My Strange Encounters

FINALLY! MILLBURY PART 2! OMG!

Yeah, for starters I’d just REALLY like to apologize to anyone who actually reads this. I’ve just been really caught up with life (my move, my relationship, work, sleep, building things) and put this project on the back burner, but I’m finally getting around to writing the final installment of the Millbury Story. So here goes nothing!

So we last left off on my old room mates leaving for greener pastures. The new ones to move in were my at the time and current girlfriend “Monica” and her best friend “Troy.” Again, false names that I can correlate to their actual names in my weird head. Before moving in, Monica and I had been dating for 7 months, and during those months I’d spend nights at her place, and her at mine. One night at her place, something very strange happened.

We were laying in bed. She was sound asleep and I was staying awake using her laptop. She talks in her sleep, so this night was no stranger than any other. She begins mumbling about things, when it turns bizarre. She begins saying my name. I respond, and she starts telling me that someone wants to talk to me and is tell me “Time’s running out.” She says she can see people in a room looking around and talking, but it’s comparable to looking through a window with a thin white curtain in front of it. She sees a woman with short hair remove her glasses, breathe on them, then clean them on a sweatshirt. This is the woman asking for me. When I ask Monica what this woman’s name is, she replies “Marjorie.”

I started to cry and shook her awake. Unknown to her at the time, the name she said to me was the name of my mother (who had passed on about five years prior.) The description of this woman was also dead on, even though in the only photograph she had ever seen of my mother she had no glasses. To this day, I still have no idea what she meant by “time is running out.”

This isn’t the first time or the last that Monica will have strange dreams in which she contacts the dead. The first time was in our apartment prior to her moving in. Again, she starts rambling about things but then it turns strange. She says she sees an old woman sitting at a table in a kitchen, and she’s crying. This old woman has tissues tucked into her bracelet and is asking for “Jimmy.” She wants Monica to tell Jimmy that everything is going to be fine and to stop worrying. Then, she looks out the kitchen window and says things about there being a scary man looking in.

She wakes up, upset because she can remember the dream, but I calm her down and she sleeps the night clear of bad dreams and messages. In the morning, we discuss it and decide to tell our friend Jimmy (again, this “Jimmy” is not his real name.) what her dream had told her. That night, Jimmy came over and we went outside to talk to him. The whole time he wasn’t phased and just took it as a strange dream. That is, however, until Monica mentions the tissues under the bracelet. Jimmy freezes and becomes silent.

We didn’t know Jimmy’s grandmother, but she had recently passed. He told us a few days later that she always kept tissues under her bracelet for when she was crying. He was having issues because in the months before she passed, she lived in his house with him and he had a baby monitor in her room so he could always make sure she was still breathing and after she passed on he would still hear her breathing at night.

The third time Monica dreamt of things like this was not as directly linked to anyone, but still just as perplexing and frightening. This time, in my old bedroom at the apartment, she once more started off with random things like “What are the rings made of?” in which she meant the rings on Saturn. I replied “Space dust and particles” to which she the asked “Pot of gold?” I mention this because I died laughing when she said that. It then turned to her seeing an old man on our porch and a young boy standing on the ground below. The boy said he couldn’t come up because of the old man who liked to watch the girls in the apartment. Then Monica said “He can see you. He can see you and he doesn’t like you” to me. Who was this old man? A previous tenant? Maybe he died in the fire, or was the black figure my ex girlfriend saw walking through the apartment at night. 

More strange things happened, but nothing too extreme to mention until one night, after Monica and Troy moved in and the two of us switched to the larger bedroom right off the kitchen. We were laying in bed, trying to sleep. This next portion will play out as a dialog between Monica and myself.

“Do you hear that?” She asked me.
“Hear what?”
“That noise. That weird noise.”
“It’s just the fan. Here, I’ll shut it off.” I shut the fan off and climbed back in bed. It’s silent for a moment.
“No, there it was again. Oh my god what is that noise?!”
“Sweetheart I honestly don’t hear anything.” My hearing is awful, by the way, so it’s understandable that I wouldn’t hear it. “It’s probably just something outside, or the house making noises. Just try to sleep baby.” A bit of time passes, when I open my eyes. I see a flash of white light between the wall and me but only for a moment.
“Jeff. I hear it again. It sounds like whispering right in my ear.” At this moment, I feel this pressure on my chest. Intense pressure, but I can’t see anything causing it. I then feel my heart begin to race, pounding faster and faster. Then, I feel my heart being squeezed. I can’t move. I can’t roll or sit up. I’m stuck and absolutely awake. This was not a case of sleep paralysis. Something was holding me down and trying to squeeze my heart.

