so we ignored the warnings. I drove carefully, however, the warnings ever present in my mind.

All the way up to and past Chicago that day we saw accident after accident. People were racing in excess of 90 mph. By the time we saw the Ferris wheel from the expressway, we had rammed into a car that had rammed into another car that had rammed into yet another car that stopped short when it saw an accident ahead. All total, there were five accidents on and off the cloverleaf of the expressway that day and countless others along our way to Great America. As a result of our accident, instead of enjoying ourselves at the amusement park, we spent the day in the hospital with no way home. My car was totaled, but we were all in fairly good shape.

Another day, as I was driving north in the left-hand lane of a four-lane highway alongside a truck, I had a feeling that a driver heading west from the east, even though he or she had a stop sign, might run the stop sign in front of the truck that was turning east. Fortunately, I listened to that little voice and, without seeing - only sensing - danger, I slammed on my breaks just in time to see a car run through the stop sign and speed past me. I hadn't seen the car until it was directly in front of me. The accident would have been, if not fatal, devastating.

ESP Warnings

Some feelings are generated from actions that practically scream at you to pay attention. One morning as my sister (another Kathy), my friend (Clare), and I were planning a canoe trip, I kept dropping and breaking things. After about the fifth breakage I reasoned that the clumsy actions were probably warnings signaling me to NOT go on the trip. My sister awoke with a feeling that maybe we shouldn't go on the trip either, after having had a dream about it. And when my friend arrived to pick us up, she told us she thought we shouldn't go because she had been having a bad feeling about the trip since she awoke. We will never know if there would have been an undertow that might have ended our lives or if something less serious might have happened - we trusted ourselves enough to know we should change our plans.

ESP Friends

As one might expect, I gravitate toward people who believe as I do, that the world offers far more mysteries than we can imagine and who delight in discoveries of things we previously did not understand. Katherine was one of those friends. She and I made a pact that whoever died first would contact the other. One January day a couple of years ago, I felt a presence in my room. Too terrified of what it was to even try to make contact, I shut myself off from it only to discover a month later that the friend I had been trying to reach since before Christmas, had died on January 10th. Katherine had kept her word, but I shut her out because I didn't know it was she who was trying to communicate with me.

I often wonder, though, if I had known she was dead, would her presence still have frightened me? In our discussions before she died, I told her she would find it much easier to reach me in my dreams. And she has.

My Future With ESP

Fortunately for me, Harold Sherman's, How to Make ESP Work for You, was reprinted in 1986, because in total I have had to purchase three copies of the book. I lent my first two copies to people who refused to return them. I still have my third copy. Now if only I could build up the courage to read it and practice it again.

Want to read more from this author? Please visit any of the following places. Thank you for reading! 

Writing Creatively 

My Heart Blogs To You 

Help For Single Parents 

Theresa Wiza's Blog  

Your Weird Dreams 

Paranormal Minds 

Crystal Butterfly Creations

All Craft Connection 

Product Favorites 

Your Blog Connection 

My Humor Outcasts Page

My BubbleWS Page

A Halloween Paranormal Nightmare While Awake: Halloween Voices Won't Let You Sleep

Previously published on Associated Content / Yahoo! Voices Oct 23, 2010

On Halloween the room was dark except for shadowed branches dancing on the walls. I was alone, awaiting that moment of surrender when my body would cave to the demands of sleep. But sleep never came.

My eyes sprung open at the mention of my name. Thereeeeesa, the voice whispered long and slow. Thereeeeesa.

As if the planets had spun out of control, their centrifugal force racing at a speed too fast for my mind to comprehend, I felt myself plastered to the bed. Every time I tried to lift my arms, my legs, and even my head, I remained glued in place. Panic swept over me in a drenching sweat as I tried in desperation to force myself out of my bed.

Though I poured every bit of strength into every imagined move in my efforts to stand up, I felt my energy deplete with each attempted movement. A kind of prickly numbness stabbed every pore in my skin while I listened to the reverberation of my heart thumping in my ears - drowned out only by my name being called again, Thereeeeesa.

Something had to be holding me down, I reasoned, something I couldn't see, a ghost or a spirit maybe. All I could think to do was trick whatever it was that kept calling my name by pretending to be unafraid.

