Results for category "Ghost Stories"

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Murder Mystery Haunting in Florida

Crystal River, Florida - location of the haunted Florida adventure

Hello again, and happy wintery spring for New York. Seriously, I don’t think winter knows how to give up the ghost here. Anyway, I wanted to tell you one of my personal stories tonight. It is probably one of the strangest experiences I have had in my life. It lasted two weeks and was witnessed by other members of my family. It also revolves around a murder mystery.


My grandfather purchased a house in Crystal River, Florida as a vacation home when I was about 10 years old. He got it for a steal, but it came with quite a history. According to what I was told the man who lived there before had a history of making his wives disappear. His first wife supposedly was a bit flighty and family members believed she just took off. But then he remarried and his second wife went missing as well. This woman, her family said, would not just have run off. A murder investigation was initiated, but they could find no body. Now enter my grandfather in all of this, buying the house and waltzing straight into an episode of C.S.I. He cooperated and even let authorities spray luminol all over the master bedroom. From what he told us, police did find microscopic traces of blood everywhere in the room.

Haunted House in Florida

My Grandfather’s Haunted Florida Home

The belief at the time was that the second wife’s body was buried somewhere on the property, but no one could make any headway. This case supposedly went on for years. This would have been in the mid to late-eighties. The case was still open as far as I know as of a few years ago. Once things quieted down, our family planned a trip down to Florida to do what all families with children do – visit Disney! I was 11. My sister was 5. We also went down with my aunt Patty and my cousin, also 5 years old.  My parents, my aunt, and the kids went down first, to be followed by my grandfather and his wife a week later. It would turn out to be the strangest two weeks of our lives.

Things started out small and innocuous at first. My mother would wash the dishes every night after we went down to bed. On the first night she thought she caught a shadow flitting past the edges of her vision, passing through the doorway from the dining room, and heading down the hall to the master bedroom. She simply rubbed her eyes and thought nothing of it. Below is a sketch I attempted to show you what it looked like. I offer my sincerest apologies for my terrible sketching skills. The other strange thing was that clocks just didn’t work well there. Grandpa had complained about it and we noticed none of the clocks kept good time.

Shadow Ghost of Florida

Shadow Ghost of Florida

On the second night, she noticed the same thing around the same time, but continued to dismiss it as tiredness or fuzz. The following night I was laying in one of the spare bedrooms. Beside my bed was a small analog (not digital) alarm clock. I do not remember if it was a wind-up or not, but it was giving off a regular ticking sound. I began to notice that the ticking was no longer regular. It would speed up, going “ticktickticktick” and then slow down to a sluggish “tick….tick…tick………tick…tick”. I immediately felt a rush of fear hit me and I turned to look at the clock, which was a mistake. The hands were swinging back and forth, spinning slowly in its face one way and then another. Terrified and alone I did what any kid would. I pulled the covers up to my eyes.

The light overhead began dimming and brightening and I remember wanting to cry out but being too afraid to make a sound. I began to notice a darkness underneath the doorway that seemed to sort of ooze underneath the crack of the door. It rolled under the door and began to climb up the door until I could see clearly a shadowy figure standing in the room. It hovered about a foot or two off of the floor and stood about five feet tall. Atop the body was a vague shape of a head, and the beginnings of arms. But the bottom of the arms, and the bottom of its torso just tapered off at the bottom, coming down almost to a rough point at the bottom. The lights were really going crazy now and I could not move at all. I was utterly frozen in fear. Just as this strange shadowy figure began to come closer, two things happened simultaneously. My mother flung open the door to my room, and the shadowy thing compressed itself and slid beneath my bed. It sounds rather unbelievable I admit but it simply was what I saw. My mother laid down on the mattress with me and I held my breath, knowing that that thing could still be under the bed with us.

I could tell something was bothering her, and she was searching for the right words, but what she said would take me back. She asked me:

“Have you been seeing anything strange in this house?”