I focus all of my energy in my mind saying “No! You’re going to stop! NOW!” and I burst up, explaining what had just happened to Monica. She then tells me what she saw during this time.
“I saw a black mass creep up over your side of the bed, then pool and form over your chest. I was so scared.”

I was shaken for a few days, but eventually it subsided and things went back to normal.

Now I have sleep apnea, and snore quite a bit on some nights. It gets so bad that Monica can’t sleep at all, and it gives her immense bouts of anxiety and anger. We had a guest bed set up in the living room, so on those nights where it was unbearable, she would leave and sleep on it. Turns out that wasn’t quite the best of ideas.

She started having horrible dreams. Terrifying nightmares that would shake her from a sound sleep, crying hysterically. One morning, she woke up and there were two distinct “X” shaped scratches on her left shoulder. At first one would blame this on the cats, but how would a cat scratch an X, and at distances further than the claws on a cats paw are spread?

Monica was in the living room working on a craft project by herself. Our living room was connected to the kitchen via a short straight doorless hallway, to which I had my back turned. All of a sudden I hear a “Pop! CRASH!” come out of the room. I dart from my chair to see Monica surrounded by shattered glass. 

“What happened?! Are you all right?!” She was visibly shaken.
“I’m fine but I saw this shadow on the ceiling. When I looked directly at it, the shadow darted out towards the kitchen and shattered the light globe.”

I first thought it could’ve been from the heat of the bulb and the cold air from the open window causing the light to shatter, but as I grabbed the bulb, it was barely warm. The glass was everywhere in the room, sans a small circle around Monica.

The last real incident I can remember happening was absolutely the most terrifying. Monica and I had some friends over this particular night. Out of nowhere, I got intensely tired, finding it hard to keep my eyes open at the table. I excused myself and went to lay down. Not moments after, I felt a change. I was becoming more and more violently angry. Uncontrollably angry. I had thoughts and visions of brutally killing everyone in my apartment, including my third room mate and my cats! I would NEVER do anything to any of them, let alone slaughter the entire apartment. Then, I felt another change in my mind. This time it was just “GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.” over and over in my own head. I got up, threw on a jacket and hat and walked out of the house, not saying a word to anyone.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Everything between getting tired at the table to stepping on the ground outside was a complete blur. I was fine, awake and in a fine mood. Monica stepped outside asking if I was okay. I told her to come down because I didn’t want to go back up there. She went inside, put on a pair of shoes, then came down when I told her everything that had happened. We piled everyone into cars and left the apartment for hours. We went to Monica’s parents house, as they were away for the week and we’d be able to relax without worrying about nosie. I was starving. I ate and ate until I was stuffed. It was as if something had pulled all of the energy from me, only so it could try to work it’s way into me. I feel as though something was trying to possess me and failing, or something I’ve heard called “Spiritual or Demonic Oppression” in which an entity doesn’t take over, but heavily influence and control the things you think. 

Things in life went downhill from there, but those aren’t paranormal related, aside from the fact that everyone in that apartment was miserable and just wanted out.

So there you have it! My history in life of the Paranormal. I now live in Woonsocket, RI where nothing besides seeing shadows out of the corner of my eye has ever happened. This place feels great, clean and devoid of anything paranormal. I hope you all enjoyed the ride. Please, feel free to ask me any questions you may have, or comment on anything. I will respond! ^__^ Happy Haunting people!

Weird Millbury (Part 1)

So I’ve regaled you with my stories from my home town and my stint in Connecticut, but now I’m going to start you in on what’s happened where I am now… in Millbury, Massachusetts. 

In Connecticut, I became close friends with a coworker of mine and when I decided to leave the old house behind, I wanted to return home to Massachusetts and I did just that. At last minute I found myself an apartment in Millbury that needed two room mates, and my friend decided he was fed up with Connecticut as well so he joined me. I had two other room mates at the time, a very nice couple who had lived there for a year already. 

