If you didn’t think I was crazy before, you might after reading this post.
I hung onto this story for well over a month, going back and forth on whether to post it or not. In the end, I decided to share it in hopes that it might help another budding medium.
For those who have read my book The Soul Collector, you know that I’ve lived through a very terrifying paranormal experience. The aftermath was fairly predictable. I became afraid of investigating. I only visited places where I thought I’d be safe, and I took protection to heart, sometimes going to great lengths to prevent another ghost from attaching to me.
The truth is: ghosts follow me. Being a sensitive, I must just emit a different energy than non-sensitives. Perhaps they think I can help them pass along a message or cross over to the other side, which makes perfect sense. If I possess the ability to sense them, then it would stand to reason that I might be strong enough to help them as well.
Unfortunately for them, I’m not to that stage yet. I’m not sure I ever want to get to that stage. After having a very malevolent attachment, I’m afraid of letting anything paranormal get too close to me. Unfortunately for me, they don’t always know this. They follow me anyway.
They find me in restaurants, in grocery stores, while driving in my car. I pick them up at my friends’ houses, at doctor’s offices, and while walking my dog through the woods. It all starts with a sound. I hear a tone move through the air, growing louder as it gets closer to me. Sometimes I get a mind picture to go along with it, but sometimes I don’t. No matter what I do or say, they often follow me home.
This happened to me in August. I don’t even remember where I picked her up at. I just remember hearing a tone that I identified as a female ghost, and I got a mind picture of a young woman with long dark hair and angry, angry eyes. I did what I usually do in these situations- I ignored her.
I’ve tried smudging the house with sage, saying prayers, and firmly telling them to leave. They just laugh at me as they settle in for the long haul. I’ve found, through trial and error, that ignoring them usually makes them go away faster. They grow bored and impatient with me and eventually move onto better targets. This one was different though.
It started one Monday morning with the smell of gas. I woke up and made my way to the kitchen, where I planned on making a pot of coffee while surfing the Internet before work. I was stopped short by the overpowering smell of propane gas. It didn’t take long to discover the source. One of the gas burners on my stove was turned on.
It was a curious moment for me because I was home alone. In order to turn the burner on, you have to press the button inwards and then turn it. In my eight years in the house, it was something that had never happened to me. My pets lacked opposing thumbs, so I knew they couldn’t have turned it on. I hadn’t cooked anything in days either. I just shrugged and busied myself opening doors and windows to clear out the potentially dangerous fumes. The thought that it might be paranormal never even graced my mind.
Two days later, something else would happen to make me question it. I was walking past the bathroom and noticed that the toilet paper roll was missing. The entire silver cylinder was also gone. I looked around in all the rooms, but couldn’t find it. I initially blamed it on the cats. Even though they’d never done this before, it was within reason. I figured I’d find it later under a bed or behind a dresser. What I wasn’t expecting was to find it back in place an hour later.
I walked past the bathroom again, on my way to refill my coffee mug, and just happened to glance in the bathroom. I stopped stock-still, just staring at the impossible sight I was seeing. The toilet paper and cylinder were right back in place, as if they were never gone.
I took a deep breath and looked around me. I didn’t see anything, but the signature tone I’d been hearing all week was louder than before. Nothing of this magnitude had ever happened to me before. I’ve had the occasional item disappear, only to reappear somewhere else later, but it was never this obvious before. Usually, it would be something I could blame on myself, like finding my keys on the coffee table instead of in my purse where I swore I left them. There was always a possible explanation. This time, there wasn’t one. Toilet paper rolls just don’t simply disappear and then reappear.
As I stood there, trying very hard not to allow fear to overcome me, I couldn’t help but wonder. What else was she capable of? If she could move toilet paper, could she also move knives? Could she push me down the stairs or harm one of my pets? It was then that I remembered the gas incident from days before. Was she responsible for that as well?
From previous experience, I knew not to allow myself to be afraid. Fear simply feeds them, gives them a deep-dish serving of the energy they need to do more. I probably don’t have to explain how hard this is to do. Fear is our first natural reaction to unsettling incidents. Running and screaming would be the second and third reactions. I took another deep breath and continued down the hallway to refill my coffee, trying not to think too much.
Over the course of the next few days, I began feeling her stronger. Her anger was so powerful, it was almost visible, radiating with spiked thorns every time she was near me. I tried to quiet my mind and ask her what she wanted, but all I got was that sense of overwhelming anger. She was either really mad at me, or I reminded her of someone who’d done her wrong at some point. I tried to reason with her, but she just wouldn’t go away.
