Halloween Season! Ghost posts all month! This happened a while ago, but it’s pretty typical of what going into downtown Seattle is like for me.
Hubby and I went to a friend’s birthday party at a club. Standard for Seattle, the building is well over one hundred years old, lots of history and of course, ghosts. We got there early, and I looked around to see if any spirits were nearby while it was still fairly quiet and empty.
I immediately saw a female floating some ten or fifteen feet away. Bright, curly red hair, hands on hips, and a tattered, layered dress with grimy lace. The bumps and lines on her face told of years of hard alcohol. Her energy was hard and spiky, accompanied by a glare that was just as fierce.
To me, she seemed to be floating, but as I tuned into her energy I could tell that in her mind, she was standing squarely on the floor of a large room. How the room once looked filled my inner sight, and I saw her next to a long-gone fireplace. The building had been remodeled since her time, but she only knew the older configuration. Her arms crossed and she rubbed her shoulders and upper arms. Cold. The fireplace was unlit, and memories of being cold still affected her.
I said “Hi.”
“Yeah, what do you want?” Surly, sneering, she intensified her glare. Her anger buzzed against my skin, then focused on my forehead.
“Want to stare at the dead whore? Is that it? Well this is my place, and I ain’t leaving it!” Her emotional vibrations began to give me a headache.
“You living types, you come here and either want to talk or kick me out. Well, piss off!”
She did not like people intruding on her space. She resented being dead. Resented that some of the living could see her, she felt like a circus freak. She wanted to be left alone and was doing her ghostly best to push my attention away through the ferocity of her anger.
“Alright.” I pulled back my attention, turning my head away from her and her phantom fireplace. Listen, if the dead don’t want to talk, the polite thing to do is respect their wishes. Rubbing the center of my forehead, which was still twitching and vibrating from her emotional projections, I upped my shielding. The headache began to fade.
Hubby noticed, and asked, “Are you getting anything?”
“Yeah, but she’s not very happy. She’s over there.”
I gestured and described the redhead and the fireplace. “She doesn’t really want to talk.”
“Oh really? Why not?” He addressed the spot I waved at. “We just want to talk a little. Nothing wrong with that, right?”
I watched a new look came over her face. Surprise, then a preening look, and her anger melted.
“Who’s that?” She demanded, running a hand through her curls. “Is that a man?”
Now, the spirit was interested in talking. To him.
“That’s my husband.”
Anger vanished. She didn’t exactly transform, but she did put on a smile, and sparkled.
“A man! It’s been a long time since I saw a man.” She sighed and simpered. “Well, hello handsome!”
Dead cannot always see the living. Up until this moment, she hadn’t been aware of Hubby sitting next to me. When he addressed her though, that changed.
Watching her shift from hostile to cooing was comical, and I had to tell Hubby what she’d said. I mimicked the lilt she put into her voice, which made us both laugh.
“Ain’t you gonna introduce us? That’s the polite thing to do, you know.” The insistent tone was back in her voice.
I presented Hubby, who waved and said “Hi.”
There was a momentary awkwardness, but Hubby is a charmer.
“Tell us your name.” He coaxed.
“Ruby.” She trilled, fluttering hands at her phantom face. Yes, mannerisms are often retained. She was flirting outrageously with my husband. “Oh my! Say something! I don’t care. I just want to hear a man talk to me.” She practically swooned. “Tell me what you do.”
My husband has no trouble talking. He told her a little about his escapades as a musician, in that very building, making her crow with laughter.
“He really is handsome, how’d you get so lucky? What a catch!”
I passed on Ruby’s exclamations, and praise, which just made our night.
“Even the dead girls love me!” He crowed.
Ruby’s whole attitude changed.
“Oh, I like him!” She forgot about her anger, but she still didn’t really want to talk to me. When I tried to offer to help her cross to the other side, she refused.
“Nah! I’m okay here. Tell your cutie pie I said good-bye.”
Then she faded from my sight.
Not every spirit wants or is ready to move on, Ruby clearly wasn’t. It’s always at the spirits own choice.
Respecting the wishes of these beings is essential to having open, clear, and trustworthy communication.
Have you had ghostly encounters? Do you live in a haunted locale?
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