Haunted Airbnb

A travelogue / paranormal memoir about my Airbnb, which was haunted, and about a major Parking Angels miracle that occurred on an airport tarmac.


93 - Haunted Airbnb


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People ask me all the time about Seeing Things. In particular, seeing things you wouldn’t want to see.

I forgot what that was like.

I’ve built up my psychic security over the course of a decade now. I’ve layered protocol on top of protocol, upgrade after upgrade, bug fixes, new commands and features ...

It became pretty solid, to the point I don’t think about it or worry about it that .much. Not consciously.

I’m not trying to brag, I don’t mean to sound cocky about it, it’s a reality.

There was a time when I saw spirits everywhere. Every turned-off electronic, every blackened monitor screen or TV made me shudder.

I’ve told some of those stories, about the haunted house on Daniel where I lived when I had my stroke, where I called in the spirits to heal me and opened this door. Flipped this switch.

And I’ve talked about my secret service detail. My guardians.

I got there slowly as a result of doing this work—doing readings for people—and moving back to the home I grew up in. The energy is my mother’s home is unbelievably quiet.

Seth calls it "The Hush.” People become sleepy just being in my mother’s home. My brother and sister in law complain that the lighting is too mellow.

After my parents divorced and my brother moved away, my dad and my brother took their love of overhead lighting and loud televisions with them.

Growing up, my dad stayed up weird hours. You’d come downstairs in the middle of the night and ALL the overhead lights would be on bright, and he’d be talking on the phone and pacing, having deep conversations or counseling sessions with his brothers or his friends.

My mama and I, however, together with our cats, cast a spell of calm in our homes. We both read a lot. We watched things at low volume. We have very long drawn out come down rituals, and lots ramped down levels of disconnecting and relaxing.

I think this has a lot to do with The Hush. But I also remember when I was fourteen, and my parents were looking at houses, the first time I entered that house it had that Hush. I believe it’s the main reason we chose it. It was immaculately clean and quiet. And always has been.

The Hush was a spell I incorporated into my security.

Your guides are archetypes, they’re programs. You have the power to code them, to hack them, to make them work as you need them to.

You demand it. You talk to them. You describe it out loud and you talk to yourself in the car, in the mirror, you visualize it as you’re lying down at night and again when you wake up. You visualize yourself as a sun, the sphere of your energy growing, expanding...

My Hush, my invisibility spells, my glamours, my security perimeter ... it’s powerful. It’s huge. It’s a supernova.

I use invisibility to hide the security itself, so this strange pillow doesn’t smother others who are around me. To make me seem more normal to people in cafes.

I have been told I am simultaneously unapproachable and that I have a calming effect on people.

Anyway, when I went to this workshop last month, it had been a long time since I’d raised the portcullis and dropped the drawbridge over the moat.

Pulled back the invisibility glamour and thinned my veils.

But I was in this workshop with beginners. They were several people who just learning to feel energy, to cut cords ... I was concerned about blocking them. Making them think they were doing something wrong.

I told my guardians to: Please, let them in. Let them work on me. It didn’t instantaneously happen … their protocols are meant to protect me from my own bad decisions. I spent a lot of time in preparation for that trip and during that trip negotiating taking down the security and bringing it back up.

There was a danger that other stuff might get through. You kind of can’t have it both ways. Although if you do this kind of work, you can use a pink shielding technique. A lot of security acts as a blind fold, when what you really require is something more along the lines of sunglasses.

Finding that correct modulation takes a while, and there are always exceptions you run across that you haven’t accounted for in advance.

My Airbnb in Chicago was in a building from the 19-teens. I have some particular connection to that time period and to apartments from that era.

I wrote a whole novel about an apartment in in Athens, Georgia built in 1927 - check date.

That book is called CLOUDBUSTING by Eric Slade, if you’re interested. My fiction is written under a pen name.

The apartment in the novel and many of the paranormal occurrences there are semi-autobiographical.

So this Airbnb was THAT kind of apartment. The Chicago Oak Park version. The same era of wood work and stain glass in the only house I ever bought too.

I managed to get my security down … 
and ghosts came out of the woodwork.

I forgot how scary that is.

I think a lot of people are scared by their own guardians. If you’ve awakened and felt an imposing presence in the room … did you ever think that’s YOUR entity, and it’s protecting you. It’s being scary to all the things that AREN’T able to get near you.

I feel bad because people ask me to tell them how to reverse this and clear a house.

