Kara’s Encounter

In October of 2011, I had someone very close to me get diagnosed with Subependeymoma, which is a benign brain tumor in the ventricles of the brain. Normally these types of brain tumors are easily operable and have a fairly quick recovery period. However, for my father this was not the case.

After going into surgery it was discovered that his tumor had mutated and had attached itself to his brain stem in a web formation.This made it near impossible to perform operations and for him to recover properly. From 2011-2016 he fought as hard as he could but March 22, 2016 he ultimately lost the fight.

This time period of my life was very rough for me. I spent the better part of my teenage years taking care of the man who raised me and provided for me. Once he had passed I struggled to accept life without him. Many odd things happened to me after he passed away, some that could have been coincidences, some that I believe are more.

 I have many stories but there is one that sticks out in my head the most. My father is buried in a family cemetery in Leon, Kentucky. It is a very quiet area in rural eastern Kentucky. It sits on top of a hill, where five other close family members are buried. My dad’s mom ( my grandmother ), her mother and father, and two of her siblings. There are no surrounding homes, subdivisions, or business. I always enjoyed going to visit the cemetery because to me it’s just a peaceful place, you can sit and listen to nature for hours, there is no cell phone service so phones ringing is never an issue. It’s a wonderful place to clear your head, and just breathe for a while. I don’t go as often as I should but when I do go visit I always stay for about an hour and I always bring a bottle of Orange Crush soda and a Reese’s cup to place on my fathers tombstone. On Saturday nights we would always go to the races and on the way there we would stop to get a snack and always came out with the same thing. So I do this as a remembrance.

 On this particular day I decided to head up to visit the cemetery. It was about 2pm in the afternoon and it was a clear sunny day. I was struggling a lot, I remember this day and had tears in my eyes all the way to the grave-site. I sat down on my grandmother’s tombstone which is right across from my fathers. I sat for approx 15 minutes and out of nowhere a branch beside me ( the graveyard is in a wooded area) bent backwards as if someone walked past it and snapped back into place. I thought to myself, well that’s kinda odd, but did not think much else of it and continued to sit. A few moments later I hear leaves rustling a few feet behind me and I hear what I believe to be a child singing. At this point I’m really confused, because there are no close homes and definitely none close enough to where a child would have wandered off. I stand up and started to look around and the singing stops. At this point I am getting kind of spooked so I simply say ‘hello, is anyone there?” There was no answer.

 I decided I was ready to leave anyways so I began walking to my car. As I was walking to my car, I paused to turn around and look, as I was turning I heard child laughter, it lasted maybe 15 seconds and faded off. I didn’t say anything else and just continued to walk to my car. I didn’t think anything of it, I didn’t feel threatened or unsafe.

 I had heard once before that sometimes when spirits make their presence known it is often in the form of a child, whether this is true or not, I’m not sure. At the time I never felt scared however, I almost felt joy, and happiness I would even say!” 

In this encounter, we have two distinct elements of an unexplained nature. Firstly we have “physical manipulation/effects” on the environment, and secondly the sound of a “disembodied-child’s voice signing”. Either taken separately would certainly be a strange occurrence, but together they can only be described as extraordinary.

I want to thank Kara for sharing her amazing and touching story. She not only gave us her very personal experience, but also graciously offered to answer follow-up questions if any arose.

A couple that immediately comes to mind, whether she can give further insight or not are, was there something about this particular day that may have “spurred” this to happen? Was there a deeper meaning to the encounter, something that may not be readily apparent?

We will revisit this in the future.

Lorie’s Story

Here is a experience recently shared with me, and while it does share “common elements” with many other people’s, there is one element of the rarest type.

Thank you for sharing Lorie, and sorry it has taken me this long to get it out.