I wanted to scream a resounding “yes!”, but was too gripped by fear of whatever it was under the bed to verbalize it. Instead I nodded, and slowly pointed to my bed. She admitted to having seen a ghost yet again passing through the dining room and now knew it for what it was. I was grateful to her for walking in when she did. We slept that night in the same bed with the lights on. It was the first time in years that I was so frightened I wanted to curl up in bed with mom. I thought I had gotten too big for that, but fear is powerful.

The next morning, I wanted to tell myself it had only been a dream and I pushed the events far from my mind. My sister and I decided to go into the master bedroom and play dress-up. There was a walk in closet full of women’s clothes. We thought they were Anne’s, my grandfather’s wife. But in retrospect, we don’t know if it may have been the missing woman’s clothes. The house had only recently been purchased so who knows.

Anyway we wanted to look for more clothes, so I pushed the hangers aside to expose the walk-in part of the closet. Deep in the recess of the closet stood that shadowy figure again. It began slowly drifting forward. My sister ran. I was completely frozen. I locked eyes with it. I know I did even though it didn’t exactly have eyes. It was just a dark, cloudy, grayish mass where a head should be. But I felt that we were looking right into each other. It kept approaching ever so slowly. My mind was screaming “Run!” but my feet simply would not move. I couldn’t even tear my eyes away from it. It was only about four feet from me when my sister came back into the doorway screaming my name and telling me to run. Somehow the noise broke the tension and I was able to bolt after her, grabbing her hand and running both of us all the way out the front door.

Both my little sister and I did our best to put that event out of our mind and enjoy the vacation day but it loomed over us like a giant pink elephant that no one wanted to discuss. However just a couple of hours later in the afternoon, our cousin Diane came flying down the long driveway toward the house screaming that the shadow was chasing her up the driveway. I didn’t see it that time, but after what we had seen I could not doubt it. We decided to go and tell mom. It was too much for us kids to handle. I believe she didn’t want to frighten us, so she and my aunt downplayed the incidents and tried to allay our fears. One or the other of us saw the figure at least once daily for the remainder of the time we were there.

The scariest moment I think was on our return from Disneyland. It was late at night and we were driving back in the rented van. There were three rows of seats so I got the middle row all to myself. My sister and cousin were in car seats in the back row. I suddenly got the strangest and most urgent urge to open the window in the car. This was one of those complicated windows where you had to push in and then push out a latch. The urge was so strong that without really thinking about it, I reached over to grasp the window latch. My hand passed through something that felt both damp and tingly, like a fog cloud laced with static electricity. And it was freezing cold. I yanked my hand back immediately in shock, which is when I realized that there was a deep, dark, shadowy area there that seemed darker than the rest of the night time car shadows. As soon as it was noticed, it began to edge towards me. I remember asking my mother if I could come and sit up front, to which she said no, so I positioned myself as far away from the spreading shadow as I could.

At the time we were there, there were two cows on the property, most likely from the prior owners. so my mother had to get out to feed them on our way up the driveway. She stepped out, picked up the bucket of feed, and began to approach the cows. Both came eagerly toward the fence, happy to see food. But both suddenly stopped in their tracks a few feet from the fence and began to back up. When I saw what had made the cows so unsettled, I nearly screamed. The shadow-lady was standing right behind my mother’s shoulders with one roughly formed appendage actually draped over her shoulder, its gray shadowy form contrasting with my mother’s blazing white Disney sweatshirt. My mother slowly turned, following the cows’ gazes and let out a shriek like I have never heard her make before. She dropped the feed and ran into the car.

Ghost over my mother's shoulder

Ghost over my mother’s shoulder

As my aunt and my mother discussed the merits and possibilities of finding a hotel at 2 AM in the middle of nowhere, the shadow took up its spot on the middle seats again and then apparently thought better of it and crept back to be with the younger kids. My aunt saw it there in her rear view mirror but was too shaken to say anything. It was finally decided that my aunt would check and clear the house. If she saw the ghost, we would go in search of a hotel. We waited an anxious 15 minutes. She came out, giving the OK sign. But the specter was standing behind her in the doorway almost as if to tease us.

