I get asked that a lot.
Nope. Or at least, not anymore, but that wasn’t always the case. They sure like to try. I’ve been told ‘get out’ and ‘go away’ along with ‘I’ll kill you.’ There are some spirits who like to paint the most gruesome scenes, typically of how they died.
On my first trip to England, my friend and I stayed in a youth hostel in Brighton. The primary attraction for staying in it was that it dated from the seventeenth century.
I woke up in the middle of the night and went to visit the ladies’ room. The transition from pitch black room to well-lit hall was harsh on my eyes, so as I walked down the hall I put both hands up and covered them, rubbing to block the light. I took slow, measured steps but still bumped into someone else walking down the hall coming from the opposite direction.
Along the full length of my body I felt a tall man press against me when we collided. I stumbled back two steps and pulled my hands away from my face. The words “I’m sorry” actually escaped me before I realized I was completely alone in the middle of the hall.
That particular time, oh shit was I scared! I was in my twenties, and basically just dipping my toe in the paranormal pool. Ghostly interactions were rare and I didn’t fully accept them at that time. However at that moment, I didn’t have any trouble feeling the spirit’s presence.
I was filled with dread, there’s no other word for it. I could not move my feet because I was coming to grips with the fact that I’d made physical contact with a dead guy.
Oh my god, I just bumped into a ghost! Ran through my mind on a continuous feed loop.
As I scanned the hall I saw a grayish, blackish fog in the corner. While I watched, it boiled and I instantly knew that this was why I was feeling such fear. This amorphous blob was churning with rage and hate. All I wanted was to get away from this thing! So I ducked into the bathroom and hid in a stall. From there I felt this being move out of the corner to stand in the doorway. Instead of the fog, now a man shape blocked the room’s only exit.
He was not a pleasant person in life or in death.
He knew I could ‘see’ him and that made him really happy. He wanted nothing more than to make the rest of my time in that hostel a nightmare.
I rocked back and forth, really agonizing over the fact that I was now stuck in the bathroom.
“You have to come out sometime.” You know, the menace with which he said it forever changed my fetish for the English accent. “I’m just going to wait right here.” He didn’t bother to come into the bathroom. He was actually kind of contemptuous of the idea and was content to stand there and enjoy my distress, waiting for me to make my break past him.
Then I saw the bees on the floor. Lots of them.
I’m allergic to bees and really didn’t care that most of them looked dead, a few were still moving.
I was out the door and moving down the hall, with my new ‘friend’ literally breathing down the back of my neck. He chased me all the way and then followed me into the room. Unlike my earliest experiences, diving into bed and pulling the covers over my head did not make the bogeyman go away. He settled in right over me and suddenly all I could see was his face, grinning horribly.
He was not a good-looking guy either; a round face, several days’ stubble, dull, flat, dark hair and dark eyes with bad teeth loomed close to my own. I could see most of them because his nasty grin was more like a snarl. He pulled back and I could see his arms and chest covered in a pea-green sweater, his hands were around my neck.
He couldn’t physically hurt me but he could put me through emotional pain. I didn’t feel anything but slowly my vision of him changed, he was pulling back and pushing me under water. The rim of a barrel came into my peripheral vision and terror and helplessness filled me.
“I’m going to kill you just like he killed me!” His emotions of pain, rage and hatred of his murderer made him long to visit the same on anyone else. I realized he was showing me, over and over again, how he died. From time to time the man over me changed and became his killer, the spirit showing me his death through his eyes when a lighter-colored head would occasionally superimpose over his dark.
I did have some experience with putting shields between angry spirits and myself but I had to get to a place of calm to bring them up. Kind of hard to do with a vengeful ghost forcing the movie of his death into my head. So I yelled for help and the answer I got was not at all what I was expecting.
My dog. Or his spirit at any rate. From thousands of miles away in California he heard my call, felt my distress and somehow astrally projected himself to that youth hostel in Brighton. His loving and protective spirit manifested between that angry being and me, hiding under the covers. I felt his weight settle on my stomach and legs when he interposed himself and snarled at the dead guy. He’s still my guardian to this day.
The spirit backed off but didn’t leave and I got the space I needed to bring up my own shields. My dog stayed until I drifted off to sleep. When dawn came, the ghost left.
The clerk at the hostel was surprised to learn the ghost was in the upstairs hall.
“He usually stays in the basement.” The girl’s tone indicated she really didn’t believe me when I told her I ran into him. I didn’t really care if she doubted me because she wasn’t there. That ghost stayed in the room all night, hovering but unable to reach me anymore through my shielding. I could sense him when I woke, buzzing angrily like the bees from last night before fading away. I was never happier to check out a place than that Brighton hostel.