I was working my first “real” job at Woodland Oaks Nursing Facility in Ashland. I hadn’t been on the job very long and was still really nervous. One night the call-bells begin going off in the rooms at the end of one of the hallways. This was unusual since the residents in those rooms had long been asleep–this was around 2am or so and the residents had all been in bed for some time. Besides many of the resident in the rooms that were calling out were unable to trigger them on their own, so I knew right away something wasn’t right.

So I answered them as was my job, but when I went into the rooms everything was quite. The residents were asleep, and everything seemed fine except the bed covers had been completely taken off them and thrown in the floor. I thought this was strange of course but didn’t question it too much, I just checked to make sure they were okay, straighten out their covers and left.

A few minutes later the same thing happened again. The bells went off and upon going back to check once again found the bed-covers likewise disturbed. I knew for certain after this happened several times that something definitely wasn’t right, but nothing was really harmed and I was too nervous to mention anything to any of the other staff. Then things went from being strange to being terrifying.

Once again the bells rang out, and once again I started back down the hall expecting to find things as they had been before but this time there was something else. The hallway lights had been dimmed as was the norm for the night. It wasn’t completely dark of course, but much dimmer than when full lighted. As I came to the end of the hall, all at once there “she” was.

Standing right in front of me, maybe 5 or 6 feet away was a little girl. She looked like she was maybe 8-10 years old. Her head was tilted slighting forward and she had long jet-black hair that hang down on both sides of her face. I couldn’t see her eyes very well but they seemed dark and she seemed to be looking right at me. She had dark skin, and to me looked like a little Indian-girl (Native American). She was wearing a burlap-sack dress and was barefooted. I couldn’t see through her or anything, she just looked like a normal little girl.

Needless to say I was beyond shocked, so we just stood there for what seemed like several minutes just staring at each other. Then she darted quickly into the room to my right, her left. I followed right after her, but there was no one else in the room except the sleeping resident.

I took a few minutes to gather myself and try to process what had just happened. Returning to the central it was apparent to the rest of the staff I was disturbed. Eventually the need to let it out overshadowed my fear of being ridiculed. All were silent as I recounted the events. When I finished I prepared myself for the inevitable derision, it never came. Instead no one seemed in the least surprised at anything I had to say.

I learned all of these happenings were well known to those that had been working there for some time. They had withheld this knowledge out of fear that I would literally be scared off the job. And they have been right to do so.

Here we see perhaps the rarest of “ghostly manifestations”, that being the full body apparition. A form that is difficult to distinguish from an ordinary person, and if not for the circumstance would most likely pass as such. This begs the question, how often are we in the company of an “other” and yet completely oblivious?

Ever-Present Hat-man

Today a family member’s medical procedure brought several members together. After the serious business was finished, and thankfully the good news made for a time of light hearted conversation around the dinner table.

The topic turned to the unknown as it occasionally does, and there is the familiar reminiscing of family stories and personal experiences, then a new topic was broached.

“I saw a shadowy person wearing a hat once standing on the side of the road”, one member of the party proclaimed. This statement opened the floodgates as each member related their own encounters with the “Hat-man”—with myself being the only exception.

Being the only person present able to give “his” name, I was asked “what is it about”, “is seeing him an omen”, “is it evil“? All I could offer as an answer was “I don’t know”.

Hearing these encounters from family for the first time was a bit unsettling. How widespread is this phenomena, and how has it flown under the radar for so long? As par usual, no answers, but a multitude of questions.

Super Natural Sightseeing

Brushes with the paranormal can, and do happen in every imaginable setting. In our forests, on our roads, in our homes, and probably the most disturbing, in our bedrooms.

It can happen anywhere, at any time, but there is certain landmarks that tend to attract higher levels of activity than the baseline of other locations. Such landmarks include, but are not limited to: bridges, railways, military-installations, bodies of water, burial and effigy mounds, and crossroads.

While each of these areas can, and do spark their own theories as to what makes these places supranatural hotbeds—at this time, let us focus on the latter, and leave the rest for a time each can be explored in the detail they deserve.

