All In the Family, Part 2 -OR- I Come By This Honestly

 Ghosts stories are nothing new in my family, so let's go farther afield, shall we?

The other week at my sister's family dinner, the subject of ghosts came up. Then my maternal uncle got to talking about stories he had heard at his grandfather's knee when still a little boy, back in the Philippines. Anyone who has ever read anything about my ancestral country knows that it has its own particular brand of strange.

For instance, the paranormal reality show (and no, for me that is not an oxymoron) Destination Truth once did a piece on the hanging coffins of Baguio, a mountainous area in the Philippines. No fooling. The people up in that neck of the woods bury their dead by placing them in coffins and then hanging them in stacks from the roofs of very remote caves located beneath the island. The investigators on the show got some interesting EVP's on their recorders and also had some experiences with the wrath of the spirits that guard the area.

And then there was the mananangal attack that actually made international news back in the '90s. I remember that because my supervisor at the time asked me if I believed in the creature. Up until that point, I had never even heard of it, so she showed me the news article. The mananangal is an unearthly beast that passes itself off as a beautiful woman during the day, but at night becomes a flying blood-sucker that attacks pregnant women. As if that isn't bad enough, it also separates itself from its legs when it goes out on these nightly sorties, so the horrified mother-to-be has the added nastiness factor of being attacked by the top half of the monster. 

I kid you not, this was actually in a Chicago-area newspaper. Apparently an entire village was under attack and there had been numerous assaults by this creature. I never did find out if they caught it. I guess American newspapers can only go so far when including stories of unheard-of monsters from far-away places.

That aside, my uncle told me a tale about a monster in his own village. Bottom line: this thing is a shape-shifter. It looks human, can shift into the form of an animal, and can also slip under locked doors in the form of a mist. And it, too, likes to prey upon pregnant women. 

When my uncle was a boy, such an attack happened on a woman in his village. The men of the village missed the man-beast at the hut and set out to hunt him down. Apparently, according to my uncle, they were able to catch the critter when he disappeared into some trees (mind you, this is in the dead of night and we're talking remote here, so finding someone who slips into the jungle isn't easy). The beast changed itself into animal form, this time as a pig, but made the mistake of leaving his shoes on, so he was captured. How many pigs wear shoes, right? They put him in the village jail but when they came to find him in the morning, the cell was locked and empty. So that must have been due to the mist thing.

The whole story, on the surface, sounds pretty funny, I grant that. Sitting in the evening, though, listening to a man, an engineer by profession though now retired, tell this tale with the fervency of belief, will shake one's reality if just for a moment.

A paternal aunt of mine in the Philippines keeps inviting me to come over for a visit. She says she has knowledge of an island that is teeming with supernatural phenomena and would love to take me there to explore. Maternal uncle, paternal aunt - I get this from both sides of my family!

So now I wonder: could my writing career ever make me enough so that I can take the trip and then write it off as research? But then I also wonder, do I really want to come up against a mananangal or a shape-shifter?

All in the Family

Some weeks ago, I received an e-mail from my niece in Texas who was requesting some family information. To paraphrase her: "Could you send me a copy of all the family ghost stories? I don't want to forget any of them." 

Out of context, that request could sound like half of a conversation between two crazy people. Seeing as how it pertains to my family, however, that is only partly true. We might be crazy. But the house I grew up in was haunted. What my niece was asking me to send her was a written account of the weird, freaky, and sometimes downright scary things that happened in that big old house on the north side of Chicago. For instance:

There was a very nice old lady in the living room. She liked to listen when my sister practiced the piano, kissed fevered little faces when we were home sick from school, and also was seen by a guest during one Thanksgiving celebration.

There was a not so very nice entity of sorts who permeated the entire house, from basement through attic, and mostly on the west side. Go figure. It wasn't always there, but when it turned up, everyone left in a hurry. No words were ever spoken. We simply evacuated to get away from the cold, almost hostile presence that would suddenly flood the room we were in. 

There was the routine haunting that started every night at 10:30 and ended every morning at 1:30. I would never have known about this except that in college I started pulling very late nights/all nighters and became aware of the shifting furniture in the next room and the rush of air that sometimes passed by like a hurried, cold caress.

