Aside from today being my brother’s birthday (Happy Birthday Little Bro!), I present a special Friday post. Please, welcome my guest, M.S. Kaye! This paranormal author is on a Haunted Blog Tour for her:
Born from Death series
Ghost stories—what better inspiration for character names can there be? Follow this tour to find the background for the character names of the Born from Death series.
Former “friend” of Archer Lane, Marwell is now the leader of Archer’s gang. With inspiration from Soll, a sadistic spirit, Marwell gave the gang the name Phasmatis Nex (ghost of death). After killing an innocent in book 1, Marwell manages to survive. Will he live to the end of book 2?
The inspiration of the name:
“Marwell Hall was built in the early 14th century (around 1320) by Walter Woodlock, a relative of the Bishop of Winchester. Over the centuries many alterations have been made, but the original medieval hall remains as the core of the building.
“In the mid 1500s ownership passed to the Seymour family. Henry VIII is said to have been a frequent visitor. Local legend likes us to believe that he and his third wife, Jane Seymour, were married here.
“When we investigate Marwell Hall Ghosts, there are many stories of ghostly happenings in and around the Hall. Probably the most famous is the story of the ‘Mistletoe Bride’. On her wedding day, while playing hide and seek with her groom and guests, the bride hid in an oak chest in a remote corner of the hall. She was unable to get out of the self-locking chest. The groom and guests searched high and low, but her cries were not heard and her remains were found many years later. It is the wedding guests who can be heard frantically rushing around the corridors searching for the missing bride.” ~www.frightnights.co.uk
Book 2 of the Born from Death series
The only emotion Ilona can muster is anger for the death of her mother. Barely engaged in life, she focuses all of her energy on finding and punishing her mother’s killer.
Since Ilona can see ghosts, Archer has to find unique ways to hide while watching over her. When Ilona is in danger of being mauled by a dog, he desperately tries something that shouldn’t be possible. And yet he succeeds. This is just the beginning of his discovery of who—what—he truly is.
Lettie continues to interact with Ilona, her one friend, even when a Messenger warns her. Eventually, Lettie remembers the ancient connection Archer and Ilona share, as well as her part in the punishment Archer bore as a result of that connection.
Awaken from Death
Sneak Peek at Awaken from Death:
The blond boy didn’t walk up to a urinal or into one of the stalls, or even up to the mirror. He stood in the middle of the room.
Invisible, Lettie watched curiously.
Something moved backward away from him. Out of him.
She recognized Archer’s shiny black hair and strong frame even before she could see his face.
She gasped. But ghosts can’t inhabit people.
The blond boy shook his head and looked around. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” Archer murmured so the boy wouldn’t hear.
Lettie stared at both of them.
The blond boy turned, leaned his hands on the counter, and looked at himself in the mirror…not the way people usually looked at themselves. It was more like he was trying to see something more than was in the reflection.
Archer watched him, as if waiting for him to see something.
Then Lettie understood. Archer hadn’t merely inhabited the boy—he’d possessed him. But there were only a couple ways that’d be possible—if he were half ghost, or if he…
A memory struck Lettie like a horse galloping across a battlefield. An ancient memory. Lettie had been around since the beginning of time on Earth, but most of those thousands of years she let slink around the crevices of her mind. It was mostly just walking the bridge with the newly deceased. There were a few memories, though, that burned into her every time she let herself pull them forward. And burned was precisely the right word.
She knew—or rather, remembered—why Archer would never leave Ilona.
Strong as Death
Ilona runs from her sheltering mother in order to find the truth, why she’s seeing people who are invisible to everyone else. A mysterious boy named Archer guides her through Brooklyn and introduces her to Hendrick, the man who claims to be her father—though he died in 1890. Ilona must discover not only what she must do to rid the city of Soll, a sadistic and powerful spirit, but also what it means to be half ghost. She proves what her mother told her—love is stronger than death.
M.S. Kaye has several published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at www.BooksByMSK.com.
What a thrilling series this sounds like, M.S! Thanks for being my special guest today. I wish you tons of sales and much luck with this series. I hope you–my visitors–will have a blast checking out some of these other authors’ links where M.S. is hopping to and from. 🙂 Thank you for your friendly support!