Using my strength of will, I tried to force myself into an upright position before this force became fully aware that I was even thinking about it.

In one swift movement, I swung my left shoulder toward my right. The move was too fast. I crashed to the floor. Leaden legs, cement block appendages wouldn't allow me to crawl, let alone walk. Thereeeeesa, the whisper taunted me.

The phone sat on a table across the room from me. In terrified panic, I realized I had to reach the phone to call my mother. The hour was late, but my mother would hear the panic in my voice, would recognize my fear. My mother would calm me down.

I placed a hand on the wooden floor in front of me and heard the wet slap as each palm hit the ground. Inch by inch I dragged my way across the room to the phone. I reached up to grab it.

The second my finger touched the receiver, I was back on the bed. Thereeeeesa.

I could see my body glisten in the moonlight, sweat oozing from every pore after my struggle to get to the other side of the room.

If only my mother could hear my psychic cries for help. I had to get to the phone. I had to stop the voice from...from what? What was haunting me?

Maybe I was imagining the voice, but the air felt suffocating. It closed in around me, its heaviness clinging to me like clammy fingers. I had to get out of the straightjacket that held me tight to my bed.

With every ounce of energy I could muster, I flung myself forward and landed, once again, on the floor. Again, I dragged myself across the floor as I listened to the squeak of my hands. Again, I reached for the phone. Again, I grasped it in relief as I pressed the first button.

Instantly I was back on the bed listening to the rapid drumming of my heart. Maybe I could make it to my sister's room. I had to alert her. I needed her help.

I could almost see the hands of the clock race in circles as the night passed in segments of time. I must have blacked out occasionally. What else could account for the fact that one second I was on the floor and the next I was on the bed with no memory of having crawled back to the bed?

I tried once more to get across the room. Plop. Onto the floor. Slap. Slap. Slap. I kept getting closer to my sister's room. Dragging. Dragging cement legs behind me. I reached up. Heard my sister breathing. Grabbed the blanket.

Thereeeeesa. I found myself back on my bed.

I remembered an old Indian story I'd heard about how facing my fears head on would make me stronger. With determination, I decided that if I could make it to the end of the hall, I would no longer be afraid.

Somehow I found the strength to pull myself into an upright position and with rigid legs and a stiff back walked intently toward the kitchen. With wobbly legs, I passed my daughter's room. I watched her sit upright in her bed as I passed by. Her haunted look surprised me and she spoke to me as if in a trance. "Don't go in there," she said as she fell backward on the bed.

I was terrified that I would find myself on the bed again if I didn't move fast enough, and I was also terrified of moving forward. But if I stopped now I would never know if I had the courage to face the demon that called my name.

With more determination than ever, I moved cautiously toward the kitchen. Soon it would be morning. I could see the dawning light filter through the windows.

The hallway stretched out before me. The kitchen suddenly seemed so far away. With trepidation, I moved, each shaky leg wobbling in front of the other.

And as the morning yawned itself awake, the dancing shadows disappeared. I made it! I made it to the kitchen. And now, with slivers of sunlight peaking through the drapes, the kitchen was empty. Nothing was there. Whoever or whatever it was, departed with the night.

At breakfast only hours later, I related to my sister from the night before what I thought must have been a horrible nightmare. But just before I finished, I asked my daughter one question: Did you tell me anything about the kitchen last night?

"Yeah," she said. "I told you not to go in there."

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God's Favorite Little Soap Opera

A missing $20 bill suddenly appears in exactly the spot I had searched only hours before. Though I can't account for the reason the money was not there the last time I looked, I have to agree (with myself) that I must be experiencing blackouts (without the aid of drugs or alcohol) or that my mind enjoys confusing me.

Either I keep having paranormal experiences, or I am becoming adept at placing items all over the house and then sabotaging myself by not remembering where I place them. When the items suddenly show up in the most obvious places, I resign myself to the fact that I have probably placed the item in that spot myself but have forgotten that I moved it.

The soundtrack of my life plays like a movie that skips forward, then backward, but forgets to fill in the gaps. The trailer would show me endlessly searching for missing items and finding them in the strangest of places - in obvious places - in places I had already searched - in places where they belong. I'm beginning to believe that all of my belongings wear invisible masks and that they play hide and seek with me - without my permission.

