I recently had a haunting experience unlike any other — a type of phenomenon I haven’t heard anyone else speak of; a kind of ghost I’ve never even really contemplated.
I had a conscious awareness of myself as a future ghost to someone who will occupy by house years after me.
It was the day I realized my mother and I were going to have a beloved family pet euthanized. I woke up that morning to find a text message. It was time.
Buddy was eighteen years old, he had an amazing long life, but he was in decline. We anticipated that he probably wouldn’t be with us for another year. Still, he took a quick turn for the worst and I am not one to allow that situation to drag on one more moment longer than it needs to.
I spoke to Mama by phone, assured her I would go with her to the vet. The appointment wasn’t until 3:00 in the afternoon, so I told her I would come over early, observe him, confirm his condition, and spend a little time with him, say goodbye.
One of the worst things at this point is waiting. When the decision has been made and it’s the right one, I don’t have the patience to wait. Waiting at all seems cruel to me. When you’re sick, in agony in your own skin, eight hours is an eternity. I hated for him to go through that. (Incidentally, I believe strongly in euthanasia for people, too.)
After getting off the phone with Mama, it was torture trying to putter around my house, killing time until I was due to go over and see Buddy.
I’ve only lived in my new house for two months, but I can absolutely assure you — don’t be too disappointed — it is not haunted.
I’ve performed every spell of invitation I know, I’ve stood in the dark and listened to the quiet until my ears ring… nothing.
Our new home is eighty-one years old, but it has only been home to just three families in all that time. Lots of kids have been raised here, their handprints are pressed into the patio concrete, their names and birthdays are carved into the workbench in the garage.
From what I know of the history of the house from the previous owner and the elderly neighbors next door, our house has known mostly love. No deaths here, no tragedies, no violence.
The energy of the space is truly peaceful, and I am, of course, grateful for that.
But there’s a part of me that doesn’t mind a little lingering spirit here and there. I’ve lived in haunted rental houses all my life; I finally buy one, and it’s spirit-free.
My friend Christina is always at the center of paranormal activity. I’m pretty convinced at this point it has little to do with her houses; I think they move around with her.
She will become periodically excited by the escalation of activity — thumps and bumps and footsteps and such — and beg me to come over and experience it.
It never fails, though. Christina complains that, several hours before I am due to arrive, her own ghosts all go quiet. Nothing happens while I’m there, she has fun catching me up on the evidence, and later I hear that the house remained peaceful for days afterward.
I have a heavy angelic security detail.
I’ve worked for years to put it in place, customize it, and maintain it. They clear the spaces I intend to visit. By my request, I have a larger than average buffer zone. Other than the guides I may intentionally connect with at my clients’ requests, almost nothing “randomly spooky” gets through.
This could also have something to do with the stillness of my new house. But honestly, I don’t think so. I tried to pick up on some ghosts. I strained to hear just a faint echo of some soul who had resided here in the past.
(I did have one small flash of a psychic memory, imprinted out in the yard near the edge of the property. Let me come back and tell that story another time.)
So, back to the present. It’s the morning of Buddy’s last day.
I’m alone in my kitchen, and I allow myself to have one really big loud ugly cry for Buddy.
And in that moment, I felt someone with me.
It was a teenaged girl. She could not see me, but she could hear my crying and was trying to communicate with me.
I knew — and I can’t tell you exactly how I knew, I was just certain in that instantaneous claircognizant download kind of way — that she wasn’t a ghost.
I was the ghost.
She was in the future, and she heard the psychic echo of my grief.
I had just left it here, imprinted it on the space, and a girl who will one day live here after me, picked up on it.
I was in shock — I’d never thought about our ability to do this, or at least to be aware of it in the present while it is happening.
Have you thought about this? Maybe it’s just me. I feel incredibly on display now…
It was like those time capsules I use to bury in hopes that someone would dig it up one day. I’ve written messages inside the closets of my dorm rooms before… it was like that.
I felt bad. I wanted to assure here that I wasn’t haunting her — I wasn’t trapped here or anything — I was just crying for someone I loved.
It never occurred to me that anybody would hear it. Out of time.
I did my best to project to her a feeling that everything was okay. I spoke clearly and explained my situation, in case some future ghost hunter did want to record an EVP…
I don’t think she could really make out my words at all. It was like when somebody is on the other end of a bad phone connection — you can hear her asking “Hello?” in that one-sided way.
Anyway, this signal — this brief wormhole in time, or whatever it was — faded away.
It probably only lasted two or three minutes, but it left me wondering about the temporal aspect of haunting.
Are you, perhaps, right now, someones’s ghost in the future?
Image credit h.koppdelaney via Creative Commons on Flickr