This ghost story is rated Mature by its author, and contains material meant for readers 18+

A Flying Lesson...

A Flying Lesson...

I can't begin to tell you how many times I've sat down and written, or partially written, this all down....and then erased it.
So, let's try this again. My disclaimer is that if it sounds crazy to you, just know that I have felt crazier than that every day since it happened that I think about it. The other problem with getting it all down has been my brain's unwillingness or inability to process it. It's response is to start me yawning uncontrollably and hit me with an overwhelming fatigue so that I just want to lay down and sleep.

    That being said, let's get on with it.

This starts in my post divorce life.

   During my divorce in 2001, a friend of mine, knowing that I was the newly single mom and needing to get my feet under me, offered to let me store some of my belongings in an empty home that had belonged to her grandparents (by then deceased) on her family's property out near Schulenburg, Texas, in order to save me from having to pay for storage.

   Over the years, I went out there several times, always by myself, as I sold off unused things I had stored and retrieved them to deliver to their new owners. Never a problem. Never an uneasy feeling.

A little background on me:

   I don't know what to describe myself as. I do know that I have never had to go looking for the paranormal as it finds me often enough. I do know it came from my maternal grandmother and that I discovered this fact when my grandmother and I had a shared experience shortly after the death of my grandfather when I was 9 years old. I heard him call her name from the bedroom in the back of the house, saying "Come here! I need you!". She and I both started to get up to go check on him and got almost to the hallway before recalling we had laid him to rest two days before.

   I can tell you that I mostly pick up on feelings and emotions. Less often I hear and see spirits or echos of things. However, up until the encounter that is the subject of this email, all of my experiences had been at least benign, if not positive, so I never found any reason to fear this extra...ability, I apparently have.

Moving on:

   In 2004, I moved to North Texas to the DFW area. Two years later, I decided to retrieve the few boxes I still had stored down in Schulenburg. My friend's family was in the process of trying to sell the property anyway and I was back on my feet and had room to store the few remaining boxes.

   So, one bright day, after spending the previous night with a friend in Houston, I headed out to Schulenburg to retrieve my stored boxes and head back home to Athens, Tx. I arrived at the property around 10am, backed up to the front steps and proceeded inside to begin loading my boxes.

   I had loaded around 10 or 11 boxes into the bed of my truck and went back in to get another. As I entered the living room, where the boxes were, it felt like the atmosphere had changed. It felt a bit darker and was just a heavier, uneasy feeling. I just chalked it up to being tired as my friend and I had stayed up late the previous night, catching up and visiting. I walked across the living room, picked up a box, turned, began walking back across the room and got just over halfway across when it was like I walked into a wall of absolute dread. I don't know how else to explain it. I just froze...the feeling was so overwhelming it kind of took my breath away and stopped me in my tracks.

   I had almost pulled myself together to get moving again when something slammed the box I was still carrying straight to the floor as though someone had slammed their hands down right on the top of it with both hands, ripping it from my hands. It was enough force and I was so startled that it threw me off balance and I went staggering back a few steps. I can recall thinking (my brain screaming at me really...) that if I lost my feet I was dead. I had just gotten my balance and my feet back under me when it felt as though something slammed into my left thigh, just above the knee. I didn't even really have time to process this when I was picked up and thrown into the wall behind me. Not pushed. Not shoved. Not backed. Nothing to trip on and tripping wouldn't even begin to explain my going completely airborne.

   I vaguely remember hitting the wall, mostly with the right side of my back. I hit it hard enough to break the sheetrock as I ended up picking bits of it out of my hair and off my clothes later. I then crashed to the floor, losing my feet. I hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me because I can recall sitting there on the floor, up against the wall, my brain screaming at me to run and being completely unable to even move.

   As I sat there, unable to move, I felt the most indescribably awful feeling start coming down over me. The only way I can describe it is it was as if someone had opened up the top of my head and poured a cold oil made of pure despair, dread, hopelessness and every other negative feeling straight onto my brain and it was slowly running, like dripping paint, down into the rest of my body. I could almost physically feel it make it's way down from my head, to my neck, my chest. It was paralyzing and suffocating. I struggled, trying to get up, move, run, anything....but felt myself pinned by what felt like the end of a burning stick on my abdomen. At this point, I was very literally convinced that I was going to die. Right then, right there, that day.

   The one and only thing I could think of to do at that point was to call out to St. Michael. I'm surprised that even occurred to me as I'm not a particularly Christian person. I don't even know how the thought came to me. But, I did. I can't even recall exactly what I said except that I was begging for help.

   I don't know what happened other than I'd guess around 20-30 seconds later, I felt what I'd describe as a huge release. The awful, oozing feeling of darkness left me. I no longer felt pinned down and paralyzed.

   I managed to get to my feet and run out of there. I jumped into my truck and tore out of there. I had four boxes left in the bed of my truck when I finally stopped many miles later as I had not closed my tailgate and had, in an uncharacteristic act of recklessness born of blind terror, slung most of them out driving like a maniac. I never went back to look for them or to retrieve the few boxes I had left behind, still in the house.

