My first experience with an icky spirit happened in elementary school. It was middle-of-the-night dark, and I was too scared to breathe let alone run to my parent’s bed. You can read about that here.

I take it very seriously when parents say their kids are scared. Especially when the kid has never been scared before. Not like this.

“This is brand new, Jenn. Dannie won’t sleep in his room,” his mom said. “I’m obviously not assuming we’re haunted, but he’s never complained before. My husband thinks I’m nuts for even asking, but will you please come vibe it out?” she asked.

“Sure,” I agreed.

(it’s what I do.)

I’d actually been to their house — a spacious two story Victorian– before. Mom and I walked the property before they bought the place, and both agreed it had really weird energy. But less ghosty, and more like residual funk from whomever lived there before.

Residual human funk is real, folks. It’s collective unhappy that’s yucky and hangs in the air like phlegm. I often feel it in antique stores and low-end casinos.

If you walk in a room where two people have been fighting, you can feel it. Maybe they’re sitting there silent, pretending it didn’t happen, or maybe they even left the room, but you can still feel tension. Even with your eyes closed. You know what I mean.

And walking through that big house (pre-purchase) felt THAT kind funky, especially on the ground floor. Not only that, but the interior walls were decorated in REALLY bad, almost oppressive colors. Truly, a recipe for discomfort.

But that kinda funk can be fixed with new paint, open windows, different furniture, and a solid intention to make a space your own.

–which is precisely what they did. They bought the place and started rennovations. Immediately. And Dannie had no issues in any part of the house . . . until last month.

Let me also say that I know this kid. He’s sweet. Smart. Not the kind who seeks attention in dubious ways. I also know from my own old house, that tearing up century old structure/decor tends to stir up energy. Ghosty and otherwise.

So I went to their house asked to be left upstairs alone. Their second floor is wide open landing, with two bedrooms, a closet, and a bathroom.

Mom said Dannie’s little sister played up there all the time with no issues, so I went to her room first. Nicely decorated with lots of pink, I laid on her bed, crossed my arms, and closed my eyes. It felt pretty good up there. By good I mean ‘clear.’ A little warm maybe, but: 1. August 2. Texas . . . so feeling warm was irrelevent. Still. One makes mental notes.

I waited.

I lay there probably 15 minutes, then opened my eyes again. I didn’t feel anything at all. Just then, I saw a quick white spot of light. By her door, near the ceiling.

Now THAT was something.

I sat up.

Light flashes can be passing traffic or something electrical, but this was neither.

1. I was on the second floor.
2. Her window faces clear sky.
3. The shade was drawn.
4. All lights were off.

Spirit flashes are intense BRIGHT — like drop-of-water-on-a-computer-screen bright. Not like a spotlight someone turns on and off; it’s more like an old-timey camera flash– quick, super bright, then fading. This is at least true for me. (I see other colors besides white, but I associate color with angels and we can talk about that later.) This was a white flash. And it was definitely spirit.

I tried to get a sense of someone.

Immediately, behind my closed eyes, I saw an older woman. In a long black dress. She didn’t feel like the nicest person in the world. And if I had to date her attire, I’d guess 1920s. She didn’t feel BAD, like scary. Just stern, unhappy. (bereaved?) Maybe a widow (that would explain the black dress?) I also got a sense of two younger children, perhaps in her care. I got up and walked to Danny’s room.

I did the same thing in there: lay on his bed and closed my eyes. His room felt different. He had a big, rolling air-conditioner thingy by his bed, which I later asked Mom to move. Remember what I wrote about electromagnetic energy in my last entry? Anyway- from his bed my eyes were drawn to his closets (there are two.) I was also drawn, because it was in my direct view, to a door OUTSIDE his room.

I suddenly felt prickly chills down my left side.

For me personally, this is DIRECT contact with Spirit. And remember it’s hotter than Satan’s buttonhole outside, so I can rule out cold chills. I rubbed the creepy, webby feeling off my arm and kept staring at that door outside his room. Something about it bugged me.

It was time to talk to Danny.

With Mom’s permission, I asked him to please come upstairs. He sat on his bed with me, playing with a toy. We chatted about school, The Avengers . . . I somehow worked it in.

“Do you get scared up here?”

“Sometimes.”

“What scares you?”

“The monsters.”

“Where are they?”

“In the closet.”

I looked at the closet. Not the ones in his room. The one across the landing, outside his room.

“Have you ever seen anything?” I got up and opened his two closet doors, the ones in his room.

He shrugged.

The atmosphere didn’t change once Danny was with me, so I could rule out something attached to him. Then we talked about movies, Halloween, high-fived, and he ran back downstairs. I called Mom up and told her what I saw/felt in both rooms. She wasn’t surprised. She’d gotten random chills upstairs on multiple occasions.

“I don’t mind if someone’s here,” she stated. “I just don’t want them messing with my kids.”

“What’s in there?”

I pointed to the door that bugged me. The one visible outside Danny’s room.

“Just a small room. Guests sleep in here.”

She opened the door; my heart went THUD.

I just assumed it was a closet!

I stepped inside. It was really small- just enough for a bed and tiny table, nothing else. Like servant’s quarters back in the day.

The energy was stifling –like sad stagnation– trapped behind that door a long, long time. That old lady lady flashed in my mind again. The longer I stood by that door, the more certain I was of her presence.

We walked downstairs. I walked through each room, which all felt clear, except one: the master bedroom. I stared at the floor, feeling (I guess) what the room was before. WAY before. A man in a three piece suit stood next to a large desk. The room was some sort of receiving area, because the man was waiting. Facing the door. I felt this is in ‘real’ time. And I’m not one of those intuitives that busts out exact names, but my mouth wanted to make a ‘Ch’ sound.

I needed a break. Her room, coupled with old lady upstairs, was making me dizzy.

“Is your husband gonna be okay with me writing about this?” I asked. Many men are pragmatic about the Other Side. They’ll believe it when they see it. Her husband was no exception.

“Ask him,” she shrugged.

I took a deep breath and we smiled. My own husband is a non-believer, so I’m used to these conversations. But still. I don’t like stepping on toes.

Dad was in the kitchen; he offered me soup.

“Soooooo.” We sat at the dining table. “I know you don’t believe in ghosts.” (I’m not so great at nonchalance) “But, have you ever seen anything weird in this house? Anything at all.”

“Nope.”

He shook Tabasco in his soup.

“Well. I felt someone upstairs . . . ” I started, looking nervously at Mom.

“You mean the old lady?” He blew his spoon.

I looked at his wife.

“Wait. What?”

We may’ve said this simultaneously.

“How do you know it’s an old lady?” I said, dropping my spoon.

“Just a sense,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly. “But it’s an old house. People died at home all the time. Doesn’t mean it’s paranormal.”

(This is absolutely true.)

. . . still.

CONCLUSION: Ghosts.

I’m hoping Mom will find some info about the original owners of this property. If/when she does, I’ll pop back with an update.

********
If you’re local and would like me to vibe out your space, please send an email to jennifer@jkabay.com, providing as much detail as possible. Thank you.