It became a bit insistent that night. I walked into the house and tried to make a beeline for the bathroom only to see the shadowy form in the doorway. So I decided to run all the way to the other side of the house o the other bathroom. But she was waiting for me there as well. I ended up huddled on the couch shaking for more reasons that one. It took me forever to finally fall asleep. It was the last night that we would be in the house as we flew back the next morning. I was sleeping on the pull out couch (because there was no way anyone was getting me back into either bedroom again) when something awoke me. There was a thump from the kitchen.

I walked in to find a paperback book in the middle of the kitchen floor, laying on its spine and somehow forced open to a page. I knew where this book had come from. It had been laying on the bar counter. There was an open window from the living room to the kitchen with a bar counter. Somehow this book had sailed off of the bar counter, had passed over the large kitchen counter below it, and had landed in the middle of the floor. It was clear this book could not have naturally fallen there. I knelt down and began to read the page that was open. I remember it was one of the Agatha Christie books and what I was reading was about someone hiding their wife’s body. A noise from the bathroom startled me and I abandoned the book, burying myself fully underneath the covers, not really wanting to know, hear, or see anything more. That night, both me and my mother had the same dream, that there was a body under the windmill in the back yard.

In retrospect I believe this spirit may have been that of the missing woman who was trying to lead someone to where her body was buried. I believe she tried the adults first but since they ignored her, she came to us kids looking for someone who would pay her a little attention. It is one of my biggest regrets that I could not overcome my fear to help her but I was simply too young and too scared to handle that.

We went back years later for another vacation. I was about 16 at this time. We found the house oddly infested by fleas so badly that we had to bomb the place before we could sleep in it. We were up all night bombing, cleaning, and spraying just after getting off the flight, so we were all exhausted when we were finally able to fall into bed. My mother and I slept in the master bedroom. I do not remember this and apparently slept through it, but something kept shaking the bed we were on as if to try to wake us. When my mother would sit up it would stop. Just as she began to fall asleep again it would start up. The only other thing that happened was to my cousin Jenny. She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when the light suddenly not only dimmed but went red as it the tungsten inside the bulbs was barely lot. The lights flickered and she ran out of there.

As far as I know, the mystery surrounding the missing woman was never solved. I did manage to locate the house finally but have not been able to find record of the investigation with the scant amount of information I remember from back then. None of us ever forgot our trip there, though my grandfather still insists adamantly that there is no such thing as ghosts and that the house is not haunted. He did agree once that clocks don’t work there which is about as close to an admission I think I am ever going to get from him. He sold the house a number of years ago. It was also sold in 2010 by the next owners. Perhaps I may try to contact the current residents and ask them if they have had any experiences. It certainly left an impression on me and to this day I wish I had followed her wherever she was trying to lead us. Maybe we could have helped solve that mystery.

Ghosts of the Emerald Isle

Erin Go Bragh and Slainte everyone! A Happy St. Patrick’s Day to you all. I love this holiday. It is one of my very favorites, a day to show my Irish pride and revel in Irish culture. And what better day to engross yourself in some supernatural tales from across the pond. The Irish always have a flair for the dramatic and of course we all know some very famous poets and writers that have come from old Eirinn. It is no surprise that sometimes their otherworldly tales can have you at the edge of your seat. I’ve scoured the web and some of my personal collection of ghost books to find you a few neat little yarns. So pull up a chair, a nice tall pint, and maybe a good friend or two and read on.


The legend of Lord Tyrome and Lady Beresford – This one I found at and have paraphrased here in my own words. Lord Tyrone was born John Le Poer and Lady Beresford Nichola Sophia Hamilton.