There was a prankster that hid things and brought them back weeks later. Losing the Beatles album covers for three weeks was the worst, but at least they came back. The same cannot be said of my favorite suede fringed vest (hey, it was the late '60's) and some of my favorite books. 

And then there were the unseen children, the ones who played and called out and sang in our bedroom. 

Lots of people will not give credence to any of this but there were some physically strange things about my old house. For one thing, there were two rooms in the basement that were always kept locked. I think in all the 23 years I lived there, I only saw the inside of one of them once. I never saw the inside of the other. My mother told me they were "too dirty" to enter. But my mother and my aunt, who lived with us, were cleaning fanatics. What couldn't they get clean? The staircase going up to the attic had a bottom step that creaked any time someone used the stairs. My sister-in-law decided she couldn't stand it anymore and decided to fix it. That's when she discovered the compartment hidden away in the step itself. It was empty, but it made us wonder. Worst of all was the garage with the coach house apartment on the second floor. The staircase leading up to that apartment as well as the back room at the top of the stairs were bricked off. I never would have known that back room existed until a college friend who was studying architecture pointed out to me that we could see a window from outside the building, but not from inside. We could still gain access to that second floor by way of a trap door and a ladder, but I never knew until college that the space upstairs had been quite a bit larger before that additional brick wall was built.

I never researched that house, and now I'm curious about it. I've asked for information on how to learn more about it, but that would be almost a full-time job and I haven't got the luxury of chasing around the city and looking for old records. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes I wonder about it, but most of the time I just have memories that hang around in the background. Not enough to disturb me anymore, but certainly enough to influence all the fiction I write. 

Ghost story, anyone?

From Scary Pictures to Scary Movies

Just for grins, today I decided to do a quick one-poll question at work. I'm new there, and I thought it might break the ice. It did. It may also have convinced my coworkers that they've allowed a real lunatic onto the staff, but at least I'm entertaining! And harmless.

The question was: What is the scariest movie you've ever seen? I did tell them all that it did not need to be a paranormal/supernatural movie, just something that scared them. Some of the answers surprised me.

The top contender was The Exorcist (that got my vote, too.) A very close second was Paranormal Activity. I think two people chose Paranormal Activity III and one person chose the first of the series, but I kind of put them together. The rest of the list:

Children of the Corn

Night of the Living Dead (the original b/w film)

It

Jeepers Creepers

The Grudge

The Omen

Halloween

The Shining

The Blair Witch Project

Child's Play (while Chucky is creepy, my idea of a scary doll has a porcelain face and 19th C clothing)

Nightmare on Elm Street

The Call

The non-supernatural movies included Silence of the Lambs, The Usual Suspects, Manhunter, and even Snakes on a Plane! I'm sure that anyone reading this can come up with a host of other titles not brought up here. 

It was fascinating to watch my colleagues come up with their answers. Some of them could pop out a title without blinking an eye. Two of them decided to think about it and came back to me hours later. And a number of them told me "I don't watch scary movies." And then they would proceed to tell me the movie that was the last straw for them.

I have a few others besides The Exorcist, myself. The original version of The Haunting, also in black and white, with Julie Harris and Clair Bloom, scared the bejesus out of me when I was a kid. I actively avoided anything with zombies in it, and as an adult The Changeling (George C. Scott) still comes back to bother me from time to time.

If you're ever stuck for a topic of conversation, try asking someone this question. For some reason, it's really fun to talk about movies that traumatize us for weeks!

Scary Pictures

Last week, I mentioned that my sister was taking a road trip that would bring her to Little Big Horn, among other places, and that she will be taking pictures to see if she captures anything eerie in them, since the battlefield is consistently listed as one of the most haunted places in America.

That got me thinking about scary pictures in general. Sure, the photos that include unexplained orbs of light, shadows, transparent figures and the like are scary. They really are. But there is another kind.

Who out there doesn't really enjoy being in a room with pictures that date back to, oh, the 1800's or so? Raise your hands! I'd be jumping up and down with both arms waving. I have eaten in restaurants that insist on decorating with photographs of people who sat down before a camera maybe some time in 1866. Somewhere around there. They are usually family portraits, where everyone, including the baby in someone's lap, is downright somber. Their clothing is somber. Their body language is somber. And their eyes? Wow, I don't even want to think about that at the moment.

