Can You Tell It's Haunted?

A few weeks ago, my good friend and fellow writer (who am I kidding? My good friend, fellow writer, and fairy godmother) posted a blog piece asking “how do you know when a place is haunted?” or an inquiry along that line. It’s a good question, especially if you’re the type who can walk into a new place and get that particular feeling. And so I think I have the same question she probably did (Terri, I’m totally stealing your blog topic idea!): What does it feel like to YOU when you walk into a place that’s somehow not quite, well, at peace? Somewhat disturbed? Or flat-out haunted?

Barring actually seeing an apparition, this is how it feels to me. It starts with a visceral reaction that immediately puts the sentence “I don’t want to be here” into my mind. Of course, rational thought takes over and the usual placating statements begin filtering through. “It’s fine. It’s a public place. There are tons of people here. It’s broad daylight. (Or if it’s night) There’s plenty of light here. Everyone seems to be okay. What have I got to be worried about?

Depending on the location, various things can be worrisome. The worst of it is that uneasy sensation in my gut that tells me that there’s something else around. Something probably not alive. Something that I may not be able to see, but that I can most definitely feel. I then start to worry that I might see something I don’t want to see. Or experience something that I really don’t want to experience.

I’ve had that sensation in a college dormitory room. I went on a writer’s retreat held at a local university and the dormitory was very uneasy. I admit I didn’t sleep a lot over those two nights. It didn’t help that my work in progress at the time was Haunted. But even earlier than that, I had a similar experience in a dormitory while attending a camp for high school yearbook staff. I had a really nasty nightmare every single night I was there.

Jim and I both had the sensation in a hotel in Dublin. The place was a reconverted office building and its halls were like a rabbit warren. I think our room was the farthest away from the elevator, at the end of a very long hall that included steps down and then up again, plus a double door held open by doorstops. Of course there were lights everywhere, but brother, was it ever dark.

We also had that sensation at a restaurant that has since closed. That particular location had been a property of Al Capone’s and had been a speakeasy as well as a place where he received and distributed illegal liquor. I’m not sure what went on there, but I don’t imagine it was all sweetness and light. The third floor, where the rooms for private parties were, and the first floor that housed the main restaurant and the bar, definitely had issues. The place was even written up in a book of local haunted venues.

Interestingly enough, though, I have never had that feeling in a hospital, even though I know hospitals rank as some of the most haunted places possible, even those that are still open for business. I have a friend who has seen dead people in the parking lot outside a hospital close to his house. I had a friend who was an ER nurse who spoke about changes in the ward when someone passed away during her shift. But despite the fact that I’ve been in all kinds of hospitals for a variety of reasons, I’ve never sensed the paranormal at any of them and I have no idea why. Now that I’ve written this, though, I bet I’ll run into it big-time next time I have to go to a hospital for whatever reason.

Sometimes I don’t mind feeling the sensations that go along with running into something not quite of this world: that prickly sensation along the spine and neck, the sudden chill, the uneasiness and the certainty that something is watching me. It’s good research for me, right??? But I’d love to know how others experience it. And if we tend to all feel it the same way, I also love to know why that is.

Not Exactly Phase One

Remember in the original Poltergeist movie how the family house was so disturbed (to put it mildly) because it was built in the subdivision’s “Phase One,” a former cemetery where the developers "only moved the headstones"? (And I hope I didn’t spoil the movie for anyone. I don’t think so, but apologize if I did.)

I have sometimes wondered what was on our property before it was “property.” I know there was a farm here years ago. Our front easement is blessed with a row of about seventeen Osage orange (hedge apple) trees that were the original boundary marker for the farm that was here. I call them my sentinels: those trees are so hard that I know we’re safe from any out-of-control vehicle that could come careening toward my house, whether it be two-person coupe or a truck of some sort. Those trees are like granite and would never allow anything past them.

But before our place was part of a farm, I keep wondering, what was here before?

Recently, my friend and fellow writer Terri Reid wrote about beings called “elementals” on her page. You can check that out if you look up Terri Reid Freaky Friday Jan18, 2019. It is a fascinating article and also very informative. And all while I was reading it, I was thinking to myself, “Yup.” I have a feeling my yard is filled with such beings.

The people who lived in the house before us were members of The Morton Arboretum here in Illinois, an enormous, amazing garden center/outdoor museum. They loved trees and when we bought this house, they had blessed the property with both a ginkgo and a tulip tree in the front, two or three dogwoods plus a Norway maple around the house, a magnolia, and several ornamental crab apple trees. They also grew so many hostas that the lady of the house became known in the neighborhood as “The Hosta Queen.” They knew what they wanted and the yard was beautiful because of their efforts.