From a young age these two orphaned children were raised by a stern, strongly atheist guardian but it only served to cement their faith further. The pair promised each other that whoever should die first, that person would visit the other and prove that there was in fact a life beyond this one. When the children grew up they grew apart and Nichola married into a wealthier family. One night, she awoke with terror to find her foster brother standing by the bedside. She managed to stifle a scream at his pleading to be quiet, and he revealed to her that he had died and held to their long-kept promise. He also passed along to her certain pieces of information about future events that would come to pass. Confused and fearful that this was all a terrible dream, Lady Beresford asked for proof, at which point Lord Tyrone suddenly seized her wrist in his hand. The flesh on her wrist withered and left a deformity that she would carry with her for the rest of her life tied up under a silk kerchief. It was proof enough certainly, and definitely more than she had wanted. After his disappearance she mulled over the foreboding predictions he had made to her.

Her husband would soon die and she would remarry to have four children. But after the last was born, she would die on the day of her forty seventh birthday. Through the years her foster brother’s predictions all came to pass one by one and left her in trepidation of her final birthday. But on her forty-eighth birthday she decided to throw a party and celebrate having finally escaped from fate’s harsh pronouncement. At the party was a priest who had been an old family friend and had known her since they were young. When she triumphantly cheered for living to forty-eight he gently reminded her, “No my dear, you are only 47.” Having looked at her birthday in the church register only a few days before, he was absolutely certain of the fact. Shrieking in shock and horror she exclaimed “You have signed my death warrant!”, subsequently shut herself in her room and began to write out a will. She died later that night as predicted those many years ago.

Notes: Tales of predictions and omens from beyond the grave are rampant in Irish folklore. And I am sure some of you older readers may know, after about 35 it does get rather difficult to keep track of how old you are. I’ve been known to slip by a year myself. :)


Visits from people at the moment they died is a common staple in Irish ghost stories. Here is another chilling example. As someone who has been in a building in which a doorknob turned by itself, this story strikes home perhaps a bit too much. I found this one in a book by John D. Seymour called “True Irish Ghost Stories”:

“On Wednesday, October 17, 1879, I had a very jubilant letter from my friend, announcing that the expected event had successfully happened on the previous day, and that all was progressing satisfactorily. On the night of the following Wednesday, October 22, I retired to bed at about ten o’clock. My wife, the children, and two maid-servants were all sleeping upstairs, and I had a small bed in my study, which was on the ground floor. The house was shrouded in darkness, and the only sound that broke the silence was the ticking of the hall-clock.
“I was quietly preparing to go to sleep, when I was much surprised at hearing, with the most unquestionable distinctness, the sound of light, hurried footsteps, exactly suggestive of those of an active, restless young female, coming in from the hall door and traversing the hall. They then, apparently with some hesitation, followed the passage leading to the study door, on arriving at which they stopped. I then heard the sound of a light, agitated hand apparently searching for the handle of the door. By this time, being quite sure that my wife had come
down and wanted to speak to me, I sat up in bed, and called to her by name, asking what was the matter. As there was no reply, and the sounds had ceased, I struck a match, lighted a candle, and opened the door. No one was visible or audible. I went upstairs, found all the doors shut and everyone asleep. Greatly puzzled, I returned to the study and went to bed, leaving the candle alight. Immediately the whole performance was circumstantially repeated, but this time the handle of the door was grasped by the invisible hand, and partly turned, then relinquished. I started out of bed and renewed my previous search, with equally futile results. The clock struck eleven, and from that time all disturbances ceased.
“On Friday morning I received a letter stating that Mrs. — had died at about midnight on the previous Wednesday. I hastened off to Adare and had an interview with my bereaved friend. With one item of our conversation I will close. He told me that his wife sank rapidly on Wednesday, until when night came on she became delirious. She spoke incoherently, as if revisiting scenes and places once familiar. ‘She thought
she was in your house,’ he said, ‘and was apparently holding a conversation with you, as she used to keep silence at intervals as if listening to your replies.’ I asked him if he could possibly remember the hour at which the imaginary conversation took place. He replied that, curiously enough, he could tell it accurately, as he had looked at his watch, and found the time between half-past ten and eleven o’clock—the exact time of the mysterious manifestations heard by me.”