Now I’ll start in with some of the bizarre facts of my current (until next week, that is) residence. At one point it was an old school house, then a general store and eventually turned in to a three apartment house with two smaller apartments on the first floor and another on the second. When I moved in, I decided to get myself acclimated to the building and explored everywhere I could. On the second floor we have direct access to the attic for storage. I went almost a year before noticing that the walls and ceiling in the attic weren’t painted black but were actually all charred wood from a house fire. Just the energy in there feels so… oppressive. Not quite bad, aggressive or evil just really noticeably different with a hint of negativity to it. Maybe it’s just all the black, but everyone who’s ever gone up there agrees on the feeling.

The basement, which was eventually locked even though it housed the fuse boxes, is another story entirely. You walk in and the first room is a concrete/dirt floor with concrete walls. Very unfinished, it held random household repair parts like wiring fixtures and pipes. On the back wall was a pentacle in green spray paint. I’ve always been around symbols like that due to most of my friends and even a few girls I’ve dated being Wiccan or Pagan so, while it didn’t disturb me at all, it made me notice it. On the back wall is also a mismatched patchwork door.

Through this door is the access to the hot water heaters, power meters and the circuit breakers, as well as a walled off makeshift locked room that holds all of the tools and supplies for yard work and what have you. What I didn’t notice, at first, was the door across from that. It was an old door with no knob. Instead, it had two wooden slats (a third had broken off) that rotated to sort of lock the door shut from the outside. That really bothered me because I could no wrap my head around any reason as to why the door would ever need to be locked from the outside and in such a crude manner at that. What was past the door shed a bit of light on the situation.

You enter the room and you noticed the partially exposed red brick walls and floor. This room was added on much later than the house was built. There is a small standard basement window by the ceiling, but it’s blocked by wall insulation and an upside down “No Parking” sign screwed in place. In the corner, and I get goosebumps as I write this, is a bare metal cot. There is a coax cable running in to the room, and under that lays one of those plastic mats you put on a carpeted floor to let your computer chair slide on it easier. Someone STAYED in this room. Whether it was by choice or not is another story, but the fact remains. That room had signs of someone, at one point relatively recently, living in that room. The most disturbing part, at least to me, is that on the inside of the door, someone had scribbled what looked like HOMEWORK INSTRUCTIONS in chalk, as well as multiple lines of scratches.

To me, it felt like it was a room someone was put into in the past decade as punishment. In my head, I see a small boy locked away in there with a desk, a computer and a bed so he can do his school work. I say a boy, because of the fact that the window, being so high up, wouldn’t have been that hard to unblock, the scratches being lower on the door, and the bottom outside latch was the one that had broken, possibly from kicking it from the inside to escape.

That room is absolutely terrifying.

At first, it seemed like a normal apartment. Nothing strange really happened in there. Then, my friend and I started hearing noises from the attic. First, it just sounded like light foot steps. I told myself it was probably just the house settling seeing as it was usually at night we heard them. Then, while we were the only ones home, I heard a loud thunderous crash inside my apartment.

As I step out of my room to see what happened to my room mate, he steps out of his to see what happened to me. We both searched the apartment with no sign of what had happened. Then we ventured in to the attic. 

Since I tend to either use false names or don’t use names at all, I’ll openly state that, at one point, my room mate grew multiple marijuana plants in his room. I say that because he had large rubbermaid bins in the attic filled with potting soil. They were not light, to say the least. On top of one there was an old metal computer tower, still full of it’s components. 

When we found our way up into the attic, we found that not only had the computer tower been laying on the ground feet away from the bin it once rested on, but also the bin itself was moved the other direction and raised up to rest on an elevated floor board some two inches thick. 

Around the same time of these noises, my at the time girlfriend was staying over and, much akin to the time I left a girlfriend in my room alone before, I returned to my room to find her shaking, terrified, under some blankets. She told me that as I was in the bathroom, she saw a tall dark figure materialize in front of a kitchen window, walk down the hall towards my room, stop and look at her then find it’s way to the attic door. She is a sound mind (as far as situations like these are concerned. My personal opinions on her now are for an entirely different blog) and would never make something like that up. Within the same week, a painting in the couple’s room was found removed from the wall, turned 90 degrees, and replaced. It was taped to the wall with double sided tape and placed between an adjacent wall and a book case with only an inch or so on either side.