Please continue reading Part I HERE. A link to Part II will appear at the bottom.

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Reincarnation Controversy

(from the Magical Mysteries Collection, initially published in the mid 90s, later published online for a website that no longer exists)

He appears on your television set with a pathetically sorrowful expression asking, "Have you done something incredibly stupid? Would you like to blame somebody else for your own stupidity? Call the law offices of Will Gettum and we will sue whomever you deem wealthy enough to provide you with the lifestyle to which you would like to become accustomed."

The more we blame and accuse, the less likely we are to assume responsibility for our actions. Lawsuits border on, and many times cross beyond, the absurd. Many people today, however, applaud the absurd, even going so far as to sign up for lawsuits with attorneys already stationed in hospitals scrambling for the attention of the recently afflicted.

But what if we truly are responsible for our actions? If we shirk our responsibilities in this life, who can say with certainty that reincarnation is not merely theory, but reality?

Reincarnation is most assuredly a controversial issue, bordering on sacrilegious. Passages taken out of context from the Bible arouse contempt in those who take the written Word literally. But for those who try to understand its meaning and believe the Word was written for "those who have ears," some passages are intriguing and worth investigating. In the 80s I read with interest the following passages and came up with my own conclusions, which I relate here.

Matthew 11:11 states: "I solemnly assure you, history has not known a man born of woman greater than John the Baptizer. ..." Matthew 11:14-15, in continuing Christ's remarks about John the Baptist, states, "If you are prepared to accept it, he is Elijah, the one who was certain to come. Heed carefully what you hear."

Further discussions about the Elijah/John connection appear after Christ's disciples asked, "Why do the scribes claim that Elijah must come first?"(Mark 9:11). Christ's response is, "Elijah will indeed come first and restore everything. ... Let me assure you, Elijah has already come. They did entirely as they pleased with him, as the Scriptures say of him." (Mark 9:12-13) Christ was referring, of course to the beheading of John the Baptist.

So what if John the Baptist was Elijah? Is it possible Christ meant that he was the reincarnation of Elijah? What other explanation could we consider? That he was like John the Baptist? Why then did Christ say, "he is Elijah"?

If infinity could somehow be contained so that each year represented one grain of sand, and each grain of sand was divided by the number of people living on Earth during that year, we still wouldn’t have a grasp of “infinity” – infinity would still be incomprehensible.

Are our lives so inconsequential that this one life is all we have, and forever afterwards we are either rewarded with heaven or punished with hell?

Why is it more difficult to accept that, at the end of this lifetime, we can ask and receive permission to make amends to the people we have harmed – through living another life, than it is to accept the greed that plays out in commercials asking us to avenge other people for our own mistakes? Are we heeding carefully what we hear?

Case of the Cryptic Thong

Things disappear on me all the time. Sometimes they reappear. But probably the strangest thing – or should I say, thong – that happened to me was the day when one of my nightshirts disappeared. I had bought a pink one and a blue one, but the blue one disappeared. Then one day two blue ones appeared and the pink one disappeared. 

That was the day I realized I had poltergeists living with me. I wrote about the experience once on Associated Content and it remained there during the days of Yahoo Voices, but like all of my content on that site, it too disappeared (not really – I have it in a file waiting to be published around Halloween – but I’m trying to build suspense in this blog, so please forgive me).

Anyway, one day I had one pink and two blue nightshirts. I’ll tell you about it around Halloween, if I remember to post it. Today, I would like to focus on THE THONG, not THE THING, a movie that really frightened me, but THE THONG.

The thing about the thong is this: While I was packing (an ongoing positive affirmation exercise to assure me that my house really will sell), I came across a thong. No big deal, right? Well, yes, and no. I don’t wear thongs. And I certainly don’t wear XL thongs. This one was plain white and it still had the original tags on it. When I changed the bedding in my guest room, I found it in the sheets – a brand new white thong!

How did it get there? I called everyone who ever slept in that room. It belonged to nobody. Perhaps I should have called the people who lived here seven years before I did. Maybe the thong dematerialized and then rematerialized in the ether that so obviously fills my head.