10/1/15 – Anna Durand – haunted blog tour Hendrick
10/5/15 – Colleen Laughlin – haunted blog tour Estes
10/6/15 – JM Maurer – haunted blog tour Mary
10/8/15 – Judy Reynolds – haunted blog tour
10/9/15 – Calisa Selfridge – haunted blog tour Marwell Hall
10/14/15 – Rachael Kosinski – haunted blog tour Balete
10/16/15 – Jessica Cale – haunted blog tour Casper
10/19/15 – James DiBenedetto – haunted blog tour Turner Ingersoll
10/22/15 – Kimbra Kasch – haunted blog tour Kate Morgan
10/24/15 – Angela Scavone – haunted blog tour Dorothy Walpole
10/27/15 – Helena Fairfax – haunted blog tour Archer Lane
10/29/16 – Alisha Robinson – haunted blog tour Mr. Clifton
10/30/15 Tina Gayle – haunted blog tour non-ghost
10/31/15 – Rosanna Leo – haunted blog tour Ilona Raynham
Welcome Liza! I can’t wait to hear about your ghosts so let’s get right to it! 😀
I live with a ghost. An Irish fellow once offered to get rid of my ghost for me. I refused without hesitation, because a) this is her house, her brother built it for her, and b) I rather like having a ghost hanging around. She is a very nice lady, named Mrs. Martin.
Not that she told me her name. It’s just my house has only had three owners, and the only person who has died in this house is Mrs. Martin. While she’s never spoken to me, nor materialized before me, she has made her presence known in many ways.
Floorboards constantly creaked as if someone was walking on them. Doors would open, I presumed from a draft. Cabinet doors opened as well. All of these oddities I attributed to the house being 50-years-old.
But then, the throw rugs I placed in various places to protect the carpet began to move. I’ve never seen them move, but I put them in a certain spot and the next time I enter the room they are placed somewhere else. Now the creaky boards sounding like footprints took on another possibility. So I asked my neighbor if anyone had ever died in my house and discovered the original owner of my house had indeed died in her bedroom.
I thought perhaps all the walking about and opening doors was because she searched for the adorable five daughters who lived in the house before me. I told her the little girls had gone to live by the shore and she was stuck with me now. And just like that, the constant door openings and floor board creaking ceased. The rugs still move, even to this day. But otherwise, she’s pretty quiet now.
However, when my dad came to visit and I put him in her room, she got riled up. The first morning he comes in to the kitchen and asks me if I have a ghost. I admitted I did and asked him how he knew. He said he’d heard what sounded like boots slam down on the floor and then stomp over to him. Then he heard a heavy sigh and the sound of boots leaving the room.
While I’ve never seen her, one Halloween I went to the door, where a mother stood with her little monsters. She complimented me on my Halloween scene. I had no idea what she spoke of. She insisted an old woman sat at my piano playing.
I was highly insulted Mrs. Martin would show herself to strangers, but not me. She got scolded. And when the next batch of monsters arrived, I told her she could answer the door. She refused.
How does this equate to my fictional ghost, Lassier?
Well, Lassier not only materializes, but does so in a convincing manner. He can even excite his molecules sufficiently to generate the sensation of warm skin. So most of the million women he has made love to never had a clue he was a ghost.
Also, he’s much older. He was alive in the 15th century. Nor is he the only ghost in the castle. Any Durran buried in the family cemetery will return as a ghost. However, since Gar refuses to invite anyone to the castle, most of the ghosts float about as white orbs. Materializing takes a great deal of effort, and if no one is even going to notice, why bother? Only Lassier materializes daily and can do so in spectacular form.
His ghost ocelot is a bit different. You cannot see the cat, but you can feel him. And when he walks across something soft like a bed, you can see the indentations. He also has a deep resonating purr that can put you at ease.
Having a real ghost opened my eyes to all sorts of potentials, and one night I dreamed of a sexy ghost lover. The next morning I googled the matter and discovered this matter has been talked and written about since early man. So I decided to write a book with a sexy, lascivious ghost, who is treated as a real person instead of something evil or paranormal.
