Know your enemy I always say.
I was eight when we moved to our new house in San Diego, California. Pulling up to the house I remember thinking, it’s cute. Then an overwhelming feeling came over me, like something was looking at me. I remember getting out of the car and looking around but not the kind of looking around in wonderment of the new, sunny surroundings. I was looking around because someone was watching me. Then I saw him, he was an elderly man wearing an old dusty black suit jacket and black pants and a wide brim black “work” hat. The kind they used to wear while working farms way back in the day.
He was standing half way down the opposite side of the street, watching. The really creepy thing he did was tip his hat at me. I slightly smiled at him and went on up the steps, when I turned back he was gone…….welcome to thunder dome as I always said.
The first night my brothers and I had to sleep on army cots dad had picked up until all our stuff arrived, it was not a comfortable night and the spirits let me know they were around right away.
I was sound asleep, I got up for my nightly walk to get a drink of water (I swear I’ve been doing it for fourty years now) when I heard faint music playing. It was not the regular music of the early 70’s this sounded like something you’d hear from a music box.
I was standing in the kitchen and suddenly smelled horses, like I was in a stall, I could smell food and smoke and a wet, dusty hay and canvas. I looked around and saw men and women milling about all dressed in what I would come to find, early 1800’s fashion. The women were wearing gowns and the men wearing the military garb of the day. I remember seeing the long swords, guns and wooden boxes.
I was almost immediately accosted by a woman in a beautiful yellow ball gown with dark brown hair, put up in curls and ringlets. She grabbed my arm, I could feel the force of it as she propelled me backward telling me, “You shouldn’t be here”. Her tone was more like she couldn’t understand how I was there but I was leaving asap.
I found myself wide awake looking out the kitchen window only seeing the backyard. I would over the next thirty-eight years of living in the house find myself staring out that same window, wondering what the hell that was and how did it happen.
But that wasn’t the only experience, things went from that’s cool to down right…..get me the f*ck out of here before I kill you.
We didn’t talk about the activity for a few years. Things would go missing when you knew you put them in the same place. Pictures would fall off walls, doors would open or slam shut. The tv would turn on and off. You would get hit in the head by cabinet doors, groped in the shower. Hear voices talking. Sometimes many at once, sometimes just one.
As I got older I started taking back. I would talk to what I believe was a little girl named Sammi. I later got an EVP where she told me her mother told her to stay there. I find that hard to believe but who knows. I would talk to a Lt. who was always, Just passing through Ma’am. There was an old Indian who sat in the corner of the back yard, just watching.
I found that the house had been a rental before Dad bought it and no one stayed in it for more than a couple months. So, I went on a mission to find out about the house. At this time the only reputable people in the Ghost Hunting business were Hans Holzer and The Warrens, I was pretty much on my own to learn. There was no social media where you could ask questions in hopes of getting answers. No tv shows, radios shows. Ghosts where something you only talked about if you were a nutjob and forget about proof. No one cared about getting proof, except Hans Holzer. I loved reading his books (Mom had them all) and she never stopped me from reading them.
I was off and learning about spirit activity and with each new encounter in and out of the house I would be on an adventure to figure out how to deal with it.
Over the years I have spent time in the desert with Native American Shaman. Traveled to Haiti and Brazil to learn about VooDoo and Santeria. Lived in Italy and traveled with Gypsies learning how to read tarot cards. I learned from Pagans and Wicca, spells, scrying, protection.
I learned from Satanists the nature of demons, who/what they are and how to push them back (more on that later). I learned from the catholic church how to do an exorsism (not that it always works) I became a non-denominational minister, a card carrying member of the church of satan (no not a practicing). I have gained experience/insight into the dark worlds of Vampires and the like.
I’ve learned about chrystals, healing, protection, using them to call the spirits, which I do not recommend unless you can handle it mentally and physically. Using salt, sage, lemon, and other things takes practice and It’s a rough world, the darkness, you do not want to live there and it’s not always ok to visit.
I NEVER tell anyone to do what I do. I have my battle scars both mentally and real scars on my body from the attacks. I always say, do not poke the sleeping bear unless you want to be eaten, now that’s what I say but in all fairness, the demon poked first and I’m guessing it thought I would just roll over.