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Things That Go Bump In The Night & Books

I know, what does bumps & books have in common? Well for me—a lot. Embracing who I am and using my experiences to fuel my stories has been a freeing experience. I've come to accept that having a connection to other worldly things is natural for me and I was also able to share this with my family. Creating a bond beyond mother & daughter, granddaughter & grandmother, and even great-grandmothers.

Recently I was writing a blog for an upcoming guest appearance featuring my new release. I decided since the book is paranormal I'd stick to what I know and talk about one of my more colorful experiences as a child. I have a very vivid memory of astral projection and traveling to a friend in need when I was thirteen. It's the first time that I can remember leaving the safety of my room. I did have quick episodes of outer body in the past but never one so intense and with purpose. Writing about that night brought back a flood of other memories, and since I'm a ham who loves to have an excuse to dress up and where my vampirish/undead/ghostly contact lenses, you get a story and a pic. LOL

I was lying in bed, it was late in the evening or early in the morning depending on your perception. The heat was hammering it's way through the radiator and I was curled up on my bed under several blankets and a bedspread. I might have even had my coat as icing to top off the fabric cake I'd baked myself into. Something I occasionally did on those nights that tippped Mother Nature towards zero. Anyway, as cold as it was I couldn't clear the cotton lining from the inside of my mouth so I threw off the ten pounds and slid into my slippers.

Scurrying downstairs I poured a glass of orange juice, ( a staple in my house growing up) gulping the cool liquid felt good even if the rest of me was quickly turning into a popsicle. I took a side glance through the glass of the backdoor, a ritual I couldn't resist when I went for middle of the night thirst quenchers. I'd always love the night but especially when most of the neighborhood was sleeping and the streets were filled with peace rather than cars. My admiration didn't last long because the icebox that was my kitchen reminded me of the warm bed that was waiting. Quietly, I scampered back to my room not wanting to wake my little brother or my parents. Wasn't I responsible as a kid?

Anyway, I jumped back into bed and pulled the weight of warmth over me, (this was before the invention of weighted blankets and we had to create our cocoon with numbers) neatly tucking it under my chin. Releasing a sigh of accomplishment and contentment, I closed my eyes allowing the darkness to take over and lull my thoughts to sleep. Not. That night began one of many times where our resident spirit, who apparently refused to leave the home that I can only assume was once theirs, decided to comfort me. I never asked for it but she offered her grandmotherly snugness on many occasions. I should add, that I feel strongly this entity was female and I would later find out from my mom and Gram, they agreed.

She started with gently caressing my left cheek, just like my mom would often do with the back of her hand. At first every fiber in my being ignited, the rush of fear coursed through my veins stealing my breath. I couldn't move. I wanted to run to my parents, I wanted to cry, but I could do neither. She must of sensed my frenzy because for a moment she stopped. But I guess the want to connect was strong because before I could muster enough courage to leap from my bed screaming, she started again. This time she moved to my hair, gently stroking the top of my head and letting her fingers flow through the tresses sprawled out on my pillow. And then the really strange thing happened—I grew calm.

I'm not sure how but I think she let me know it was okay because for every ounce of fear I had a moment ago, it was replaced with a sense of love. After a few minutes she stopped and although free to run, I didn't. I simply turned to my side and drifted off to sleep. In the morning I told my mom what had happened and to my surprise she had been experiencing the same thing. We both agreed that whoever our additional member of the household was, they meant no harm and also gave both of us a feeling of protection.

My grandmotherly ghost would continue to visit me until we moved. I missed her when we left that house. I often wondered what happened to her, did she eventually find peace and move on? I may never know. However, if I do get the chance to one day visit my childhood home again, you can be sure the first thing I'll do is to run up to my former room looking for our adopted family.

Additional note: My mom discussed our experiences with my dad when we were still living in the house. He and my brother never saw, felt, or heard, anything. Only my gram, mom and me, were privy to her visitions.

During renovations to the house my parents discovered that there had once been a fire. The charred portions of a former structure had been hidden behind a newer wall. My dad did some digging and found out years ago an elderly woman did live there and had died. Although we couldn't confirm it was in the house fire, we had our suspicions.

I just love these about you?

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