The Banshee

The wailing banshee

The wailing banshee

What Irish ghost story collection would be complete without the famous banshee? The name in Gaelic translates roughly to “woman of the barrows” and it is sometimes spelled “beansidhe” which seems to point to close ties with the “sidhe” or faerie folk of Irish lore. Of all the many folktales and legends, she is probably the most chilling, especially because of our own fear of mortality. For the banshee brings the warning of certain death. She can appear in many guises and go from beautiful woman to old crone. Legends say that she is seen by the water washing human limbs, heads, and clothes until the water runs red with their blood, all the while weeping and wailing, a sound that is said to chill you right to the bone if heard. Banshees are often said to be attached to great historical Irish families and multiple banshee sightings foretell the death of a very holy person. On top of her weeping, she is also seen as a mournful young woman brushing her hair and has been known to directly give warnings to someone of their imminent death. Even in modern days there are supposed sightings of the banshee. Here is one of the oldest and best known banshee stories. I found it here: The story was sent in from a Mr. T. J. Westropp, but I have heard a few similar ones from my own family and acquaintances. I think this sums up a banshee experience nicely so I will simply paste this story as is here for you.

“My maternal grandmother heard the following tradition from her mother, one of the Miss Ross-Lewins, who witnessed the occurrence. Their father, Mr. Harrison Ross-Lewin, was away in Dublin on law business, and in his absence the young people went off to spend the evening with a friend who lived some miles away. The night was fine and lightsome as they were returning, save at one point where the road ran between trees or high hedges not far to the west of the old church of Kilchrist. The latter, like many similar ruins, was a simple oblong building, with long side-walls and high gables, and at that time it and its graveyard were unenclosed, and lay in the open fields. As the party passed down the long dark lane they suddenly heard in the distance loud keening and clapping of hands, as the country-people were accustomed to do when lamenting the dead. The Ross-Lewins hurried on, and came in sight of the church, on the side wall of which a little gray-haired old woman, clad in a dark cloak, was running to and fro, chanting and wailing, and throwing up her arms. The girls were very frightened, but the young men ran forward and surrounded the ruin, and two of them went into the church, the apparition vanishing from the wall as they did so. They searched every nook, and found no one, nor did anyone pass out. All were now well scared, and got home as fast as possible. On reaching their home their mother opened the door, and at once told them that she was in terror about their father, for, as she sat looking out the window in the moonlight, a huge raven with fiery eyes lit on the sill, and tapped three times on the glass. They told her their story, which only added to their anxiety, and as they stood talking, taps came to the nearest window, and they saw the bird again. A few days later news reached them that Mr. Ross-Lewin had died suddenly in Dublin. This occurred about 1776.”

This idea of three knocks and birds bringing bad omens has also held strongly in my family. Three knocks is said to be a warning of a death. The belief that things often happen in threes is also strong in Irish culture. Ravens are generally bad news, and one banging at your window is no better. But in a way I think the legend of the banshee is a sad one. For all the poor woman is trying to do, in her terrifying way, is to warn of an impending death that she has no control over and to share in the mourning for the loss of one of Ireland’s own.

I actually wrote this little poem about the banshee for a contest and I’d like to share it with you because there is no more appropriate day than this!

Dark are the shadows of grief-cloaked night.
My hands, they are calloused
Torn by bloodied clothes
My tears fall upon them
As I wash them clean
Grief and pain flow away
In my tear filled waters.
And into my heart

My back is bent
With the weight of grief
I bear to lessen your load
I sing death’s song
Notes of loss and notes of pain
Sorrow’s song of nevermore
Keened in the crisp night air

You fear me,
My weeping, my grief
Makes your hearts grow cold
The warning foretold
Despite your will
The day has come
Of eternal sleep
Alone, feared, I grieve
For a soul lost to Ireland
One less star in her crown

I am the banshee, the wailing woman
My cries fill the night
As I absorb your sorrow
It is all that is left
For me to feel.
Do not fear me
You, beloved of Eirinn
For it is at your deathbed
That I cry my tears
Pray that your soul
Goes ever onward
And forgive an old woman
That washes and wails.