By Liza O’Connor
Contemporary Romance with a touch of paranormal
Two sexy English brothers. One irresistible ghost. Who would you choose as your lover?
Completely broke and with a criminal record to boot, Senna Smith is one day from eviction from her apartment when Brendon, her promiscuous roommate from London, suggests she go to England, marry him, and manage his fortune. With few other options, she agrees to an open marriage. But she’ll never, ever, have sex with him, knowing if she falls in love with him, he’ll break her heart.
As trustee of Brendon’s family fortune, there is no way Brendon’s older brother, Garrison Durran, is going to let him marry a self-professed American gold-digger. As Senna tries to embrace castle life and English society for Brendon’s sake, Gar discovers Senna is the perfect woman for him–beautiful and intelligent, kind and caring. Now, if she wasn’t already engaged to his brother…
The ancestral ghost of Durran Castle has to intervene if the Durran brothers have any chance of an heir. He can’t leave them to fix matters on their own. They are useless buggers when it comes to love. As counselor to Gar, matchmaker for Brendon, and lover to Senna, a ghost’s work is never done.
CONTENT WARNING: Allergy warning: Ghost cat in book.
Senna woke to her breast beeping. Trying to make sense of the oddity, she pushed herself up to rest on her elbows and discovered the noise came from Brendon’s wristwatch. Somehow, his hand had found its way beneath her bra during the night, and now chirped like a baby chick.
She contemplated tearing his hand off at the wrist, but he looked so angelic with his curly dark hair framing his handsome face. With a heavy sigh, she unlatched her bra and eased his hand out, then gently shook him until his face scrunched into a pained grimace.
He groaned and frowned at his noisy watch. “This is a god-awful hour to be woken up,” he said in his sexy British accent. “Never bothers me when I’m coming home at this hour.”
Senna rolled her eyes. “Speak for yourself.”
Pushing himself up, he shook his head. “Remember the second night I came around? You kept yelling at me, ‘Did I realize it was four in the morning?’ At the time, I couldn’t understand your fuss.” He groaned and scratched his scalp. “Well, I certainly understand it now. It’s bloody hell to be woken at this ungodly hour.”
About Liza O’Connor
Liza lives in Denville, NJ with her dog, Jess. They hike in fabulous woods every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels. She loves to create interesting characters, set them loose, and scribe what happens.
FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT
About Ghost Lover
To One Lucky Commenter, I’ll give away one copy of Worst Week Ever
What do you get when you put a hardworking, can-do middle-class young woman together with an egoistical, outrageous, billionaire boss, then throw in the worst week of disasters imaginable?
A humorous disaster romance of epic proportions.
Just leave an email address in your comment and tell me you want the book.
I’m turning the ranch over to my friend Cait to share her new book cover. I hope you enjoy this premier peek. I personally think it’s gorgeous! 🙂
Sefton Manor, a Gothic romance novella by Cait O’Sullivan
Musa Publishing – October 2013
Sefton Manor is the first of two Gothic romances by Cait O’Sullivan. The second cover reveal will be next Friday, the 27th September. Pop by Cait’s Place then and vote for your favourite to be in with a chance of winning a copy J. Buy links will also be posted there once available.
Sefton Manor, a country house that has somehow withstood the ravages of time, holds the key to Martha Kendall’s dysfunctional family. Asked by her grandmother to uncover the truth about her missing Aunt, Martha comes to Buckhurst Village. Despite unsettling occurrences upsetting her sensibilities, she starts asking questions.
Questions that lead her to Will Fellowes, a man whose family tended the grounds of Sefton Manor for centuries. Amidst whispers of pacts with the Devil, they pair up to wrestle the secret from the house. Or will Sefton Manor consume them all? Title: Sefton Manor Author: Cait O’Sullivan Genre: Gothic Romance Release Date: October 2013
Author bio: Cait O’Sullivan is a romance author with a love of words and magic, having had the good fortune to grow up in Ireland. The wanderlust in her blood sent her out to travel the world and now, residing in a leafy suburb of London, it is her thoughts and memories that journey far and wide in order to create her stories. Cait’s Place | Facebook |Twitter | Amazon
I’m so happy to have an awesome writer on the Ranch today. Maxine Douglas is a multi-published lady who knows how to stay focused if her life story is any indication. Take it away, Maxine!
