by | Oct 28, 2018 | Chris Goff | 12 comments

by Chris Goff

Touched is the word that comes to mind. Which of course can be taken two ways. This Halloween, as the Rogues reveal their scary encounters (or attempted encounters) with those from beyond, the word so aptly describes my experiences.

It’s well known in my family that I’m the crazy one. For years I’ve seen spirits. Shadows that swirl around and seem to multiply just before someone I love passes. And, more than once, I’ve seen actual people.

The first ghost I ever saw was a rattlesnake ghost. I was six. My father was sitting beside my bed reading to me from Pinocchio when I the snake stuck its head up at the side of the bunk near my feet. I shrank back toward the head of the bed and told Dad to be careful. He turned off the light and told me to go to sleep. Right!

The second spirit was one I conjured. I grew up in an triad A-frame house that my father built. It had two lofts—one that was my play loft and one with two bunks where I hosted sleepovers with my friends. You could only get up into them by ladder. An only child, I thought it would be fun to have a playmate, so I made up the ghost of “the girl in the loft.” The weird thing was, when I no longer wanted her there, she refused to leave. Eventually I left for college and my folks sold the house.

The first full blown spirit I saw was a young man standing near the stereo in my home in Frisco, CO. He was short, with dark hair and dressed in shamrock green. It was March. A leprechaun? No one else could see him, and he disappeared when the phone rang. The caller was my mother telling me a close childhood friend of mine had died from a drug overdose. I was nine months pregnant. They chalked my vision up to hormones.

We’ve all heard that it’s not uncommon for dying people to “see” family members who have already passed, but I admit to being surprised when I received a frantic phone call from my grandmother’s nursing home. They wanted me to come right away. My grandmother was “talking in tongues.”

Not exactly. It turned out she was speaking Swedish As I walked in the room, she brightened, more animated than I’d seen her in months. “Christy,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve never met your great-grandmother, have you?” For the next hour, Gram proceeded to switch between English and Swedish, introducing me to her mother, Emma Christina, and translating our conversation. Clearly she believed my great-grandmother was in the room.

What frightened me was, I was seeing spirits at home. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen “shadow people.” I first saw them when my mother was dying from cancer. Swirling figures who would gather in my house, and follow me room to room. I saw them when my father-in-law died, when my mother-in-law fell ill, when I lost my dear friend Janet. The take awayI see ghosts when someone close to me is about to pass. 

A week after being introduced to my great-grandmother, I became aware of the gathering spirits and bolted up the stairs toward my bedroom. For the first time, I could actually pull faces out of the crowd. Taking the stairs two at a time, I bumped into someone halfway up. We hit shoulders hard, and I shouted, “Get away.” My husband called down from the bedroom, “They’re only trying to comfort you.”

With Wes snoring, I convinced myself it was all in my head and crawled under the covers without waking him up. Then a couple of hours later, I sat straight up in bed. My heart pounded. My breath shallow. Wes—who still appeared to be sleeping—said, “Lie back down. They won’t call for an hour.” I lay there awake until the phone rang at 1:30 a.m. My grandmother had died at 12:30.

I hate seeing spirits. They scare me. Though, sometimes I’ll see them now and nothing bad happens. Once in our Denver house, I saw a young girl standing near the fireplace. We lived in an historical residence, but I have no idea why she was there. She looked to be about seven, dark-haired, wearing a pink wool coat and hat with black velvet piping and black patent leather shoes. She just stood and stared, her eyes wide, as though she was just as surprised to see me. I was sick, recovering from surgery. Everyone around me blamed it on drugs.

Still, I must admit, I am that person. The one who can’t handle scary movies; who sleeps with the bathroom light on if I’m home alone. After seeing “The Haunting,” a 1963 film based on “The Haunting of Hill House” by Shirley Jackson, I can no longer sleep with an arm or leg draped over the side of the bed. I still sometimes feel ghost animals walking across the duvet. And, just the other night, when my husband was out-of-town, I felt someone sit down on the edge of the bed. It was 2:35 a.m. The light was on. I was terrified.

Were I braver, maybe I’d try and engage with those that gather. I’ve never sensed malevolence. They’re likely family and friends, and I would love the chance to talk with my mother again.  

In a comment to Robin Burcell’s blog, “There’s a Ghost in my Bedroom” (Oct 2018), Gayle Lynds wrote about how her daughter kept finding pennies in unexpected places after her grandmother died. I LOVE the idea of finding pennies. The closest I’ve come is an earring. I was in my new office, sitting in a new chair, when I heard something drop to the wood floor. Looking down I found a small, gold hoop earring. It was one of a pair that my grandmother had brought home from Sweden and given me when I was sixteen years old. They were my favorite, and I had lost it six month earlier. Fortunately, I’d never thrown away the mate. I still wear those earrings, everyday.

I am convinced, if we’re honest with ourselves, that everyone has experienced something that cannot be explained, something that defies reason. A roommate I had after college told me about her mother, who had lost a little sister in a fiery car crash years ago, when they were still in high school. Fast forward ten years and Shelley was born, and her mother heard her sister’s voice telling her to “come into the other room. I’m there.” Her mother did as asked, but only Shelley was there, lying in her cradle. Her mother never said a word, not until Shelley was a young adult and seeing a therapist to help her with her pyrophobia.

Rogue Readers, I’d love to hear some of your stories of the unexplained. Care to share? I promise, I won’t call you crazy.