~ by Laura


The Dullahan – “Ireland’s scariest headless coachman”

The last haunting figure of Irish lore I would like to share with you (though there are so many!), is the headless coachman of the death coach. Believe it or not, I actually came across this little legend in the movie “Darby O’Gill and the Little People”, a classic that I used to watch every year as a kid. But it turns out that there is a rich heritage of ghost stories concerning the “death coach”. Also called the “Dullahan”, it is Ireland’s version of the headless horseman.

Ireland's terrifying headless coachman

Ireland’s terrifying headless coachman

The Dullahan is actually the most gory and possibly the most chilling of them all, which is why I have left him for last. Unlike the banshee the Dullahan can foretell anyone’s death and can even determine who will be next to die after his intended target. He is a headless horseman riding a headless horse.

Dullahans are headless. Although the dullahan has no head upon its shoulders, he carries it with him, either on the saddle-brow of his horse or upraised in his right hand. The head is the colour and texture of stale dough or mouldy cheese, and quite smooth. A hideous, idiotic grin splits the face from ear to ear, and the eyes, which are small and black, dart about like malignant flies. The entire head glows with the phosphoresence of decaying matter and the creature may use it as a lantern to guide its way along the darkened laneways of the Irish countryside. Wherever the dullahan stops, a mortal dies.

Legend has it that even if you are not the intended target of a dullahan, you are still in a heap of trouble. If you are a witness to one of its crazy midnight rides and see too much, it may throw blood on you which is a sure indication that you will now be next in line. It may also opt to take your eyes out with its whip. Its head is equipped with supernatural sight, enabling it to be able to see for miles. In some areas he is said to be the driver of a coach before which all gates and latches open no matter how well they were fastened, so there is no keeping him at bey. It is allowed to speak just once on each ride and so it calls out the name of the intended deceased, sucking out his or her soul in the process. During certain Irish festivals lore has it that it is ill advised to go out at night, and to keep your shutters drawn lest you see something you are not intended to.

This little short tale comes from storyteller W. J. Fitzpatrick from County Down, and it tells of a chilling sight indeed.

“I seen the dullahan myself, stopping on the brow of the hill between Bryansford and Moneyscalp late one evening, just as the sun was setting. It was completely headless but it held up its own head in its hand and I heard it call out a name. I put my hand across my ears in case the name was my own, so I couldn’t hear what it said. When I looked again, it was gone. But shortly afterwards, there was a bad car accident on that very hill and a young man was killed. It had been his name that the dullahan was calling.”

It seems there is only one small thing that can save you from a run in with a dullahan. Like most creatures of fairy lore that are sensitive to certain metals, the dullahan has an irrational fear of gold as told in this story from

“A man was on his way home one night between Roundstone and Ballyconneely. It was just getting dark and, all of a sudden, he heard the sound of horse’s hooves pounding along the road behind him. Looking around, he saw the dullahan on his charger, hurtling towards him at a fair speed. With a loud shout, he made to run but the thing came on after him, gaining on him all the time. In truth, it would have overtaken him and carried him away had he not dropped a gold-headed pin from the folds of his shirt on the road behind him. There was a roar in the air above him and, when he looked again, the dullahan was gone.”


Ireland is so rich with these legends that it has been so difficult to choose but a few. But there is always next year! I hope you have enjoyed these little snippets. May you all have a wonderful and fun-filled St. Patrick’s Day. Slainte!



Welcome to Shadow Watch – An Introduction

Hello and welcome to Shadow Watch. You are probably here because like myself, you find the unknown so irresistible. Whether you simply love hearing or reading stories or have had an experience with something supernatural yourself, I hope that we can share this love of the unknown together.

I’ll be honest right up front and tell you I fall into the latter category. Although I love a good ghost story any time, it Is my own personal experiences that have drawn me in and have asked of me the question, why? But I’ll tell you more about that later.