Hi Calisa, and thank you for letting me visit, even if I am a few days late. Let me start off telling you a few things about myself.
I was totally a single mom (meaning never married) until 11 years ago, when I married a very good friend from high school. We just took separate paths during those 28 years apart, but I believe we were always meant to be together—obviously one of his brothers did as well when he said “Welcome to the family and it’s about damn time too!” LOL I married my best friend not only in this life but also in past lives.
If it’s one thing I’ve learned over the years of my life it’s that you can never stop dreaming and reaching for the stars, because sooner or later you just may get to touch one, and it’ll bring you more happiness than you can ever imagine. I’ve been lucky enough over the past couple of years to have been able to reach out and touch two stars…and I’m still reaching for more.
Originally from South-central Wisconsin, my husband and I traded the snowy winters for warmer days and nights. I currently am a member of such writing organizations as Romance Writers of American, Oklahoma Romance Writers of America, and Electronic Publishers Internet Coalition.
I took creative writing in high school and liked it. Although I wanted to be a songwriter, I’m not writing longer versions of those songs of the heart. It took a friend’s sister, who is now an agent with 3 Seas Literary Agency, to become published that I finally put my storytelling skills to work. I thank Cori every day for that.
I like my heroes to be strong and sensitive, while my heroines are sassy and loving. At least, I think so anyway LOL
I’ve just had my second romance released from MuseItUp Publishing. RINGS OF PARADISE, came out on August 24. This Friday and Saturday it will be offered for free through Amazon, I hope you grab a copy.
I’m a muse writer and a panster on top of it. What this means is that it can take me several months, years, to write a story getting it the way I want it to be. I tend to write very slow, careful to get the scene just right before moving on. I’m trying to plot it out a bit more, so we’ll see if it works with THE QUEEN or not.
I have found that I can’t write if I’m around family—they like to talk to you, or the t.v., and it takes a second to pull me out of my work and 15 minutes to get back into it. That being said, I like to have noise around me whether it’s the t.v., radio or just people milling about at McDonalds or the park because I know the chances of these people interrupting me is next to none.
While working on THE QUEEN this past week, I’ve found my hero and heroine like to come out at night, which is fine if I don’t have to get up early the next day. For instance, the other night I was up until 4am working on the first two scenes of chapter 1 before they finally decided it was time to go to bed. LOL
THE QUEEN is a novella for FOUR SEASONS OF PASSION to be published by www.museituppublishing.com in 2013/2014. THE QUEEN will be one of the summer stories and takes place on the Queen Mary in Long Beach, which I totally fell in love with while at a writer’s conference held there a few years back. It inspired this paranormal story line when I got home:
Cole Masterson is the lead investigator of GHOST, Ghost Hunters of Spiritual Transcendental, and professional ghost hunter who’s aboard the Queen Mary investigating its paranormal activity, and trying to find out if the journal his great-grandfather left was the ramblings of an old man or truth. Cole’s about to realize the ship’s paranormal activity can be more than just shadows and cold spots.
Hanna Amery is a spirit looking for the man she lost decades ago aboard the Queen Mary during WWII on the troopship, The Gray Ghost, aka The Queen Mary. What Hanna doesn’t understand is how she can feel his spirit there with her, but he can’t feel hers.
What happens when two dimensions collide as Cole and Hanna struggle to find a way to be more than passing shadows?
RINGS OF PARADISE
One man’s quest to find the truth. One woman’s desire for more in life. A mistress that won’t let go.
I’m not much on putting words to paper, action is more up my alley. I’m Flame, the reigning champion in the Universal Wrestling World (UWW). So why am I here?
I grew up in a wrestling family and cut my teeth on the squared circle, which by the way is the only “lady” I trust any more.
