my paranormal experiences

one

Shadows stretch on in front of me, unescaping.

I try to move my leg, try to make a move to turn on the light. Leave the light to send angles into the room, abandoning the corrupted souls. But it doesn't move.

"I absolutely love the paranormal. I'm only fifteen, but after all my experiences, I still get that rush of adrenaline and spark of fear. We have so much to learn about it, and it may not be what we think. I think it will remain mysterious until we discover its true intent for ourselves."

It all started when I was little. Even when I could barely talk. My mom talks about me waving to invisible people.

I don't remember exactly what I was doing, because I was young, but what I can recall was me staying with my grandparents, which mind you, was built by the bare hands of my grandparents. The structure was put up above an old tomato farm. You could say the house was haunted because of its history. But there's more to it than that.

Vortexes. When you have two mirrors facing each other, it creates something I like to call, Spirit Portals. Basically, those two mirrors create enough energy to open up into the Spirit Plane, and any spirit can step through at any time. But the problem is not all of them are good.

Good and bad are totally different things. Demons exist. Negative spirits exist. But I don't believe that there are many good ones. Think about it, when you die of old age, or of some disease, you go straight to heaven. But to other people that commit suicide, they always die with hate of themsleves. All that hate is bottled up to create negative energy. And when those spirits don't pass on, they keep that bad energy. Now negative spirits may not necessarily be demons, or bad at all, but it's just their energy type. It all depends on what was going on in their mind when they died.

Back to my story. I wandered into the living room of my grandparents house. The tile was cold on my bare feet, and I made my way to the grand piano that my grandparents have had for a while. But instead, I freeze at the foot of the stairs. I don't know why, but my feet just stop, as if they were sinking into the ground. Not a thought is behind my eyes (I was only three), but as I stare at the vast staircase in front of me, I make out a man. His hand is outstretched, as if he was waving. He was wearing some kind of brown outfit. His beard was long, and passed his chin. A smile creeps up onto my little face, and I raise my hand and start waving to the mystery man. Then he's gone once my mom notices and asks who I was waving to because no one was upstairs.

You're probably asking, how do I remember this if I was only three? Well, for some odd reason which I am still trying to grasp to this day, it all stays engraved in my mind, like someone has taken a knife and carved out these memories.

This waving episode wasn't just a one time thing. In my actual house at the time, I would wave to people again. I would be sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, and from my view, I could see the top of the staircase. These spirits, I don't remember what they look like. But when I try to look back on it, all I see are shadow figures. Except these, these didn't wave. They stood there, watching me. So I like to call these Shadow People.