Whatever. I’m so used to things disappearing, reappearing, and just – POOF! – appearing that I have decided not to think much about it anymore. MaybeI’ll sell it on eBay. Should get a good price, don’t you think – since it just materialize out of thin air?

And finally, a note to Poltergeist, in case he or she is listening – in the future I would prefer money to thongs, please.

I apologize for the blurriness of the photo, by the way.

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Vampires Exist Today

As a fan of Vampire Diaries, you might think I was into all of the vampire movies. Yes, I’ve seen Dracula movies – lots of them, but the only show I’m interested in now is Vampire Diaries  I can’t help it. Ian Somerhalder sucks me in every time. But I never think of vampires as being real.

And then I read, Vampire Cults Make Life Difficult for Sanguinarians, written by Briana Blair. Read and decide for yourself. You could be living next door to a real vampire and not even know! 

Photo credit: wikimedia commons

A Dream Reveals A Strange Connection Between Birthmarks and Past Lives

Not until I had the dream that I relate in the following link, did I ever connect birthmarks with past lives. If you're curious, I invite you to read, Birthmarks Provide Surprising Evidence for Reincarnation and learn about a relationship that a very impressive researcher discovered many years ago.

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Grandma, Please Don’t Haunt Me When You Die

As a lover of anything paranormal, I frequently discuss – with anyone who will listen – such topics as life after death, hauntings, UFOs, ESP, or any of the other myriad paranormal subjects. A few weeks ago I was discussing spirits with one of my granddaughters, who is 9. She was curious about what would happen to her if I died, because we had previously discussed that when we die our spirits live on and though my body would be gone, my spirit would watch over her. Energy never dies, after all. 

Apparently, that discussion bothered her, because yesterday she said to me, “Grandma, please don’t haunt me down when you die.” Yes that’s how she said it – haunt me down – and then she added, “I don’t want you watching me all the time. It would scare me.” 

You see, she has already seen the ghost of an older woman in her home and that old woman frightened her. She doesn’t want me joining forces with the other old lady and stalking her in the afterlife. I had to promise her that I wouldn’t.

Interestingly, her 2-year-old sister told me last week, “There’s a ghost in my room.” The ghost must have crossed the hallway to visit her, but the younger one found her much more frightening. When I asked my granddaughter if the ghost was a boy ghost or a girl ghost, she didn’t respond. And when I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, she said, “No,” and walked away. She has awoken several times on different nights, screaming in terror and pointing at something we adults can’t see. Is it the same old woman her sister has seen?

What’s weird about this situation is that my daughter discovered, after purchasing the home with her husband, that a man had previously died in their home, so why would a woman be haunting them? I have no idea who the old lady is, but I think I’m going to have to discuss with my grandkids that “watching over” them isn’t the same as “watching” them.

Hopefully I won’t be dying any time soon, but I plan on checking up on all my loved ones when I’m gone. If you’re one of them and you’re reading this post, I promise not to scare you.

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A Ghost in My Home!

Earlier today, as I was in my kitchen gathering ingredients to make a smoothie, I heard a crash. Looking toward the sound of the crash, I noticed my tripod sitting on the floor. That tripod had been sitting on my dining room table since last night. I use the tripod so I can watch Netflix movies and old television shows on my iPad when I eat. Currently I'm watching Season 3 of Breaking Bad.

Since I am the only one home and I hadn't even turned on the blender yet, which previously never caused anything to fall off any surface, I wondered what could possibly have caused the tripod to jump off the table. It wasn't even sitting near the edge of the table.


When I looked at the time, I noticed it was 8:08 a.m. The number 8 was... (read the rest of the story HERE).

Is One Family Member Reincarnated From Another Family Member?

Previously published as Reincarnated Relatives on February 4, 2013 HERE.


You've probably read stories of kids who recount in vivid detail lives lived prior to their current lives –€“ lives they couldn't possibly or reasonably know or understand. Maybe they hear voices or see visions nobody else hears or sees. They might talk to unseen individuals or refer to themselves by another name. And sometimes they talk about bedrooms they slept in that reside in homes their parents never knew existed.