I’ve gone and bought out a small press magazine in Madison, Wisconsin that was going nowhere fast, hired a woman by the name of Khristen Roberts, who according to the editor-in-chief is untrained and wants nothing more than to be a journalist.
Okay, I’m a sucker in helping people out, it’s my one weakness, if I have any. Problem is she’s on vacation in Hawaii. I’ve got to catch up with her somewhere along the line for her to join up with me and the UWW. I just hope Khristen is up for the ride…it’s always a trip.
The beautiful eyes of the man from the plane seemed to appear as an apparition in the deep-blue-green pool water. Thoughts of him ran wild in her mind, and Khristen felt the warm wetness of desire grow deep between her thighs. She shivered from wanton desire. Something about him seemed familiar.
No. Surely, I would have remembered if we’d met before. His eyes, if nothing else, would have been burned into my memory.
It seemed as if she’d seen them, and the challenge in them, once before—a dare to defy him in any manner.
Challenges. That’s what gave Khristen her drive. In her career, she had felt like a lamb lost in the fog in search of its home. She longed for the type of position that offered her the unexpected excitement of a contest each and every day.
Her current position at one of Madison’s once top magazines came very close to fulfilling that yearning. It offered variety in its article context, and nine times out of ten, they didn’t read like something out of Miami Vice. Plain Talk covered just about anything and sometimes everything. Still, something was missing.
She’d finally come to realize she wanted to be a staff member who did more than run around the office. She was going to spend the next few weeks thinking of a plan to convince Ric to move her up the ladder. One day, she would have her own byline.
Ric Scott, the magazine’s editor-in-chief, had become the big brother she never had. He drank too much coffee in a day for one human being and stayed at the office until well past midnight. She worried about his excesses in both areas and feared one day she would walk into his office to find him slumped over his desk.
More than once, she had wondered why their relationship had never gotten past the big-brother stage. Deep in her heart, she knew it was the lack of emotional and sensual challenges. The spark she felt with a total stranger wasn’t there with good ol’ reliable Ric.
Khristen slid a pair of red-framed sunglasses from the top of her head and perched them on her nose. She took a deep relaxing breath, leaned back, and forced the man’s image out of her brain. She knew she had to let this challenge go for what very well could be the first time in her adult life. If letting go was at all possible.
For now, one thing she knew for sure. Absolutely no way was she going to become caught up in another romance. The last one had almost destroyed her, both emotionally and professionally.
* * * *
His shadow draped across her skin. He’d known he would find her; he’d never thought it would be connected to one of his businesses. He had thoroughly enjoyed seeing her sweat earlier, looking for a place to escape the dining room. If looks could kill, she should have laid him to rest before noon.
Now it was his turn, and he couldn’t wait to see her reaction. It was going to get more interesting now that he’d decided in the length of time it took for him to reach her side that the game would start. He would have to proceed with caution before snaring her for himself.
Shadoe fought the temptation to pluck an ice cube from one of the glasses he carried and let it drip onto Khristen’s sunburned flesh. A mischievous smile played on his lips as he visualized the response he would get. It would be fun, but they had already gotten off on a bad foot, and he didn’t want to aggravate the situation further—or did he?
* * * *
“Khristen.” Someone repeated her name, and as she stirred, raised his voice, calling to her again.
“Huh?” Sleepy eyed and well-burnt, Khristen was not sure what had drawn her out of a groggy sleep.
“What’s your pleasure? Mai Tai, Piña Colada, or Aloe Vera?” Shadoe adjusted the two sweating glasses and one bottle on the tray he balanced with care.
Khristen shielded her eyes, suspiciously looking up at him. The touch of friendly sarcasm that had edged his over-exaggerated deep voice set off her warning light.
“Owweeee!” Pain and agony edged her voice, caused from the effects of too many hours in the sun and too little sunscreen.
“I’ve got just what you need.”
“Like what?” Khristen grimaced, seeing the bottle of lotion and look of concern in his eyes.
Or is it lust?
“Aloe Vera. It’s a great natural ointment with a cooling effect for skin that’s on fire.” He set the tray down on the small, round table next to her. “I could, ah, rub it in for you.” Another teasing smile played on his lips as he picked up the bottle.
