tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77611959980195950512024-03-05T18:55:03.976-08:00SpookstoriesThis is a blog for good old fashioned ghost stories and all interesting things related to the supernatural. This is NOT a blog for skeptics or arguments, so if your intention is not a bit of scary fun, you are not welcome here.Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-62353653946398701692013-12-21T04:48:00.002-08:002013-12-21T04:52:57.125-08:00The Candle's Mass & The Singing Ghost - Port Elizabeth, 2013<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigS8XLqLeGyxWvrUl21wxrSR5tQf3NADmrCvRIC8wZO8eg3R0OaAcBYVZGiXxv5GJ2jHwUBjF_FsjejLSuBoXt0ekG5e2MEDFvpIaT6e9EMJg3t_izI27xiLBFENFnBCwX2Pz2gk_46ho/s1600/a+candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigS8XLqLeGyxWvrUl21wxrSR5tQf3NADmrCvRIC8wZO8eg3R0OaAcBYVZGiXxv5GJ2jHwUBjF_FsjejLSuBoXt0ekG5e2MEDFvpIaT6e9EMJg3t_izI27xiLBFENFnBCwX2Pz2gk_46ho/s320/a+candle.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">My room sometimes holds an electric charge, usually associated with stuff being flung about, but not very often and also not very aggressively.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">The pewter vase in the picture was once my book-end and stood fast for months next to my microwave. One, day, in front of our eyes, three of us of which one is a sceptic, the damn thing simply shifted briskly behind the microwave, leaving my books unsupported and they all fell to the side WHILE WE WATCHED.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">Now that, as I explained it away, being a believer who prefers to debunk the hell out of something before I call it 'supernatural', I figured could be the pressure from the books eventually pushing the vase away.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">However, three days ago something happened which could not be so easily discarded.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">The candle in the picture is impaled on a spike which is quite long. I haven't used it or lit it for weeks when one morning I was woken by a supreme crash next to my bed.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">This candle had fallen to the floor. No big.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">I figured it had splintered at the base and came off the spike and IF it were the singing ghost (I shall explain further down) she probably pushed it over, forcing it to crumble at the base and break free from the spike.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">However, on closer inspection I found that the base of the candle was completely un-frayed, intact with only a small solitary little hole where the spike fitted.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">Something lifted it off the spike and then threw it on the floor.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">Now, whatever is here has been dubbed "the singing ghost', because well...it sings.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">One night my kids and I were mimicking opera singers and after our resulting fits of laughter, I jokingly told the ghost to 'give us a tune'.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">It did.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">From the corner which you can see in the picture, right next to the vase, came an off-note humming which trickled itself over three or four tones!!! It was an old woman's voice, clearly not a strong singer at all, humming off the pitch.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">Astonished we fell silent after it stopped and stepped a few meters back from where she sang right next to us.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #d9d2e9;">I am a vocalist and I often record songs in this very room on my very expensive microphone. Sometimes, when I playback, I can hear another voice, which I do not hear while recording, singing with me in the worst harmony imaginable...but she knows enough about her vocal lack of prowess to sing only parts with me, and to keep her tone relatively low.</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">It still gives me the CREEPS, though, that a disembodied voice is singing with me!</span></b></span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-66657465167127315502013-04-28T23:55:00.001-07:002013-04-28T23:56:00.633-07:00HAIR-RAISING HORROR<br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: Calibri;">I am making another short film!!!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdl5JkCbxgvN5NrLubpKGZQdbiTE0MPSgw-8gMF8aQeUaC-L8QeUcR0KDRuBVhxwev1aDMnWRfcfhkH7ISyiNTXAWipFeJi9T1ClLD85VxeLrkYjA1JPtEWJXsQRlxEovdfagrTR-QB4LH/s1600/vreemd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdl5JkCbxgvN5NrLubpKGZQdbiTE0MPSgw-8gMF8aQeUaC-L8QeUcR0KDRuBVhxwev1aDMnWRfcfhkH7ISyiNTXAWipFeJi9T1ClLD85VxeLrkYjA1JPtEWJXsQRlxEovdfagrTR-QB4LH/s320/vreemd.jpg" width="164" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">It is called<strong> </strong></span><a href="http://igg.me/at/vreemdhorror/x/2937207"><strong><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">“VREEMD”.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></a></span></div>