But I don’t clear houses. I don’t even try to take the sun out of the sky, I just use blackout drapes and sunglasses.

I really don’t clear space, I clear my senses.

And maybe that does have an affect on my environment. Maybe I’m sending out instructions that are augmented by some type of entity able to alter physical reality. Guardian angels. Protectors. They’re not just whispering and floating around, they MOVE shit. Out of the way. They control flow and the interaction of physical bodies on this plane.

Maybe my spells and visualizations are amplified by them. Or maybe I’m like a symphony conductor.

I honestly don’t know. I don’t know how it works. I don’t know for sure. I don’t know what I BELIEVE — I have theories — but I am just swimming in it. Moving through. Experimenting. Wondering...

I had a friend from Chicago come by the Airbnb. He picked up on the spirits without knowing any of what I just told you. He kept whispering, and then apologizing for this impulse to keep his voice down. He kept wanting to check the kitchen. He swore someone was in the apartment.

I know. I kept telling him. I know. There’s nobody here. We’re safe.

He still wanted to check. I encourages him to.

He kept saying "I swear I hear someone. I can feel them there."

"I know. I know."

We eventually had to leave and go to his apartment in the north of Chicago for the rest of the evening.

And when I did return, alone. Holy shit. The place was crawling with shadows. Surfaces were crawling with light. They were swarming that space. They were crashing my space.

I got really sleep-deprived —which just shreds the veil for me. There is nothing that pieces the veil and thins the skin and lowers the protection more than being sleep-deprived. and I was stressed by everything that happened regarding the workshop (which I did another podcast about, last week) and I was having a hard time getting it all back together. I was just reacting.

It’s hard to get control when you just in the thick of it.

Every time I moved from one room to the other, entities would step back into the shadows, would lurch around a corner to evade me, duck back into a closet, flee down a hall.

It went on and on.

They startled me. I was jumpy. I knew it was happening, but it still kept taking my breath away, managing to surprise me by the sheer force of the feelings. Or the visions. “Look at that,” I kept saying. “Look at you." They made my skin crawl, but I wasn’t existentially frightened or afraid for my safety. They weren't evil. They were just spirits.

All the echoes were coming off the wood work in waves. Through the stained glass, off the snow which covered 90% of the view outside. You think you see shadows in the dark … the snow! Oh, my God, the visions I see against the snow.

White on white translucence and phosphorescence.

I was tripping. Hard.

I felt like I was watching a screensaver on the walls, in the air. It was fantastic. I couldn’t take my eyes away.

I stayed up most of the night watching it, packing, pausing to regard a particular noise or creepy crawly passing through, and mostly I was just wanting to leave.

I wanted everything to go back to normal. I pictured the airport would start to button me back up. I’d be alone in my head a lot while traveling, but also bombarded by people, in a tense environment.

I felt like it would trigger me to automatically close some stuff back up. I was still too open. A part of me was enjoying it too much.

It was a long ride to the airport through the snow and the young dad who drove me was so kind and open and I stayed open to engage with him.

And I got through security, and I thought well, there was the tense part … The tension can leave me now.

I can meditate. I can concentrate. I can pull myself together.

Every hoop I jumped through in the airport was a step closer to normal. I hoped. I was finally in my seat and we were ready to go.

Slowly taxiing. No, maybe starting to taxi.

The snow was coming down.

We were racing an incoming blizzard to get up and out of the sky, away from Chicago and on towards Charlotte, North Carolina.

And then, the captain said we’d been stopped. We were next but. They needed to wait for the temperature to warm up ONE degree in order for the de-icing machines to work.

The weather had dipped. We waited an hour on the runway for the temperature to rise. We waited as they de-iced the wings, and then finally, we raised to get off the ground before everything froze again.

I’ve never heard a plane make that much noise. Or that kind of noise. I thought of the sound of entire forests groaning under the weight of frozen boughs and branches.

It was that sound, mutated into something mechanical.

I’ve never been afraid to fly.

My mother’s brothers were Navy pilots in the Korean war. They built little kit airplanes, like Volkswagen bugs with wings, like old Jeeps, really, with doors little more than metal frames wrapped in a plasticized cloth …

I was taken up into those planes, just big enough for 4, from the time I was old enough to remember.

My dad was in the Air Force, and I had flight log books in my name from when I was a toddler.

I was never afraid to fly.

I thought of that plane in Hawaii I was on one time that was like 75% Angel Therapy people and we joked about its being the safest plane in the world.