Khristen smiled back and looked into his eyes. How sexy and sure of himself he looked as he gazed over the rims of his sunglasses, daring her to resist his charm, challenging her.
“Actually, I have a better idea.” She reached for the lotion and caught a look of satisfaction sweep over his face. With a crooked smile, she softly wrapped her fingers around the bottle and let them linger a moment too long before taking it into her possession.
“Mmmm, sounds very tempting.” He moved in closer to her.
“It is,” she said, reeling him in with her sweet, sexy tone, and placed her free hand on his bare chest, blocking his advance. As much as she’d love to feel his skin against hers, she wasn’t about to play on his web.
“Fortunately, there’s room for only one. You see, what I have in mind is, well…” She could see the anticipation grow in his eyes. “The ultimate total package of soothing the senses, everywhere, and all at once.”
Gathering up her belongings, Khristen walked away, in pain. After only a few feet, she turned and gave him a look of triumph.
His deep, sexy laugh did nothing to dampen her victory.
WOW! Great excerpt and love that cover, Maxine. Thanks again for being here and good luck with the books!
This week in my spirit stories I’m sharing the miraculous birth of my first born.
I’ll start at her very beginning. In October 1983 I got pregnant. Hubby and I lived with my mother at the time in Washington state. Right off I had severe morning sickness. I still have no clue why they call it ‘morning’ sick because I was sick from early afternoon past bedtime every freaking day for three months!
When I was three months pregnant I had what my OB doctor called a partial separation of the placenta. “Thank goodness. I thought I was having a miscarriage!” was my response to his diagnoses of the bleeding. He informed me that that was the beginning of a miscarriage. Meaning that the placenta was trying to separate from my uterine wall. GULP. I was put on bed rest and told to take it easy the remainder of the pregnancy. All six more months. Not bed rest for the whole time, but careful.
My mother’s boyfriend was bouncer at a bar and when I was four months along he had called one night and asked us to come over with Mom to play pool. Shortly after we arrived a regular customer pulled a gun and shot Don, the bullet narrowly missing my mother. I’d seen a shiny ‘something-I-thought-was-a-knife’ and she’d slid from her booth seat across from me to stand. The bullet was in the wall behind where her chest had been, not two feet from me. Hubby had leaned back to get a better view and the same bullet missed his neck because he had. Don lived, with no organ damage (he had a healthy beer belly!).
Then that same month my gramma had to have by-pass surgery across the country from us, in N Carolina. Mom went. That was the last time I saw Mom alive. Before she returned hubby and I decided to return to Oklahoma. At five months along we made the trip by Greyhound. Things went fairly well once we got settled in. Until my sixth month when my mother, a fairly healthy woman we thought, (having returned home by then) passed away unexpectedly one night at 46 years old.
Now you see the pattern? Every month from the time I got pregnant something dramatic happened. Oddly- after her death not one solitary incident happened again. The remaining three months went by smoothly. Until the night I went into labor and the car broke down half way to the hospital, that is, but that’s another blog post.
It was a party atmosphere in the delivery room. I was munching ice and listening to the anesthesiologist tell jokes while the doctor did things I wasn’t aware of *down there* and hubby looked on. It occurred to me suddenly that I was having a baby! Maybe I should push like those prenatal classes taught? The doctor welcomed me ‘to the birthing party’ when I did and told me to keep it up. DUH! That girl did not want to be born. The nurse asked if we had names chosen. Now that in itself was odd to me. I knew without a doubt (and without an ultrasound to prove it) that I was having a girl. I can’t explain it- I just knew. As if someone had told me.
After twelve hours of labor the doctor armed with forceps delivered my leggy bundle of joy. We gave her the chosen names for each sex and the instant my daughter was born the nurse yelled- loud!- not that it was a girl, but that “It’s Calais!”
The nurses did their stuff and, along with hubby, ran from the room to show off my baby. I didn’t get so much as a glimpse of a toe before they took her out to show the family! Not a hair. I was put in recovery, the baby in the nursery. Five hours later I woke up and asked to see my baby for the first time.
