Journey of a Soul

Chapter 8

Tamara was going over her notes on tonight's lecture. It amazed her that no matter how many times she gave this speech, it always seemed to come out differently. Fortunately for her, it always seemed tailored perfectly for the people listening.

Tonight's energy had a rare vibe to it. Ready for anything, she took a deep breath, smiled, and walked out onto the stage.

Men and women of all ages applauded as she said, "Thank you for coming. I would like to introduce you to the spirit world with a few of my own ghost stories."

Looking into the audience, Tamara figured there were about a hundred people that came out to listen tonight.

"I was three, silently looking around I could tell it was later in the evening. It was dark and quiet, and I was lying in a hospital bed recovering from a surgery I just had. The door opened, and a nurse came in to check on me.

I asked her, "What does that man want?"

Looking at me, she said, "What, man?"

Bringing my hand out from underneath the covers, I pointed my tiny finger in the direction of the foot of my bed. Standing in the shadows was a man slightly hidden in the darkened room.

She turned to look where I was pointing and said, "I don't see a man." She turned back to me, tucked me in, and said to go back to sleep.

Again, I turned my eyes to look at the man, I saw him standing there, following her orders I shut my eyes and fell back to sleep."

Tamara noticed a mix of responses from the audiences of what she had just said. Some people's heads were nodding in memory of similar experiences. Some she could tell were in disbelief or defiance because they crossed their arms, and others were sitting on the edge of their seats eagerly waiting for her to go on.

Tamara knew that this next story was usually the one that sparked the audience. "When I recall this memory, I can still smell the dust, my heart skips a beat, and I hold my breath. At the age of four, I remember climbing up on to a solid wooden chair in the middle of the hallway that my dad had just used to access the attic of the house we were renting.

Being a curious kid, I wanted to see what was up there in that secret hideout. I asked permission from my mom, and she replied, 'No, it is not a place for little girls. It is too dirty.'

I begged, 'Please,' over and over again.

Luckily for me, when my dad came down, he gave his approval. He stood on the chair and lifted me through the rectangular hole in the ceiling. Next, I had to help my two-year-old sister up into the space. Triumphantly, I sat across from my sister, looking down at my mom and dad.

I remember that it bothered me a bit when we had to lift our feet so my dad could close the hatch door on us, but I didn't want to go down just yet.

We were sitting in the middle of one big open space. I could have walked it in about ten giant footsteps both in front of me and behind. And about five giant footsteps to each side.

Past my sister, I saw light coming through a window that was in a triangular wall. Making up the floor were rows of dusty insulation, the color of dirty yellow snow, lying lengthwise between the two by fours.

I turned my head and twisted my body towards the right and almost all the way behind me. In the left-hand corner of the room, about three feet away from the wall, was an old, worn-out wooden handrail guarding the descending stairway.

Three figures, resembling witches, dressed in darker grey hooded robes, were starting to go down the stairs. I could see only portions of two of them, the first from her shoulders up and the second from her waist up. The third figure looked to be the size of my mom, 5 foot-6 inch, and even though I could not see any of their faces because their hoods were drawn, she was staring at me, giving me shivers. It was as if she was probing my mind.