The first spirit I ever saw was not a good one. I won’t use the word ‘ghost’ here because ghosts, to me, imply our dearly departed (or at least something taking human form) and this was not one of those. This was something icky. And of course it was in the middle of the night.

The house was silent and my room was dark. Raggedy Ann lay in her baby bed beside me.I was maybe 8 at the time, and woke abruptly to a very uncomfortable feeling. Not like my-sheets-are-scratchy-and-I-need-to-pee. Rather, something-ain’t-right-and-I-don’t-know-what-it-is kinda feeling.  I slid under my covers.

I need to say quickly, that I was not a timid child. Nor was I scared of the dark. I dreaded what lurked behind the shower curtain like anybody else but wasn’t what you’d call a fearful child. As a matter of fact, I was quite gutsy. But this night, I was scared.

It was humid under that blanket. My exhales left a sheen of moisture on my face but there was something in the room and I was too chicken to look. I could feel it seeping against the sanctity of my blanket.. but I had to breathe. I lifted the covers for one second. And that was enough.

A black mass hovered next my bed, there by my window. About 5 feet in diameter, it was opaque, like a giant blob of black paint. I won’t say it had a conscience, but it was definitely aware… and it’s watching me, I thought. (That’s a common thing with the icky ones: you feel like you’re being watched and there’s tangible uneasiness in the air around you.) In this case it was profound. I yanked the covers over my head and stayed there the rest of the night, panting for fresh air. Let it be said I wasn’t a praying child either. But that night I prayed.

I found the following image online. I’m including it here to illustrate the darkness. This is not my photo, but you get the idea.

That house was always suspect. My mother told anyone who’d listen there was a ‘ghost’ there and looking back I realize, around me, she was careful with her words. But I also remember less censored conversations: whispers of house guests being scared shitless in the middle of night, women feeling watched in our shower… I never linked the big black blob with any of their stories but I didn’t know any better.

That experience was relatively tame as far as icky spirits go and I’ve had worse since then, but that was my first. I don’t know how it works on The Other Side, and I’m not supposing Judeo-Christian concepts here, but I do know something beyond this plane houses evil. I also know those spirits torment and disturb. What the heck they were doing in a little girl’s room in the middle of the night I don’t know. But I’m not here to profess knowledge, only experience.

Luckily those experiences are rare. Most of my encounters with The Other Side have been positive, enlightening…beautiful even… like the first time I saw our deceased loved ones watch over us. Literally.

Lynette, are you ready for me to share your Dad’s story?