'Tis That Other Season

Folklore has it that during the fall, especially around Halloween, the "veil" between this world and the next, the world beyond death, becomes thinner. That being the case, the appearance of apparitions and specters, and perhaps the ability to see them, increases accordingly.

And my house has decided to behave in appropriate fashion.

All of you who read me routinely know that when I write my ghost stories, I experience a rise in noises, footsteps, banging sounds, and knocks throughout my house while I'm working. It gets to the point where I'm not the only one hearing them, so I know it's not just me. Something goes on in this place whenever I write about the denizens of the beyond.

Good friend and fellow ghost-story writer Terri Reid dropped over one afternoon for a visit recently, and just as she was about to leave, standing in my front hall with her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and said to me, "Is this the hall you said is well-traveled?" 

She was referring to my story that a psychic had once told my daughter that our house, while not traditionally haunted, is like a pathway for the dead. And we all pretty much agree that they travel from west to east along that very hallway where Terri and I were standing. I couldn't help laughing at her question. "This is it," I answered.

She just nodded at me, hand still on the doorknob, and said, "Yes, I can feel it, all the energy." She smiled at me and took her leave. (Only a ghost-story writer and a woman like Terri Reid could pull off an exit line like that!) But it did verify for me that another sensitive would pick up on the vibe in that hall, even though I didn't mention it to her during our short visit.

I have been working on book Bridgeton Park Cemetery book 6, as you all know, and of course the house is throwing everything it can at me. Only now, it's not confining itself to those times when I'm at the keyboard. Oh, no, now I'm getting footsteps up and down the hall while I'm taking a shower (really, guys?), movement and shifting in the utility room behind me while I"m cooking dinner, and--best for last-- yesterday when I stood up after putting on my shoes, my pocket knife flew off the bed, followed closely by my St. Benedict medal, which promptly hid itself under a cabinet and way back against the baseboard. The pocket knife I understand: I hadn't gotten it into my pocket yet and maybe the clip of it caught on my pants somehow and sent it clattering to the floor. 

The medal, on the other hand, had to sail at an angle almost perpendicular to how it would have fallen on the floor in order to wind up under that cabinet. Not only that, unlike the knife which wound up close to where I was standing, the medal launched itself several feet away from where it started. And it was my St. Benedict medal, after all. The one I keep with me for protection. (What, me worry?)

There have been other things, too. For instance, I'm pretty sure there's a woman who hangs out in my utility room, right by the door to the garage. I don't know why she's there, or who she is, she's just there. I run into her a lot when I use the powder room at night. But she's different from the other woman who used to cross my front lawn and disappear around the southeast corner of the house. That particular visitor looked to be from a different time, wearing a long blue gingham dress and always with one hand up to the side of her face, as if to hide the fact that I think she's distressed and probably weeping. I saw her a few times, but I think she's gone on. Our house is just a pathway, after all.

So during this month--while we're all enjoying the brilliance of the leaves; the apple harvest that brings pies and cider and (yum!) apple cider doughnuts; the first gatherings around the fireplace; the appearance of sweaters and boots for the fashionable--remember that for a short time, we're more likely to see those that have gone on before us. Keep an eye open for them: everyone likes to be noticed!

Losing My Protection

With all due respect to REM, I haven't quite lost my religion. It just morphed. I have, however, lost my protection. Twice. And that has been on my mind for the past week.

As I noted in my last post, my husband and I went on a ghost tour with some of our friends (like the notable Terri Reid and spouse, and the notable Donnie Light and spouse). Now, I also posted waaaayyy long ago about a different friend who wanted to give me something to help defend myself. And she gave me a St. Benedict medal. I put a picture of it on the page; some of you might remember that post.

At any event, I had that medal for years and I wore it everywhere. It seems St. Benedict (and his medal) protect the wearer from dark and nefarious entities, and I figure, given my chosen profession, my typical subject matter, and my penchant for taking ghost tours, wearing the medal just seems like a good idea.