It's not so much the realization that everyone in that photograph is now dead and has been for years and years, although that definitely adds to the uneasiness I feel. I can't really explain it, except to say that I sometimes get that same uncomfortable sensation when I'm in an antique store. Sometimes even in museums. There's something truly eerie about gazing on the faces or possessions of people who are long gone. It's almost as if, well, maybe they're really not completely gone. Like something about them is still reaching out to touch the present. Or touch me.

The idea of all those serious folks in their Sunday best, probably six feet under in one cemetery or another, could be reaching out to touch me? That is the sort of thing that gives me the willies.

The TV show Supernatural got it right when they addressed the idea of a family photograph from the early 1900's having the spirit of a long-dead serial killer attached to it, a spirit that found a way to continue its favorite past-time. 

I know people who collect old pictures. I think that's about as attractive as collecting porcelain dolls (yikes!) and clowns of any kind (ditto!). I don't like insects all that much and I'm not happy when rodents leave their little collections of debris in my pantry from time to time, but at least I know what I'm up against. When it comes to those old photos? Who knows?

A Sense of a Place

My sister is going on a road trip and along that journey, she and her husband are taking the time to visit Little Big Horn. I am so jealous.

Little Big Horn resonates with me for three particular reasons: 1) I am deeply interested in Native American history and have read and watched almost everything I can find about this particular battle; 2) I have also read extensively about Custer; 3) the place is reportedly one of the most haunted battlefields in the U.S.

I am drawn to Little Big Horn, but there is a teeny, tiny little part of me that is also terrified at the idea of going there. So I told my sister, "Take pictures." I want to see what turns up.

While I was lying in the bed in the dark, thinking about my request to my traveling sibling, I began to wonder about particular places in this world. Are there sites that have become so infused with a battle or a tragedy or a disaster of some kind that they are forever changed? I believe there are sacred places on this planet. I have been to areas where the atmosphere is so energizing or so warm and friendly or so very, very peaceful, that the sense of that permeated me to the bone. So  much so that I don't even need to see pictures, I can go there in my head and relive that wonderful burst of feeling that I experienced when I was there in person.

So if that can happen, can the negative stuff hang around an area just as strongly? Interestingly enough, the places I found to be sacred were pretty much untouched by people: they were out in open areas and fairly wild, some of them. But the negative places I have been have all been stamped by man's indelible hand, whether through war or other violence. Sometimes through a tragedy. 

A friend of mine from college went to Europe and during the course of his trip, visited Auschwitz. He told me that even though he went on a beautiful summer day, with the sun shining and no clouds in the sky, that the site of the concentration camp was so eerie it was almost unbearable. He said that once inside the actual camp, there were absolutely no insects. There were no little animals of any kind. He said it was like the entire area was devoid of life. 

Some years ago, I was able to get to the site of 9/11. I can't even begin to explain how heavy it feels there. That is the only word I can use for it: heavy.

I think sometimes if these places had voices, if they had the language, they would tell us stories filled with terror, with anguish, with suffering and tears. Maybe it's a good thing that places can't actually cry aloud with what they have witnessed. I don't know if humanity could bear the sound.

As it is, those of us who are sensitive definitely pick up on the energies of places, whether serene and tranquil, or disturbing and sad. We may not get all of the story these places could tell, but we never walk away without something of their history.  I wonder what my sister will take away from her visit to Little Big Horn. I can't wait until she gets back.

Plants and Hauntings

The idea of combining plants with hauntings probably seems like combining cows and marshmallows. Complete non sequitur, right? Here's the thing, though. Plants, as innocuous as they may seem, probably have a lot more going on for them than people realize. 

For one thing, some plants will kill others that are competing for the same space. If you don't believe me, try googling "can a plant kill another plant?" and see what pops up. Plants are not quite as passive as they may seem. 