As it turns out, we had a meet-up event at the Haunted Victorian Mansion that weekend. People tease me, telling me it’s become my “home away from home,” which isn’t far from the truth. I am drawn there for reasons I don’t fully understand. But one thing is certain – I always feel very comfortable there. I have a sense that the ghosts at the Victorian like me. They’ve seen me in there dozens upon dozens of times and know that I am one of the Victorian Helpers – someone who comes in to help with events, shovel snow, and visit with the owners. They’ve even seen me lean out the third floor window after a hurricane to pull a piece of loose flashing back into place.
I had a small group of mostly newbies that night. I led many EVP sessions, bringing my group to various rooms in the house. When I got to the Red Room, I did a session, and then waited while everyone packed up and moved to the next room before I spoke to them.
“I always feel comfortable here and I get the sense that you like me. I need help though. I have a very negative ghost in my house that might be trying to kill me. Can one of you help me get rid of her?” I asked.
I immediately heard a high pitched tone swoop in and settle near me. Through working with a very talented psychic medium, Barbara Williams, I’ve learned that the very high pitched tones aren’t just female, they are spirits. As Barbara explains it, spirits are ghosts who have crossed over like they’re supposed to do. Sometimes they still come to visit, and are even know to help on occasion. They are the grandmother, or mother who passed away, but return for visits. Or they are the spirit guides who travel with each of us. Regardless of what it really was, it was a tone I was comfortable with. I felt nothing but a prevailing sense of peace and love, an invisible hug and a promise that everything would be okay. The moment was so profound for me, I found myself with tears in my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the air.
I left a few hours later, having the tone remain with me the entire evening. She was with me when I walked out to my car. She was with me on the thirty-minute drive to my home. I could hear her as I walked up my sidewalk. I could feel her love wash through me. Be strong, she encouraged me.
In my mind I saw her as young and blond, dressed in a very plain white dress with an apron. I thought her name was Anna, or Emma, or possibly even Annie. In the end, I called her Emi, after a character in Ember Rain, one of my earlier books.
I walked down the dark hallway to my bedroom, trying to still the fear in my heart. My bedroom was always the place where they were the strongest. I seldom slept through the night without being woken up by something. It had gotten so bad that even my cats wouldn’t venture in there any longer, even though it had always been their favorite place to sleep.
I quickly dressed for bed and slid under the covers, saying a small prayer before closing my eyes. At first the room was very quiet, then I could hear the negative woman’s lower pitched tone move into the room, almost as though she had a trip-wire alarm set up, alerting her when I was in my room. I pressed my eyes together tightly and began counting down from twenty-one, something I’ve done for years to help me relax enough to fall asleep. Before I got to ten, I could hear Emi’s higher pitched tone whoosh into the room. In seconds, the tones began swirling around the room, as though they were chasing one other.
The sounds would grow louder, then softer. I opened my eyes, fully expecting to witness a battle, but there was nothing. Just my room. I fell asleep shortly after, somehow. When I woke up the next morning, all I heard was Emi. She’d chased the negative woman away.
She stayed with me for several weeks afterwards, almost as if standing guard in case the woman tried to come back. In time, she left completely. I was sad at first, but then realized the valuable lesson she’d taught me. I now know how to protect myself.
When I hear the lower static-sound of a ghost or negative entity, I reach out with my mind and ask for help. Soon, I hear the faint sound of a high-pitch, growing louder and louder as she moves closer. Within moments, the lower-pitched tone disappears, and I feel the warmth and love from my guardian. I don’t know if it’s Emi or someone else who is watching over me. All I know is that my faith in love and spiritual intervention is stronger than it’s ever been. For every negative entity, there is a positive one who will come to my rescue.
I know this is a bizarre story. I know it’s difficult to believe. If someone told it to me, I’d probably arch an eyebrow, wanting to check their medicine cabinet later, but I can assure you that I am completely sane and always have been. Strange things just seem to happen to me and I often share them with the world. Maybe it’s my gift, my destiny.
My strange paranormal life.
Joni Mayhan is a paranormal investigator, as well as a free-lance writer. Please check out her paranormal thrillers on Amazon.com and BarnesandNobles.com. For more information about the author, please see her website: http://jonimayhan.com/
The Soul Collector – The true story of one paranormal investigator’s worst nightmare
Angels of Ember trilogy – After a devastating virus nearly wipes the world clean of people, 16 year-old Ember Pain grows tired of running and hiding. Fighting back becomes not only a necessity, it becomes a battle of good over evil.