I’ve always been fascinated with the world. It is such a place of wonder. Even today when it seems science has everything well under wraps, there are still strange and mysterious things like the dual slit experiment, where light actually behaves differently when it is being watched. When I was a small child I loved fairies. Science has only very recently discovered why the rocks mysteriously move on their own at the Racetrack Playa of Death Valley.

My uncle, who was reared in Ireland, used to fill my head with stories of Leprechauns. And on every St. Patrick’s Day morning I used to rush out into the woods behind my elementary school at dawn in hopes of catching a glimpse of one, because he told me St. Patrick’s Day was when they came out to check on their pots of gold. I didn’t want to catch one, and I didn’t want their gold, but my child’s heart just wanted to see one for real, to know that there was such an interesting thing in the world. And of course who didn’t grow up on Peter Pan and joined their voices with hundreds or thousands of other kids in yelling “I DO believe in fairies!” so that Tinkerbell would not die. To this day, there is just a slight bit of superstition in me, and I will never say “I don’t believe in fairies” out loud, as unlikely as they may be.

So even though a lot of our early beliefs, superstitions, and ideas about the world have faded in the light of science and discovery, I still truly believe this world to be a place of wonder. And this sense of awe and wonder of course extends to the amazing stories of the supernatural, a topic that is so very widespread that I can’t help but believe at least to an extent. How could so many people, including myself, be wrong?

My interest in the paranormal began at around age five with a very strange experience, an experience which lit a flame within me to find out more. I was sleeping in a bunk bed, the top of which was used for toy storage as I was an only child at that time. Something woke me in the middle of the night and I opened my eyes to see a woman coming into my room. She wore an old fashioned looking calico print dress that ballooned around her legs as if draped over one of those old fashioned hoops. On her shoulders was a deep navy blue shawl with tassels. I could not see her face because it was obstructed by the bunk bed. The oddest thing about her though was that her entire body was glowing in a bluish hue.

Contrary to what you would think, for some reason, I was not fearful, and I am still unsure why to this day. An image like that at my bedside these days would scare the slippers right off of me! She made a move as if to tuck me in to bed, bending down over my covers. I don’t actually remember if she pulled the covers up, or just made the motions. The only thought that went through my head was “That’s not mommy.” It was a mantra that kept repeating as I watched her straighten up and leave the room. As soon as she was no longer in the doorway, I leapt from my bed, determined to find out who the strange glowing lady was, but she was gone. When I told her, I don’t remember my mother being very phased by my story but it stuck with me for a very long time.

Since then I began to have other experiences, some frightening, and some not. When I reached the first grade and was allowed to visit the school library, ghosts was the first thing I asked to look up. I had learned to read at the age of two, so once the librarian was convinced I could handle it, she allowed me to go into the book sections for older grades and gave me free run of the library. For this I am still thankful because it also deepened my love of books. I found a book on ghosts and poltergeists there which scared but also thrilled me with the stories. From then on I was hooked. I read everything I could get my hands on. Not only did I find it enlightening but it also told me I was not alone.

This was also the era of shows like “Unsolved Mysteries”, “In Search of”, and books on the unexplained by Time Life. There was so much fascination with the unknown on TV, in books, and even on the radio with Coast to Coast. But it was “GhostBusters”, my all-time favorite movie that first breeched the topic of studying, trapping, and even ridding a place of ghosts. In my opinion it inspired ghost hunters all over way before TAPS was even a twinkle in a producer’s eye. Many years later I even joined a few paranormal research and ghost hunting groups and eventually started my own. It is still a pipe dream of mine that paranormal research will someday reach a level even close to the technology depicted in that hilarious but intriguing 80’s movie.

And that is all what has brought me to Shadow Watch. It was an old username of mine on a ghost forum once but to me it symbolizes my hunt and thirst for understanding of the unknown. I chase the shadows of things only glimpsed, in hopes that someday we can bring them out into the light. I hope you will continue to read, comment, and join me on this amazing journey. Until then, Happy Haunting!