It wasn’t until some room mates left, new ones moved in and I met someone more “sensitive,” that things really picked up and took a turn for the worse. When I come back to this, I’ll tell you those events which include shattering glass, mysterious scratches in the night, and terrifying experiences involving people talking in their sleep. Also, in a past post, I talked about forced imaginations. More of those, including the most recent one that caused me to write that post all together. Thanks for reading.

- Unrelated to these events, I will be moving within the next week to my new (hopefully non-haunted) apartment in Rhode Island, so if I don’t get back to this for a week or two, hold tight. I’ll finish these for you, and in great detail. 

In Connecticut… (Part 1)

So I moved to a house in Connecticut. The story as goes, before the strange happenings, as follows. I was dating a girl who lived in Connecticut, and my parents were going to move to Florida, so I ended up moving in with her at her parent’s condo. She then inherited a house, and we moved in. It was a long process, for this house hadn’t been lived in for years, but all of the old belongings were still there. It was her great-grandparents’ house, so it wasn’t awkward having to move it all out.

One of the first incidences that occurred was, as cliche as it is on Halloween one year, when we decided to construct a “Poor Man’s Ouija” which is essentially just the use of a pendulum as a medium to interact with spirits and the like. As far as they go, I’m not much of a believer. I understand things like involuntary muscle movement and subconscious thoughts so I’ve never held much faith in these things. This night absolutely changed my opinion.

We began asking questions which started out vaguely with vague answers. Then we started delving deeper into it and got a lot of specific answers to questions we had no previous knowledge of. One of them was if one of the spirits of the great-grandparents, Frank, smoked cigarettes. We got a resounding yes. Another was if Myrtle, Frank’s wife, liked Ouija boards. You see, we had attempted contact previously with an actual board and got absolutely no response whatsoever. When asked if she liked them, we were answered “No.”

So we asked questions and were answered, but none of us took it really all too seriously. It wasn’t until we asked my girlfriend’s mother, daughter to Frank and Myrtle, the same questions we had asked the spirits. It was at that point when she gave us all of the same answers that we realized that we had actually contacted the spirits of her Great-Grandparents. But they weren’t the only spirits patrolling the grounds.

One night, a while later, I had gone to take a shower while my girlfriend was on her computer, across the house. No more than five minutes had gone by until I heard a loud, distinct sobbing emanating from outside of the bathroom door. Fearing she were violently upset over something and needed me, I jumped from the shower, threw open the door and was standing behind her, dripping wet and naked.

“What’s wrong?!” I asked, placing my hand on her shoulder. It was then that she turned around, confused. She removed her headphones, which I never even noticed she was wearing, and looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I heard you crying all the way from the shower! Is everything all right?” Her face gets even more perplexed.

“I haven’t made a single noise since you got in the shower…” As much as I was startled, I just shrugged it off as me hearing things and got back in to the shower.

(As I side note I would just like to say here that numerous things had happened in between that last part, and what I’m going to tell you next. They were all just along the lines of cabinet doors not staying shut, kitchen doors opening to the outside and hearing footsteps, floors and stairs creaking with nobody on them. Standard fare for a situation like this.)

It wasn’t until months later that something else of this magnitude occurred again. This time I had some friends over in my living room and had stepped in to the kitchen to go scoop out some ice cream. I was standing at my stove. The counter tops stretched to my right, and then a ninety degree bend across the adjacent wall. To my was the refrigerator, and behind that a small pantry.

So there I am, scooping out three bowls of ice cream when I hear the same crying. This time, I hear it so loudly that it drowned out the sound of the TV in the other room. It was coming from behind my refrigerator. It was coming from the pantry. I stopped dead in my duties, looked toward it, and then went back. At that point in my stay there, so many things had happened that it was almost second nature to me to just ignore it.

For the record, I never felt unsafe, threatened or afraid in that house. Well, at least not from the spirits.  But those stories I’m saving for my next entry.

I’ve since moved from there, twice. I’ve also burnt the bridge between my ex and myself, so I’m not even sure if the activity has persisted or not.

In my next entry, I’ll regale you with tales of tall beings and snowy footprints.

As a side note, if anyone reading this at any point that knows me remembers something that has happened to me in my past, there’s a good chance I’ve forgotten over the years. Please contact me and remind me! It’s greatly appreciated!

