Through the eyes of me as a little girl

I’ve mentioned scent, audio and touch. Now, I come to sight. Due to my sensitivity, I’ve psychically seen a lot. However, there have been a few things I saw with my naked eye without using my ability at all. For this post, I’m going to go all the way back as far as I can remember and stick to my childhood experiences. I’ll cover some of what I’ve seen as an adult in later posts, I promise.

This first bit wasn’t exactly paranormal, but it is my earliest ghost memory. It was in the first house I lived in–which we moved out of when I was seven. I’m guessing I was about five years old at the time because of what my room looked like, how many dolls I had and the particular lamp on my nightstand.

I woke up at some point in the middle of the night and heard some sounds. I decided to investigate. As I got to my door–which was left open at night when I was that little–I determined that the sound was coming from the living room. The television was on. It was neither strange nor normal to me because I never woke up in the middle of the night so I had nothing to compare to. I went in there and found my dad asleep on the couch. What was particularly strange was the show that happened to be playing.

There was a group of people standing around a boxy device on the floor with a snaking, flashing light in a sort of tube pulled up to about six or seven feet high. This was some sort of documentary on the supernatural and trying to get in contact with the spirit world. The people standing in the circle were saying such things as “is there anyone here who would like to talk to us?” and “would you like us to turn off the lights?”

My dad woke up and I sat next to him there on the couch. We watched a few more minutes and I recall thinking those people were so absurd. Why were they using that machine with the stupid lights on it? Why did they think they needed it? Didn’t they know that the ghosts thought they were ridiculous and weren’t talking to them because those people were too closed-minded to figure out that yes, the ghosts wanted the lights turned off, but also that a machine with lights wasn’t what the ghosts needed in order to communicate? The people were completely missing the whole point of contact with the spirit world. I told my dad something along those lines, but I’m pretty sure he chalked it up to a little girl’s imagination.

We finished out the show and he put me to bed. I’ve asked him about that night and it doesn’t surprise me that he doesn’t remember, but I still remember the absurdity and how passionate I felt, even without any sort of foundation for those beliefs (which have changed here and there, but the core is still the same). I look back now and realize that yeah, I’ve always been sensitive. If at that age I thought it weird that adults couldn’t figure out how ghosts wanted to be talked to, the things I felt must have been real. The things I saw weren’t my imagination.

I still remember my old room and what it looked like in the dark with all of those people sort of floating around. There were lots of them…always were. They sort of superimposed on my physical sight whenever it was dark, no matter where I was. And it always felt crowded, like a lot of people in a concentrated area all at once.

Okay, now on to the first things I saw with my naked eyes. I don’t recall this phenomenon while in that first house, but I definitely recall it in the next house. The house was only about eight months old when we moved in. It never felt haunted…except by the spirits following me. One of which was my grandfather who passed away two months after my fifth birthday. I saw him superimposed on my physical sight and felt his presence a lot.

I loved him and he loved me. Grandpa was awesome and while I missed having him around physically to pick me up and let me watch him solder plumbing in the house he was building, show me how he cut feathers to put on the arrows he built for deer hunting and how to properly use a hammer, having him with me in spirit was good enough because I knew he’d always be around in a heartbeat if I got scared and needed someone.

On many nights, there was an indentation on the covers on my bed as though someone was sitting next to me. In fact, I used to leave room for whoever this person was! I recall shuffling to the far side of my bed, next to the wall so that this person could sit there with me and watch me sleep. I didn’t try to talk. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I wasn’t really afraid because it didn’t hurt me or make me too uneasy. Yeah, it felt strange, but not strange enough for me to leave my room. Sometimes the person felt like grandpa, sometimes not.

This went on for years. I’ve told very few people about it.

The other childhood memory I have is from a time when I was maybe nine or ten years old. That particular night I woke up for no apparent reason (or at least I’ve forgotten what had awakened me) around eleven o’clock at night, I think. I know it wasn’t the wee hours of morning, but I no longer recall exactly what time it was. Anyhow, I felt that someone was there in my room and I didn’t think this person was my grandpa. There was space at the foot of my bed for someone to sit there, but I was more toward the middle of my twin bed.

I had one of those clock radios where the numbers were printed on little tiles that flipped down each minute, each hour. When you whirl the dial to change the time, the tiles made a fluttering sound. The section of the clock for setting the alarm made a sort of clicking sound when you spun that wheel to set the alarm.

I woke up for no reason and felt someone else was there and silently asked for a sign as to whether what I was feeling was real or not.

The alarm dial of my clock radio started spinning. The radio turned on for the moment when it hit about 11PM (the current time) to about 12AM (what would’ve been an hour later) and went back out as the dial kept spinning, scaring the crap out of me. I was soooooooooooo scared. I begged it to stop, to please stop, to never do that again. I backed away from that edge of the bed and smashed myself into my stuffed animals next to the wall. I was utterly terrified, but strangely not enough to try to leave my room because the activity had stopped and I didn’t feel like I was in any real danger.

One of the creepiest parts of that ordeal was that the alarm dial also did not return to 5AM. It had stopped somewhere during the day and as much as I didn’t want to touch my clock after all that wackiness, I had to reset the alarm or I wasn’t going to be able to get up for school the next morning. It took me a good twenty minutes before I got up the courage to change it, but I slept the rest of the night through and never asked for another sign until more than a decade later…but that experience deserves its own entry.

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