About two years ago, that medal left me. It was somewhere up in Door County, and losing it broke my heart. Not just for the protection, but because it had been a present from a friend. So I set about trying to find a replacement. For some odd reason, at the time I went searching for it online, all I could find were either very expensive models, or medallions that were not made to be worn on a chain. That was fine. I got myself a St. Benedict medallion and carried it in my pocket.

I know I had it on the ghost tour. I know this because I always check. The next morning, however, St. Benedict was not in his usual spot. Now, I have a place on my nightstand where he lives, and I always put it there, except for the times I accidentally forget him in my jeans pocket. So when I didn't see him on the nightstand, I searched my jeans. And he wasn't there. I searched every pocket I had on me the night before: fleece sweatshirt, jacket. No Benedict. I even had Terri Reid searching her house and her car. No luck.

St. Benedict has left me again. I think perhaps he might run across someone who he thinks needs him more than I might at the moment, and so we part ways. He's done it twice and that's fine. I hope he is being helpful somewhere. But then I'm at a loss again.

I have ordered yet another St. Benedict, and this time, I did find a medal to wear on a chain around my neck. It's due to arrive soon and I hope it does. I feel kinda funny without him around. On the other hand, I really hope third time is the charm and that this one will stay with me a lot longer than the other two.

I'd really appreciate the protection.

An Ounce of Precaution

Some years ago, a woman I knew gave me a present, something that she considered an even exchange for a small present I had given her months earlier.

I am a martial arts geek. I studied TaeKwon Do during high school and college, leaving classes behind only when my life took a big turn into married life. I practiced on my own when I could no longer attend class because it was something I truly loved and something I knew enough to be able to do alone. After my children had become adults, I stumbled across a class in Medieval Long Sword being offered at our community college. It turned out that the instructors belong to a group called The Chicago Swordplay Guild (feel free to google them -they're amazing) and so for some years, until our life again took a big turn, my husband and I learned what we could about Italian longsword, single sword, dagger, and grappling, with an occasional foray into pole ax and spear. (Note: this is not re-enactment; this is western martial arts.)

All of this is background to the above-mentioned exchange of presents. The woman I met had joined the Guild, and she and I were building a friendship. During the course of this, I gave her a little hand-held self-defense tool that I was handing out to all my female relatives and friends at that time. I think every girl, every woman, should know how to defend herself.

And then this woman gave me her own idea of protection: a St. Benedict medal. Even though I was raised Catholic, I had no idea what the medal was for. She told me it was to ward off evil. I have since looked into this and found that it is considered to be a medal to repel the devil. There is an inscription on the back that actually says as much. It has also been in widespread use for centuries among Catholics and other Christian religions for this purpose. I never knew.

At any event, she knew I was into ghost stories and the paranormal, and she figured this would be good protection for me, so she gave one to me and one to my husband. Since that time, I've even seen the medal featured on one of my paranormal reality shows as a viable form of protection.

So I spent yesterday watching some of my DVR'd paranormal shows, and last night, I had a dream that I was with a group of ghost hunters in a purportedly haunted graveyard. In my dream, I remember reminding myself that before I left the cemetery, I needed to announce in a loud voice that nothing should attach itself and follow me from the site: that it would not be welcome in my life, in my house, or anywhere around me. I woke up from that dream wondering where on earth it came from. True, my husband and I are planning a trip to Charleston, South Carolina in the not-too-distant future that will, of course, include a ghost tour. Maybe that was what was on my mind.

Still, when I have a dream that vivid, I pay attention. Writing what I do, fascinated by what I am, attracting what I might, being prepared and cautious is a good idea. I believe in staying safe in everyday life and heartily recommend that every girl, every woman, have a handful of strategies to use when threatened. It should only follow that I be as prepared, as cautious, in the realm of my particular career. 

Thus, St. Benedict is with me every day and at my bedside every night. An ounce of precaution is worth a pound of cure, they say. I've already had a run-in with something I'd never want to meet again, so I'm grateful for my protection. As for that run-in? Well, that's an entirely different story.