I thought Shit, I’m the only person on this plane talking to their guides other than the pilots. I could just feel it. And I felt weak.

And scared again. A new kind of scared. Realizing how helpless my guardians might be to protect me in this circumstance.

It was the roughest flight I’ve ever been on. the turbulence was insane. I don’t know how someone who hates flying wasn’t screaming at the top of their lungs.

I got vertigo as the plane was coming down in Charlotte.

Now, I’ve never experienced motion sickness in my life. I apologize to everyone who ever complained about getting car sick because I thought you guys were being weenies…

I didn’t know. I didn’t know how horrible it felt.

I thought I was going to die from the vertigo. It wasn’t the G force as much as an inability to sense up or down. Gravity was both offline and completely knocking the shit out of me at the same time.

I was being tossed around by giants and I couldn’t process where the sky was or where the ground was supposed to be.

I was hyperventilating. I was sweating.

And because of the delay I was going to miss my connecting flight.

I started sobbing. I was so sick. And I just wanted to be HOME.

Charlotte is like a 35 minute flight from Chattanooga.

That’s all.

But if I had to stay in the Charlotte airport for a layover … I was going to die from vertigo.

I was texting my mom, who was telling me ask to get off the plane first.

They had done this on a previous flight into Chicago for people who were missing a connection. The flight attendants came on and asked if everyone would step aside and let people off now. They needed to run for their plane.

So when I asked if they could do that. No. Sorry. We can’t do something like that.

Bitch. The speed with which she gave up helping me, dismissed helping me, made me want to scream at her. I probably looked like a crazy person.

Another passenger said, when you get off, tell the gate agent to call ahead and have your flight wait for you.

It was already boarding…

Nope. the gate agents had no idea what I was talking about. They didn’t make calls like that. It wasn’t up to them.

And I was talking to my guides and my distinct thought was “Can YOU call ahead? Can you let someone know? Can you make them know I’m coming. I’m close.”

And then I had to run. With Vertigo. Wearing a coat. With a suitcase and a carry on.

Without the Vertigo it would have sounded like on our workouts of the day in Crossfit. I thought — It’s running with a burden. It’s maybe a quarter of a mile to a half a mile. I do stuff like that. I can do it.

It was 3 concourses. I think I ran 36 gates … It was hell. It was not a cool scene in a movie. I don’t know how I did it.

I got there a good 35 minutes after boarding should have started. And It was 7 minutes after the flight should have taken off.

I ran to a gate agent, covered in sweat and I blurted out Chattanooga, the flight number …

They apologized and motioned toward this crowd of people.

All the people who should have boarded the flight had clustered around the gate, but they weren’t being allowed through.

One of the other passengers said “They can’t get in touch with the plane.”

I was like “What?"

“They’re not letting us on and we don’t know why.”

They made an announcement. They were unable to contact the pilot by radio. The plane wasn’t answering their calls.

A few minutes later, the plane's first officer (? I think that’s what they called him. I remember thinking that can’t be right. That sounds very Star Trek ) he came running down a gangway, totally out of breath.

We could hear everything he said to the gate agents.

They’d been trying to radio the gate for over half an hour. They kept telling them we could board.

The signal never got through.

They were completely unable to communicate and nobody knew why. They could talk to the tower, they just couldn’t get in touch with the gate.

The plane was out on the tarmac too. It wasn’t close to the airport. It wasn’t attached to a gangway or whatever you call those things.

The pilot finally sent this guy from the plane to physically come and get us and tell us we could get on the plane.

We had to walk even farther. It was a damn hike. I thought I was going to die. I was still dizzy. covered in sweat. Dressed for Chicago temperatures. Carrying luggage.

The flight attendants and the other passengers talked about the communications glitch the entire time we were boarding. They talked about it after we were seated.

The flight attendants kept getting into conversations with each other and the passengers.

“Nothing like that ever happens. No one could hear us. It went on for over 30 minutes … No, it’s fine now. The moment you guys got on the plane, we can call the gate just fine.”

Ha ha, laugh laugh. Weirdest thing.

They held it for me. Through my haze of sickness and misery I kept whispering “Thank you.”

The girl sitting beside me was like “This dude is crazy.” She was giving me serious side eye.

And I still had Vertigo.

The takeoff was hell. The landing was hell.

But I made it home.

And my mother, who suffers from vertigo, was waiting for me at the airport with Meclizine.