Intersection of Worlds

Crossroads have a long and storied history in the annals of supernatural lore. Exercutions, and subsequent burial of the condemned, as well as burial of those that had committed suicide, often took place at crossroads. The belief being that their restless spirits may be confused, and so not be able to return to aggress the living.

Perhaps this reasoning arose from belief in the occult significance of crossroads; that being, they are the intersection of: paths, ideas, and worlds, and they represent, decision, indecision, and confusion.

These ideas are not regulated to superstition of the past, but are alive to this day in a number of pop-cultural references. One such instance is that of the legendary blues artist Robert Johnson, who it is said made a Faustian bargain for mastery of the guitar. The sight of his contract signing, the intersection of Hwy 49 and 61, in Rosedale, MS. Whether or not Mr. Johnson made such a bargain, only he and “Ol Scritch” could say with any authority. Nevertheless it as been referenced numerous times in musical and dramatic portrayals, assuring the crossroads will remain “a place of power” in humanity’s collective subconscious for years to come.

To be Seen or Not to be Seen

While some of the beliefs in the significance of crossroads can be seen as logical in the ethereal

sense, the same should not hold true in the world of cryptid creatures. Yet, this does seem to be the case, but why?

In the cryptid world, let us take for instance the currently in vogue Dogman. These creatures are reputed to be the ultimate apex predators, yet they are spotted by motorists at an inordinate rate, and not surprisingly at crossroads.

Predators do not like to be seen, so one would logically think a creature with honed predatory senses, and with above animalistic intelligence, (if not telepathic abilities) would be more than capable of remaining unseen. That is unless being witnessed is not a concern, but may in fact be the desired.

Collapsing the Wave Function

In quantum field theory the role of the observer is a place of fundamental importance in weaving the fabric of reality.

Lacking the expertise or the desire to do so, we will refrain from going into great detail with the theory, suffice it say, it appears observation affects the material-world, if only on the smallest (for now) scales (see the double slit experiment). Does this explain the “feeling of being watched”, one has to wonder. It also begs the question, is the purpose of paranormal encounters, in fact to be observed?

William Francis “Slick Willie” Sutton, a prolific 20th century American bank robber, is attributed as saying, when asked by a reporter why he robbed banks, “Because that’s where the money is”. In this vein, perhaps experiences happen in these areas because, that “is where the people are” more often. These entities desire to be observed, and in so doing, some type of subtle quantum energy/information is transferred giving them realization, or existence in the material world.

It has been theorized that some paranormal entities feed off the fear generated in persons that encounter them. Perhaps only certain types of entities need or desire the energy generated by fear, and some portion of energy is obtained whenever observation occurs regardless of the emotional response. It may be as simple as, to exist, it they must be observed.


September is here and with it comes the first whiffs of the “spooky season”. A time relished by children of all ages. The time of crisp-air, falling-leaves, corn-mazes, ghost-stories, and for those that seek to take it up a notch, time for a ghost-hunt.

Time honored traditions, however as with many things in our current times, commercialization has crept in. With the rise of “reality” driven television, the rise of paranormal based media was inevitable. Ghost “hunting” television programs with a variety of catchy titles, but with virtually identical formats (what was that?) are legion. These presentations while boldly blazing trails over threadbare pathways have brought a spotlight to previously unrenowned locations.

One such area location is the Waverly Hills sanatorium. Long known to Louisville, Kentucky locals as a place of spectral incidents, Waverly has gained worldwide recognition as a paranormal hotspot, and a “bucket-list” destination for would be ghost-chasers of any caliber. Understandably so if only a portion of the alleged activity is true. However, research and investigation are one thing, exploitation is another.

Ghost tours are by no means a new concept, but to establish a cottage industry predicted on the unending torment of Earthbound spirits would appear to be shameless exploitation innocences.