   The final tally of my injuries was:

-  Multiple large areas of bruising. My entire left thigh was black-blue with bruising all the way around. The entire right side of my back was one big bruise. Not as dark as my thigh but a definite purple-blue. Lighter bruising on my right hip, ankle and shoulder. My right forearm and the pinky side of my right hand were both bruised dark purple.


-  My right pinky finger was broken.

-  There was skin ripped off the upper palm and the fingers of my right hand. I assume from the box being slammed out of my hands.

-  A large gash in my left thigh just above the knee approximately 4.5 inches long and around 1/2 an inch wide. I still have the scar from this today.


-  A light scar on my abdomen, approximately the size of my thumb, where I was burned that day from whatever was pinning me down. It blistered, popped, scabbed over and eventually healed.


-  A mild concussion and big knot on the back, right side of my head.

-  Several cracked ribs I suspect, given how much it hurt to breathe and sleep for the next several weeks.

-  Several fractured vertebrae


   Twelve years and this is the first I have ever spoken about it. I told everyone I had fallen off a horse, wore long pants and long sleeved shirts to cover what I could. I never even sought medical treatment until months later when my back was still hurting me. Seriously, what would I have told them? Probably nothing that wouldn't having them locking me up in a psych ward or calling the police and social services. I could fool friends and co-workers. I doubt very seriously if I could have fooled physicians.

   I've enclosed a diagram of the injuries. It's one thing to describe it. Quite another to actually see a visual representation of the fuller horror of it all. I have also enclosed a diagram of the living room (see below).

   Fireplace in upper right corner, french doors on right wall to back yard, boxes by the fireplace, front door lower left. The green line is my path from picking up the box to where I stopped and it was slammed out of my hands (leftmost X). Center X is where I stumbled back to, trying to keep my feet and was thrown from. Topmost X is where I hit the wall and ended up on the floor sitting against it. Not to scale and a bit crude but it gives you an idea.


   So I have spent twelve years not only terrified that something similar could happen again, but also very angry at myself for a myriad of reasons.

   First, for being so naive. For 36 years, this thing that I have had never resulted in anything but benign or even positive encounters....until that day in 2006. I was so naive to not realize that the same thing that allows me to have those harmless encounters could make me vulnerable to the very kind of encounter that day. I should have known, I should have been more aware and I should NOT have been so dismissive of that feeling that things had suddenly changed.

   Second, for feeling so ungrateful for this thing that I have. I can't even make myself call it a "gift", yet I hear people say that all the time. Talking about such and such psychic's "gift"...and here I sit with the attitude that I'd give it away in a hot second if I could. Then I end up feeling guilty because I see all of these people running around and helping others with theirs and I end up thinking that I'm just an ungrateful brat for not seeing it as a gift and using it to help others, for not learning to control it and make good of it. Maybe that is what I'm supposed to do and I'm just wasting it....now too terrified to even try to do such a thing. Does that make sense?

   I was watching my friend's teen daughter 2 days ago and let her use my laptop to watch Netflix. I was in the other room reading while she was watching episodes of Ghost Adventures. Now, I know who Zak is and I have a lot of respect for what he does. I've seen some interviews he has given....but I cannot watch Ghost Adventures. I think you understand why, I hope. However, I happened to hear a line...something Zak said....and I ran in the other room and made her backtrack it to that line. I don't even know what episode it was. Zak was talking with a woman and she said something about his "gift" and I will never forget his reply..."It's not necessarily a gift...". I don't know exactly how he meant it...but I know how I took it. To hear someone say, out loud, what I have been feeling for the past twelve years was a revelation moment for me. It never occurred to me that someone else might feel the same way...whether he meant it that way or not. I'm not going to tell you it magically cured my guilt over feeling that way about it, but it definitely made me feel less alone in my thinking. It was such a relief, it literally made me cry and that is not something I easily admit to.

   Now that I have taken so much of your time (and bless you if you have made it this far), let's see if I can actually manage to send this this time rather than erasing it all again.

   Thanks for reading/listening and letting me unburden myself. It has been quite cathartic.


© WyspersInTheDark - 06-07-18

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A truly terrifying experience, you were brave to share. Stay strong.

Mr. Ghost Stories
Wow, what a frightening encounter of what seems to be some kind of dark energy that attached itself to the home. Was it a former resident of the home who was unable to pass into the light, now angry and vengeful? The possibilities are scary. Those are some painful scars. You were lucky to get out of their with your life! You did a brilliant job telling this truly spine-tingly, otherworldly experience with the paranormal!

I've thought about it many times over the years. I'm pretty sure it wasn't either of the former residents. My friend's grandparents were the ones who originally built the house and I met both of them while they were still alive. Both were very sweet, Christian people who would give you the shirt off their back. This is why I always felt so comfortable going out there alone.
The only thing I can think of is that I had been working with a paranormal investigation group in North Texas, doing some consultations, and that I picked something up that stalked me, waiting for the right moment. This is a big reason I don't do any type of paranormal investigations any more. It scared me right off of them.
I did go to some friends of mine and get thoroughly cleansed and then spent around 6 months obsessively cleansing myself daily. I became the sage, salt and black salt queen. I still keep plenty on hand. The whole episode definitely did a number on me mentally as well as physically.

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