This story centers around what my mother has told me about her life, and her paranormal encounters. I will try to relay these to you in as well a chronological order as I can.
The first incident I know of was when my mother was 16. Her grandmother (her mother’s mother) had been very ill. Three days before, when she was taken to the hospital for the last time, her poodle climbed into her favorite chair and simply cried. Mom was at a ‘Rainbow Something’ meeting (I would have to ask her for the full name), against her wishes. She wanted to be in the hospital with her beloved grandmother, who had raised her from the time she was two years old. At around 10 that morning, mom saw her grandmother standing in the meeting room, in her floral print nightgown and slippers, and her grandmother told her ‘Suzy, I couldn’t leave without telling you good-bye.’ Mom walked 16 blocks, in high heels, to the old hospital and arrived at 10:20 and asked to see her grandmother. She was told that her grandmother had passed away 20 minutes ago – at 10 in the morning. She had died wearing her floral print nightgown.
The next incident I know of was the car wreck, when she was 20. My mother was driving a truck one day, though I don’t know her destination. She was alone, and it was midday, when suddenly a drunk driver ran a stop sign going 80 M.P.H, broadsiding her. I remember this story quite well, because of how she described the driver to me. She described him as ‘A drunk Presbyterian Pastor, with a tattoo of a naked woman on his arm’, who, after the incident, told her ‘Don’t worry lady, I am a man of God!’ (I am being truthful in this).
Mom said that upon impact, she felt herself being thrown out the back window of the truck, and the shattered glass, and the cuts on her body from said glass proved it. But the strange thing had to be that she didn’t really remember being thrown through, that she remembered sitting inside the vehicle. When the paramedics arrived to the scene, they noticed large bruises on her forearm, in the distinct shape of a male hand, that did NOT match the drunken man, who was the only male at the scene at the time. Someone had pulled her back in the car.
The next incident was when I was five years old. Her other grandmother was ill in the hospital, the same hospital from before, albeit in another location by now. We left the hospital room, and I do not remember much about what happened next, being five and bored. I remember wanting to go home. Mom tells me she spoke to a woman who was there, she was a nun and had the most beautiful eyes. They spoke for what seemed like ages, when my memory grows fuzzy. Mom says she knelt down and looked at me before saying ‘She has the light in her eyes’, before leaving. Mom got her name from her, that her name was ‘Sister Selene’. The next day, mom returned to the hospital alone to speak with the woman, but learned that no ‘Sister Selene’ worked at the hospital.
The incident after that was two years later. Mom worked in Dallas at the time and the week before my seventh birthday, she had business in Arkansas, where I lived with my grandparents. She was hurrying over the large bridge over the Arkansas River, when she hit a patch of black ice and skid for 50 feet. She stopped finally, but a large gust of wind rammed her company van and sent it tumbling over the bridge and down into the water below. She says her last conscious thought was ‘Well, at least you know what killed you.’ She was fortunate enough to be close to shore, that the van did not sink. She awoke with radiator fluid dripping onto her face, the van was destroyed. Three men in hunting gear found her and two of them went to call for police. They could not possibly have been hunters, or even poachers, as it was a blizzard when the incident happened. The police had a difficult time locating the wreck, and the men were gone.
The next one occurred about two years later. My parents (who were born only eight hours apart) seem to have an unlucky connection. When one has a wreck, the other will have one within six months, of the same magnitude. Six months after the bridge, my father, who was a truck driver, had a severe wreck, where his rig went off a mountain. This broke a rib, that punctured a lung, which formed an undetected blood clot, that went into his leg. Two years later, the clot broke off and gave him a heart attack. When he went to the hospital, they told him to sit and wait. My mom, who was sleeping at the time, said she woke up to see my father (which was strange, since they were divorced for a year, and he was 800 miles away) standing over her. He told her ‘Take care of Layla for me.’ She asked him what was happening and he said ‘I want you to take care of Layla.’ Then he vanished. Terrified, and possibly remembering with her grandmother, she called her ex-mother-in-law, with whom she had a bad relationship and learned that just minutes before, my father had had a massive heart attack, that killed him twice, though they were able to shock his heart back both times.
The final incident is one that I was present for. About four years ago, my great aunt’s husband went into the hospital. I was with my friends at the time and in the fenced in back area, next door to the house my great aunt lived in (which is now our house). The ambulance came in and they brought him out, and he looked… I can’t really find words for it. He looked like a man without a soul. I watched them wheel him into the ambulance, and I called my mother’s cell phone, and told her ‘They’re taking Uncle Gerald to the hospital.’ She laughed and said they did that once a week, and he would be fine, but I didn’t share her enthusiasm. I told her ‘No, mom, you don’t get it. Something is seriously wrong with Gerald. I mean, seriously wrong.’ My friends could see it, too, but not as well as I could.
Mom kept telling me it was nothing to worry about, and I kept telling her that something was seriously wrong with Gerald, until she hung up on me. He died the next morning. Mom came to me and told me and asked me how I knew he was dying, and I said ‘He was already dead when they took him. I mean… he was conscious, aware, yeah, maybe. But mom, I watched his soul leave his body in that front yard.
That was the back-story. We have moved into this haunted house, and we know that my great grandfather is still there, and now we know that Gerald is still there, too. My step-father lost his father a few years back, and after the ransacking by his siblings was done, all my step-father had left were two ceramic bulls, done in beautiful detail by his father. One was black, one was white, and he loved these bulls. We were sitting on the couch watching ‘Liar, Liar’ when there was a loud shattering sound. The white bull, which had been sitting a good five inches from the edge of the shelf it was on, had fallen and shattered. He jumped up, enraged, screaming he would kill the cat, and meant it. But I said ‘Hey, Trixie is right here’. The cat and the dog were both on the couch at the time of the incident. To this day, we all believe that it was Gerald who knocked the bull to the ground.
Sent in by Layla, Copyright 2009 TrueGhostTales.com