That said, some years ago, I read an article about a man who planted a tree for each member of his family. The idea of everyone having his or her own designated tree sounds peaceful and green and just pleasant, doesn't it? Until one of the trees died. Shortly after, the family member who owned that tree also died. The man who did the original planting might have thought it was a coincidence, until it happened again. It had happened at least three times when the article went to press, and the man and the remainder of his family looked at the trees still standing with quite a bit of uneasiness. If it really was all a coincidence, what a nasty one.

On the other hand, if plants are sentient enough to kill each other, can they pick up a communicative link with humans? Even when I was in high school, which was roughly about the time that the plague hit Europe, botanists were already studying the effects of things like music or people's moods (encouraging or angry) on plants and were surprised to find that our floral friends seem to be aware of different kinds of atmospheres, and not just those having to do with weather. 

So here are two little, little, tiny stories on how plants have connected with hauntings in my personal life.

1. When I was in eighth grade, my paternal grandfather passed away in the Philippines. I was too young to have very many memories of him, even though he did come to visit us here in the States, but my older siblings had more time with him on his visits and remember outings and other activities. One morning, my sister and I were up in our bedroom, making our beds and getting ready for the day. We each had a window, and we each would put up the shade as soon as our beds were made. My sister put up her shade and was startled when the plant on her window sill, an African violet, leaped out at her. I asked her if it had gotten caught in the shade's material, but she said no, she had already finished when the plant pretty much jumped out of the pot. It refused to be re-potted and would have become just another dead plant except that it was one given to my sister by our grandfather. It was shortly after that incident that we learned he had died. Guess he wanted to say goodbye to my sis.

2.  I used to watch ghost story movies on TV (see last week's blog for my current thoughts on this.) One night when my husband was out of town, my daughters and I were huddled on the couch watching "Grave Secrets: The Legacy of Hilltop Drive" which was a made for TV movie that starred Patty Duke. I don't mind admitting that it was a fairly creepy flick and that we were getting a bit freaked-out by it. And then the jade plant on the counter above the TV stand jumped out of its pot and landed about a foot away from its former home. Of course, this corresponded with one of the scariest scenes in the movie and all three of us jumped about as far as the plant. I have no idea -still don't- what would make a jade plant actually leap out of its pot but there it is. I haven't had a jade plant since. I have also never had another plant take a flying leap.

As I said, very small, tiny stories that fall into the "I can't explain that so I'm gonna ignore it" category. Still, I would say we should be mindful of our plants. Be mindful of our trees. I think there's more going on with those quiet green guys than we suspect.

Ten Things You Might Not Have Known About Me

Like the title of this one? It's also called "I have no idea what to write about this week." Nevertheless, a couple of thoughts popped into my head and one of them was a list -paranormal writer style.

1.  I once asked a ghost hunter, the sort of person who wants to measure and quantify spiritual activity, if it is possible for a ghost to follow you home. Without batting an eyelid, he met my questioning gaze dead on and said "Yes." Thus was born the opening for my e-story "Hunting Spirits."

2.  I watch all sorts of reality paranormal shows, and I read all sorts of collections of true ghost stories, but I rarely watch ghost story movies because they scare the living daylights out of me. Wuss.

3.  Completely out of character, unless you really know me, is the fact that the one writer I would really love to have a deep conversation with is Rudyard Kipling. He's one of my all-time favorites. And I can't bring myself to believe what everyone says about him.

4.  When I'm not writing enough, I dream in stories. And most of them are just downright weird.

5.  I believe monsters exist.

6.  I love tales about psychic abilities and ghosts, but vampires and zombies? Not so much.

7.  I am the only one in my immediate family who has never seen a ghost. Heard one? Absolutely. Dealt with one? You bet. Seen one? No. And I'm really, really okay with that.

8.  I find it nearly impossible to write without music, and without pain. Everyone who creates will understand that statement.

9.  Along with my younger daughter, I once took a class about the paranormal that was taught by a raging skeptic. I got some good information but the entire experience was quite annoying.

10.  The International Cryptozoology Museum is in Portland, Maine. I intend to get there, just like I intend to get to the All-Ghost Weekend in Ireland.

This list may convince you that I have several screws loose at once, but it's honest. I think if you read my work, and enjoy it, some of these probably apply to you, too!