Accordingly, if you believe in this sort of thing, trees and other plants come with nature spirits. And whether or not you believe in this sort of thing, I think most of us that have been out in nature, especially the wilds of nature, have at least felt their presence, especially at night. You’re never really alone, out in those woods, and I’m not talking about animals.

My yard is no exception. We’re hardly the wilds, but we do certainly have our share of trees. When we first moved in, we had twenty-seven trees on our property that dropped leaves in the fall and believe me, our collection of raked leaves could have provided enough compost for several farms, or so it seemed. That tree count didn’t even include the evergreens that also live in our yard. In fact, we have so many trees that our raised vegetable garden seems arbitrarily placed just northwest of our patio door. But it isn’t, because that’s the only patch of yard that gets enough sunshine during the summer to sustain a garden. Everything else is under shade.

And so our yard feels very crowded to me. I don’t know what all is out there, and I certainly don’t see them. But I can feel them. When I go out into my yard, doesn’t matter what time of day or night, I feel observed and also marginally, perhaps only cautiously, accepted. I don’t know if anyone ever came to our yard and went crazy injuring plants and possibly trees at some point. I find that hard to believe, there was so much healthy greenery in place when we moved here. But still, whatever is in our yards, hanging around our trees and plants, (maybe herding them, if you like Tolkien’s ents), gives off a very protective, almost defensive vibe, and are not necessarily always welcoming to me.

Most people would say I was crazy. Or, if feeling, charitable, they might say I was overly-imaginative. But there are times I see things just out of the corner of my eye. Hearing something might be more difficult because there is always so much noise in an urban area. But I know what I feel, and I know I’m not alone when I'm out in my yard.

I’m happy that my trees and plants are being well cared-for, but I wish I felt like I had a better rapport with whoever or whatever is out there. I read somewhere, once, that native Hawaiians will ask permission to enter the outdoors, making sure that the spirits who are outside will permit their presence before they set foot out of the house.

Maybe I should consider doing likewise.

2018 – Another Year of Writing

In 2017, I set the goal for myself of publishing two Bridgeton Park Cemetery books in one year. This may not sound like a huge accomplishment compared to the most productive writers I know and know of: Stephen King, Megg Jensen, Mark Dawson, my own good friend Terri Reid. But for me that was a huge, huge accomplishment, seeing as how it used to take me about three years to finish one book. I know, I know; prolific is not my middle name.

So I did it. I wrote and released two books in 2017. And in 2018, I found myself to be completely wordless. As in, the reservoir was temporarily empty. I am blown away by writers who can put work out as rapidly as they do. I am not among their number. After I finish a novel, I normally need some time to recover. “Some time” can be anywhere from a few weeks to a few months. I just need that much time to recharge. I guess it takes that long to replenish the part of me that goes into writing the book because I do use up some of me with every book I write. I wish it was as easily replaced as electrolytes, but whatever it is, it isn’t. Easily replaced, that is.

Thus, my BPC entry for 2018 was mondo late. There is no other way to put it. Originally I meant to have it out in May because then I figured I’d get that second book out in October, just like in 2017. Not so much. Then I thought I’d make it by July. Nope. And then I began to realize, this thing won’t be ready until Halloween and if I make that, it’ll be a small miracle. I was lucky: I got my miracle, and She Weeps saw the light of day in October.

Maybe what helped was co-authoring a book with Terri. Our little tome, Ghosts, Graves, and Groves went live in September and I think having a book out with my name on it, even though it wouldn’t have happened without Terri, took some of the pressure off me. It let me relax just a little bit and once that happened, writing the last third of She Weeps came a bit easier. Because while the writing can come very easily, there are also times when putting down each word is like extracting my own teeth with a pair of pliers: great effort and a lot of pain.

So now I am looking into the open expanse of 2019 and wondering what that will bring. I have the beginnings of Cassie’s and Michael’s next adventure. I also have the beginnings for another book, one I’ve had in my head for a long time (read: years) and am beginning to wonder if I should actually commit to writing. If I do that, this would be another two-book year. But with two different sets of characters. I wonder if that will make the process different for me. Maybe less taxing? Maybe more so? I guess I won’t know about that unless I try.

So in the meantime, I need to clear my office, clear my head, and find more writing music. Because January is about to hit and when it does, I hope to look at that blank screen and find the opening words for my next written offering.