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  1. Gayle Lynds

    My goodness, Chris, I had no idea you were so connected! Lol! I loved reading about your spirit experiences,which are so much more concrete than my own. I wonder sometimes whether our reluctance to engage with the other side for some of us is because the edge is closer, the line narrower, the curtain thinner. Distance may feel safer, but what one loses seems immeasurable. Thank you for these wonderful stories of the times the spirit dimension reached out to you.

  2. Robin Burcell

    OMG! Why aren't you writing paranormal stuff? You're like the Ghost Whisperer! (That was a great show. I loved how the spirits needed to solve one last thing before they "crossed over." Your tales are equally fascinating–but now I'm not sure I want to be roommates with you at a writer con LOL. 😉 One of my friends believes that children are able to see spirits, but usually grow out of it. Apparently you did not grow out of it. I do believe, I do believe…

  3. Karna Bodman

    I totally agree with Robin — you really should be writing paranormal stories, Chris — everyone tell us we should "write wheat we know" — and you obviously know a lot!!! Go for it. AS for unexplained experiences, I started piano lessons when I was 4 (My Mother had a masters in music and taught piano her whole life). I used to make up my own new music. One day when I was about 10, I was playing a new song and my mother shouted down from upstairs, "Where did you hear that music?" I said, "No where. I just made it up. I thought it was pretty." She came rushing down the stairs and replied, "When I was about your age, I made up that VERY same song." Go figure.

  4. Chris Goff

    I'm terrified of crossing the line.

  5. Chris Goff

    Maybe that's it! I'm still a child inside. I used to love the Ghost Whisperer, too, but it creeped me out sometimes.

  6. Chris Goff

    That gives me chills, Karna. There's something going on. Trying to define it may mean having to dig too deep. Love this story about the music.

  7. Jamie Freveletti

    I hear you Chris, about being terrified to cross the line, given all you've experienced. While my mother had many such experiences, I've only had one. A few years ago I was lying in bed in the early morning hours and heard three pounding knocks on our (glass) front door. Both my husband and I woke up and I darted out of bed and ran to the front door. Because it's glass I can see down either side of the street. Our squeaky front metal gate remained closed and no one was there. Went to bed and a little later my father's wife called to say he had lost his battle with lung cancer. I was pretty rattled and called a writer friend who does some paranormal investigation and he said hearing three knocks is a phenomenon often reported by people when a loved one dies. He was so matter of fact about it. To this day I swear it was my dad saying, "Babe, I'm out, see you on the other side!" If my husband hadn't heard it I'm sure by now I'd have convinced myself it didn't really happen. But there it is.

  8. Lisa Black

    Okay right now I'm a little more freaked out by Wes. How did he know they'd call in an hour?

  9. Sharyn Jordan

    Oh, Ladies, you are each such an inspiration. Thank you, Chris, for your stories from the BEyond were both chilling & fascinating.
    Although I do not see shadows notifying me of a loved one's impending passing, instead, I hear the music. It was 2:30 a.m. when this wide-eyed thirteen-year-old bolted upright from my bed. Alone in my room, I was startled to hear the Marine's song," from the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli" playing. It was April 7, 1962. Next, I heard my 38 yr. old father saying, "I am at peace, I always with you & I love you." Minutes later, the phone rang & I knew it was the hospital calling. Dad had been in & out of a special medical plaza for eight months battling Cancer. Calmly, at 2:30 a.m., he died in his sleep.

    It had been an extremely hot Phoenix summer of 1975. My three little boys were 4,3, & 11 months of age. Thankfully, we had a lovely pool to cool down yet, every time we would swim, the hymn "How Great Thou Art," the song's every verse could be heard coming from a neighboring yard. It was a familiar & favorite tune as my dad had loved my playing it for him on the piano. Following it, he would request his Marine Hymn, and in his robust voice, he sang a rousing rendition.

    In addition to hearing "How Great Thou Art" at home, it also began popping up in unexpected places. For example, on a Jazz radio station, the boys' Pediatrician's office and even over Diamond's Department store's Muzak system.

    Concerned, I called to check on my mother & grandmother in Texas; they were both just fine. My 24-year-old younger sister Suzanne was finally home from an incredible summer spent in Europe. Per our engaging telephone conversations, she & I spoke nightly as she was then back at work in her Tulsa Planning Commission career. When I told her the hymn's persistent yet almost ominous presence, she said, "I love that Hymn, please play it at my funeral." We laughed because Suzanne was so young, responsible & a long-term planner. Early the next morning, she was brutally murdered. Devastated, I managed to make certain "How Great Thou Art" was included in her beautiful services. To this day, Suzanne Oakley is an unsolved crime in Tulsa, OK's inactive Cold Case.

    There have been other sentimental songs foreshadowing loved one's passing, however, thank you for indulging me this lengthy share. ~Blessings.

  10. Jamie Freveletti

    Oh no, such a tragedy. I'm so sorry for the loss of your sister and your father. My condolences to you and your family.

  11. Chris Goff

    Sharyn, I was out checking posts on the website and found your answer. I'm so sorry I didn't see it sooner. Your story gave me chills and brought tears to my eyes. It's very scary to have foreshadowing. I can imagine your hearing your father voice has brought comfort in the passing years. I can't imagine what it's like to have a sister murdered. Thank you for sharing your stories.

  12. Chris Goff

    I just saw this as I was looking for spam comments. It gave me chills. Hearing someone bang on a door like that would freak me out. I think you're right, though. It was your Dad letting you know he was okay. Thanks for sharing the story.