My childhood home

So, my life has been filled with a lot of strange happenings. This one is one of the earlier stories that, although I personally didn’t experience it which is somewhat contrary to my blog, revolves around my childhood home.

The house I grew up in was nice. Not superb and fancy, but no shame of a home. I’ll tell these tales in chronological order, or as best as I can assume.

The first happened when I was a young child. My brother and I shared a bedroom on the second floor. The stairs to said floor came off of the living room, and the floor had two rooms total across from one another. One night, while my brother and I were sleeping, my father was staying up late watching TV in the living room. From nowhere, he felt uneasy and had the notion to look at the stairs to the second floor. At that moment, he saw a pair of legs walking up the stairs in khaki pants and black dress shoes. He darted up from the couch, flew up the stairs and went straight in to our room, only to find my brother and I fast asleep and alone.

For as long as I can remember, both my father and step father would tell me about how my mother spoke in her sleep, except it wasn’t in English. They both said it sounded like Native American, and while I do have some in my family tree, it’s minimal at best and nobody in my family either pays attention to that heritage or speaks any Native American language. 

Years went by with nothing notable happening. At least not to me or my brother, and as of this posting I can’t ask my parents because both of them have sadly passed on. Then it seemed during my late teenage years things started to pick up.

I had a cat growing up. She was a long-haired dark brown cat named Ashley. A very loving cat, she had an affinity to sleep on people’s chests or at their feet, batting their toes when they would wiggle or shift. When she had aged a bit, she escaped one day and never once returned. I don’t think she was hit by a car or stolen, but merely knew it was her time to go and went off into the forest nearby to pass on there. 

When I was 15, I was dating a girl, who for the sake of this story we’ll name “Mandy,” and she had come over one afternoon after school. We, like most teenagers, were laying in bed together. I had gotten up to go downstairs to the kitchen for a drink and upon my arrival, I found Mandy sitting fetal, shaking and crying hysterically. I asked her what had happened, and after calming down a bit she began to tell me that moments after I had left, the blankets on my bed began to twist and knead, slowly inching it’s way up towards her, like a cat. This was less than a year after my cat had passed. A few months later, my best friend was sleeping on the couch in my room, now in the basement of my house. Again, at this time we’ll call him “Stan.” Stan told me the next morning that he had felt a pressure on his chest in his sleep, like a cat had jumped on him and curled up. As he went to pet it, thinking it was Ashley, his hand went straight through to his chest.

After telling this story to my older brother “Dustin,” he told the both of us how a few weeks prior, he had felt her batting at his toes as he slept. Again, like Stan, completely forgetting she had even passed away to begin with.

So that’s the cat story, and now we return, years later, to the khaki legged man and the second floor. Stan was sleeping over again, in what was now the guest room, across the room from my old bedroom. He woke from a sound sleep, startled, and have the unshakeable feeling that someone was watching him. As he turned to the door, he saw the outline of a tall man blocking the light coming through the gaps between door and frame. He said he felt a sense of power but also a sense of protection. Personally, I feel it was a spirit guide. My mother’s spirit guide, to be precise, watching over the inhabitants of our home and keeping us safe. Nothing negative ever occurred in that house, that I can remember. 

We’ll jump back now to the days when Mandy and I were together. I was sitting in my kitchen talking to her on the phone. This was back when most houses actually HAD phones, and they were attached to the wall with a cord. If your mother was anything like mine, that cord was magical and could stretch over miles and miles of floor space whenever she was on it.

As I was saying, Mandy and I were talking on the phone, and during one of those brief gaps in conversation, we both heard a loud deep voice utter something in a strange language through the phone. It was quick, only a matter of words, but still shook the both of us. 

This last story is quick, and more than likely not at all paranormal, but just strange. I was laying on my couch, the same couch that Stan had slept on when he felt the cat spirit on his chest. I was alone, watching TV when, like my father years before, felt uneasy and looked up at the small basement window near the ceiling. It was then, almost instantaneously that an orange and white striped tabby cat darted into the window and locked eyes directly with me. It didn’t slowly walk up, look around and then see me. The cat appeared in the time it would take to blink, although I didn’t and saw it approach. Like a terrified child, I hid under the blankets and waited until the cat was gone. I don’t know why it frightened me so much, but holy hell. Scared the pants off of me.

So there you have it. First post, and first experiences. I promise, they’ll get better from here on out!