When the nurse brought Calais to me I realized I had already seen her, studied her face, knew every detail of her tiny face. Yet, I’d never laid eyes on her. How? Before I woke I had a ‘dream’. A visit- from my mother. She hadn’t spoken, simply smiled and showed pride in her face. She held my baby in her arms and showed her to me. Lots of thick black hair, tan complexion (from birth her Cherokee blood was evident, as you can see in this pic above, more than any of my three girls), long fingers… I knew she was mine by her appearance alone the instant I looked at her, without reading the name bands on her arm and foot.
I believe that’s why nothing else happened during my pregnancy after my mom died. She protected her first grandbaby from the other side in a way no one else could have. That was also the only time I saw my mother after her death. I’ve dreamed about my gramma, my dad- never of Mom. Not one dream. Just that ethereal hospital visit.
What about you? Do you get visits you can’t explain? Care to share?
Everyone seems to be blogging about spooks and goblins for Halloween so I thought, why not share a few of my own life experiences, too? So in true form, and I mean true ghost stories, I am starting (late, my usual style) with my mother’s Guardian Angel.
I had never heard Mom mention him before the day I had to put my beloved Chihuahua, Tiny, to sleep. I had given her a chicken bone not knowing it was deadly for her. I was seven, maybe eight, and we lived in Washington state. Mom let me stay home to take Tiny to the vet to have her suffering put to an end. Actually, I had insisted on going, tears and all. I don’t remember going to the vet, what happened while we were there, or the trip back home, oddly enough. But I attribute the forgetfulness to what happened the moment I walked back inside our house when we got home.
Mom went ahead of me, unlocked, entered, and went across the living room to the kitchen. I followed slowly, tearfully. I remember not wanting to go in without my Tiny there to greet me with her little ball of enthusiasm so I lagged behind a few feet. I pushed the front door open and crossed the three foot foyer and was about to step onto the carpet when I saw ‘him’ for the first time. On each side of the door was a coat closet. From the one on the left I saw, as plain as the sunny day outside, a shadow cross in front of me. I remember looking around, expecting someone to be at the door. Nothing. I stood scared out of my wits as ‘he’ crossed the living room and I noticed that even out of the sunlight, I could still see his shadowy dark form. He was tall, wore a trench coat and a Fedora (hat). I couldn’t move. He went right into the kitchen with my mom and I just stood there, terrified. A minute later she came to the doorway and told me to come in and close the door. I was so afraid I ran to her and held on, shaking.
I want to stop here for a moment and say that ghostly apparitions are not new to me, to the women in my family. But I had never been so close to one, or in broad daylight before this day.
Mom asked what was wrong and I leaned around her to peer into the kitchen. He was gone! I get chills just writing this. I told my mom what I’d seen and… she laughed! Laughed. Gently. Not at me, but at what had me so shook up.
She sat down and told me about ‘him’. She said that early in her life he had come to her and she was used to his presence by this time. WHO? “He’s my guardian angel. Whenever something upsetting happens, he comes to comfort me.” Well, Tiny was my dog, I was the one who needed comfort. So why was he there? She told me he was looking out for me because he felt my pain! Really? He was looking out for me? That in itself disturbed me. I didn’t want a ghost haunting me! That was not comforting!
Mom explained that he wouldn’t hurt me. He just wanted me to know I was not alone. She also told me I was the only other person he’d ever revealed himself to. Wow.
It was the first and last time I saw him until I turned eighteen. One day I was upset about something…probably boy trouble. I sat sulking in Mom’s living room (she and my dad had divorced in the years between) and I looked up and there he was, crossing the living room from the direction of my bed room to the front door. Then he was gone again. I don’t remember seeing him since that time. But I know he’s still out there watching.
How can I be sure? My middle daughter was twelve when she told me about a man outside her friend’s bedroom window one night where she was spending the night. I’m an over protective mother but when she described him to me, I relaxed.
That was the first time I repeated my mother’s guardian angel story.
Ever heard of a Puberty ghost? Ever been attacked by a white dog-like creature on a dark back road? Have you…? I have. Tune in next week for another true spook story from my real life.