Therapeutic regression hypnotists, psychics, and many Eastern religions believe that beyond this life –€“ and before this life –€“ we will live –€“ and have lived –€“ other lives. According to the theory of reincarnation, we choose various life experiences to progress our souls, though most of have no memory of our previous lives. Every once in a while, however, we hear something that causes us to wonder about the reality, as opposed to the theory, of reincarnation.

Years ago I read a story about a little girl who insisted that she had lived in a place other than her own home –€“ as another little girl with a different name. Never giving up her belief, her parents decided to investigate.

After getting permission from the owners of the house where the little girl insisted she had lived, the family entered the home and the minute the door opened, the little girl scurried up the stairs to "her" bedroom. The surprising factor was that the owners had lost a little girl several years prior to this meeting –€“ and her name was exactly the name this little girl insisted was hers. The child was familiar with the layout of the house; the bedroom the child entered was the bedroom that belonged to the little girl, and she recognized family members. 

As far as I know the two girls were not related. But a lot of psychics suggest a familial connection between reincarnated souls.

According to reincarnation theory, one soul dies, enters another state of being, and then is reborn into another body of the soul's choosing –€“ when the soul is ready to accept the new body. So why not choose a family member? 

A little boy named Sidney* has always called his stuffed animals Jackson*. He even calls himself Jackson when he plays various games. If you ask him why he likes the name Jackson, he will tell you he just does. Unbeknown to Sidney, long before Sidney was born, a cousin by the name of Jackson had been born.

Jackson led a troubled life. His father treated Jackson sadistically, and the father's consistent humiliation of Jackson caused Jackson to become one of those troubled individuals who others felt was destined for failure or a life of crime.

Jackson's mind warped under the pressure of his father's incessant cruel treatment. He was put on medication, but when he felt he no longer needed the medication, his mental aberrations kicked into gear. When Jackson became an adult, he killed a man for reasons that made sense to no one. And when the police finally found him, they ambushed the hotel room where he was staying and, after a showdown, killed him. Some family members considered the murder to be a mercy killing for the tortured soul, and they wondered how his father reacted to the death of the troubled son he created, but the father never showed any remorse.

Decades later Sidney was born. Sidney calls himself Jackson sometimes. Nothing about his appearance suggests any relation to his cousin. Where one had dark hair, the other has blonde. Where one was solidly built, the other is thin. Jackson had been a bright and cute kid who grew up to be a handsome man. Nobody would have thought he'd have turned out to be a murderer. 

Sidney is a cute kid too and both Sidney and Jackson are/were introspective, curious, and creative. If Sidney chose the man and woman he now refers to as his father and mother, he probably did so because he wanted an entirely different experience, and his chances of progressing his soul with a nurturing set of parents, instead of a sadistic father, should help him pave a different path.

Though these two people were both male, according to reincarnation theory, people don't always come back as the same sex they were in their previous lives. Souls want to experience life in ways that will advance their spiritual journey. Perhaps as we die, we examine the life we just lived, judge ourselves, and decide which lessons we need to learn. Who is to say we don't choose to come back on the anniversary of the death of another relative or treasured friend?

A man I know was born on the same date (decades later) that his great great aunt died. He bears some of her characteristics. She was always very prim and proper in her appearance and in her gait, and she was fastidious when it came to keeping her home in order. He walks straight and tall and takes great care of himself, his home, and his possessions.

He may have come back as a male to learn different lessons, and chose to be born into the family of the descendants he, as the great great aunt, once loved, but, like most people, if he truly was reincarnated as his great great aunt, he has no memory of his previous existence. Apparently, if reincarnation truly exists, some cosmic reason also exists to explain why no reincarnated soul remembers his previous existence.

Having written that, I must also relate that advances in parapsychology have caused some parapsychologists to believe that as our souls progress so too does our ability to remember our previous existences. Through regression therapy, we can tap into realms of universal knowledge. And in dreams we might find remnants of our former lives.

If the prediction that we use only 10% of our brain is true, might we possibly be storing previous lives in the other 90%, information we can access through dreams, meditation, or therapy?

Perhaps some day or maybe even as I write this, some paranormal research facility is investigating the theory that children born on the same date that relatives or friends died, might be the reincarnated souls of deceased ancestors who died on their birth date. The world seen and unseen, heard and unheard, is filled with limitless possibilities.

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