How many souls spent their last incarnated days, languishing away, forcibly separated from their their families, their homes, and everything they had ever known. Now, their restless spirits relegated, for all intents and purposes, to the cast of a sideshow attraction. Doomed to a eternal performance for the (not so) cheap thrills of a soulless audience.

Is it moral to derive enjoyment from the suffering of others, be they living or not?

To each his own; this is the U.S.A., and all hail capitalism, but how can patronage of such a place not equate to endorsement of ethereal-slavery?

Is this stance a bit hyperbolic, perhaps. Nonetheless, In the end, lets us not forget the premise of our ghostly interests, and lose sight of just what that means.

Voice from the Crawl Space

I was about six years old when it happened. My father, sister, and I were in the front yard one day playing baseball, as well as could be played with players varying in age from mid-thirties(father), mid-teens, (sister) and myself (around six) when it happened.

I had gotten a new, full-size (MLB) wooden bat for my recent birthday, a grossly oversized piece of equipment for my age, but that didn’t prevent my father from getting it for me because he, like so many other fathers, had the great American dream of his son playing in the major-leagues someday.

At any rate, for some trivial reason or another, I can’t remember exactly, I started being an insufferable brat. I got mad at something during play and actually pulled the “I’ll take my ball and go home” expression with the exception, it was a bat instead of ball, and I was already home. I retreated to the side-yard, leaving them in the front-yard, where their game continued on.

There I was with my bat, stewing in whatever real or imagined slight I had suffered, when I heard my name being called. The voice was coming from a small, man-sized opening to the crawlspace from beneath our house. At first, and for a few moments thereafter, I thought it was my sister trying to egg-me-on. I thought it vaguely sounded like her. I ignored it at first, but it continued saying, “Kelly, come under here.” It repeated over and over.

I had enough, and still being fairly certain it was my sister I said, “Geneva, you better stop messing with me.” To this the voice responded, “I’m not Geneva, come under here”.

When first I heard it, I was twenty-feet or so away from the crawlspace opening, and after first engaging it, I had been inching closer. I keep repeating, “Geneva, you better stop, I mean it”. The voice kept denying it was Geneva, and beckoning me to “come under here”.

I loved my sister, and she me, but there was sibling conflict, regardless of there being a gap of several years between our ages, so pulling a prank such as this was well within the realm of possibility.

I inched closer, and I was not afraid. I was however getting angry thinking she was being particularly relentless in this “joke”. Still the voice said, “Come under here”. So I said, “No, you come out here”, while cocking back my bat behind my head, storing up all the potential energy my six-year-old arms could muster.

The exchange went on for a few moments more, until it became apparent neither side was willing to compromise. I was certainly not, “coming under there”, and “it” wasn’t “coming out here”, so the dialogue ended.

I am ashamed to admit this now, but had “it” showed its head through the crawlspace opening, whatever it was, sister or no, it would have tasted every ounce of hickory I could have brought to bear.

Still provoked by anger mainly, but by then fear had certainly gained ground. I decided I had enough “alone” time and decided to go back to the front-yard. I was fairly certain I would be greeted with laughs and teasing from my father and sister, but none came. I surveyed their demeanor closely; hoping for some hint that it had been a prank, there was none. I went and sat on the front porch for a few moments replaying my experience. I then rejoined the game.

I never mentioned this to anyone for well over twenty years, then one day the family conversion happened to turn to the “paranormal”, so I decided to ask the only other person at home that day, that being my mother. She told me it was not her. My sister also steadfastly denied it. Now for a person reading this, there is certainly the possibility that one or both was lying, and while I would be 99% sure of the truthfulness of my sister, I am 100% certain my mother would never lie to me, especially when asked about such a thing. This woman was and is the epitome of Christianity. A mother who never told her children there was a Santa Claus because, she “wasn’t going to tell her children lies”, and “that our father worked hard to make a living for us and no bearded fat-man in a red suit was going to get the credit”. You would just have to know her.
So there is my conversation with the “unknown”. Take from it what you will.