<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">And yes, it is an unprecedented idea that I myself had never before seen in any film....and to top it all, it will be shot in my mother tongue, AFRIKAANS (with English subtitles)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Now, I need your help with this.....</span><br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: Calibri;">Would you mind sending out this link to friends you think would like to help us fund the making of this short film for this year’s annual South African Horrorfest? Tell them they can contribute as little as<strong> $5</strong> and we have about 30 days left to reach our goal. Every bit helps! So even if you just contribute $5, I will give you a personal THANK YOU on Facebook!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">It would be great if we can make this monster happen! And feel free to join us at the VREEMD page too….in fact, I insist ;-)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Facebook Page :<strong><em> </em></strong></span></span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/pages/Vreemd/151313845038265"><span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: Calibri;"><strong><em>https://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/pages/Vreemd/151313845038265</em></strong></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Funding site :<strong><em> </em></strong></span></span><a href="http://igg.me/at/vreemdhorror/x/2937207"><span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: Calibri;"><strong><em>http://igg.me/at/vreemdhorror/x/2937207</em></strong></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">The Indiegogo site has all the details, including the Youtube video of the pitch! Also, it has a synopsis of the film and believe me, more than two people were thoroughly surprized by the odd sort of horror I am writing for this one!</span><br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">Things are about to get HAIRY!!!!</span></em></strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-KoTrJ2VGYHdwICmK8uRCetaZllC8SZq6zUCV4hgzP2RtlNgorb_bbmDA_b4NJhGRrPX120YeohhWQ3RMUJA24VDUExSZVGV_cZ5WiUgchoLwzjl-z9XfUlUlTGyytlWei5qqW-eV189H/s1600/eye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-KoTrJ2VGYHdwICmK8uRCetaZllC8SZq6zUCV4hgzP2RtlNgorb_bbmDA_b4NJhGRrPX120YeohhWQ3RMUJA24VDUExSZVGV_cZ5WiUgchoLwzjl-z9XfUlUlTGyytlWei5qqW-eV189H/s320/eye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-4049627840908914672012-02-28T09:07:00.001-08:002012-02-28T09:22:41.118-08:00HOTEL HELL<div style="color: #f3f3f3;"><i><b><u><span><span style="background-color: black;"></span></span><span style="background-color: black;">THE SEAVIEW HOTEL, Port Elizabeth, South A</span><span style="background-color: black;">frica</span></u></b></i></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><i><b><u>2008</u></b></i></div><div style="background-color: black;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><b><u> </u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx3bKPgHoR_ZaZZsR9aBsTQLMGYtYpb4z3XaN959vK-x_7GU13EILTOMbsM0ZHhihrNRKB1EyeFWqvVY5h8LUuTWBV5yvxpc2eBVrJcRaGmBISkOogAq8MXtNMn1eUazTmQKg9efs6nlA/s1600/Seaview.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx3bKPgHoR_ZaZZsR9aBsTQLMGYtYpb4z3XaN959vK-x_7GU13EILTOMbsM0ZHhihrNRKB1EyeFWqvVY5h8LUuTWBV5yvxpc2eBVrJcRaGmBISkOogAq8MXtNMn1eUazTmQKg9efs6nlA/s320/Seaview.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">This is Seaview, Port Elizabeth. It is what I call "the home of the modest millionaires", because it is extremely expensive, obviously for it's location right on the sea, but the houses are not extravagant beyond reason. It is a place of a nice isolated community of locals and vacation homes of those who do not live here full time.</span></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>I have been coming here for many years, because of the isolation, and, being a rocky shore of wild tides, it is not the favorite haunt of surfers, bikini brats or the party crowd. You come here to be with Poseidon. You come here for serenity. You also would have come for great cheesecake and coffee, a few years ago!!</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>In the middle of a hillock stood a majestic hotel, much resembling the Stanley Hotel from THE SHINING.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>My mom gigged here with her band in the 60's and I grew up coming here to play on the rocks. One fine day in 2008, I threw my kids in the car to treat them to cheesecake, which we would always have on the hotels deck, overlooking the sea.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>When we arrived around the back, in the parking lot, however, I immediately knew something was seriously wrong.....</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL31uIT1mTIWdkBGaspKMPm3baT690QW1tYbLGwm3td9sl8TAa6z1besFsAvjMReLsCLRd6eNbCr4n4pMPtU0HjP4EwVSEWj8hpsQHDQn70DwYd_Fl3vMzyNlq-KHTH59VG939rzEUm4D5/s1600/Garden.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL31uIT1mTIWdkBGaspKMPm3baT690QW1tYbLGwm3td9sl8TAa6z1besFsAvjMReLsCLRd6eNbCr4n4pMPtU0HjP4EwVSEWj8hpsQHDQn70DwYd_Fl3vMzyNlq-KHTH59VG939rzEUm4D5/s320/Garden.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b> Needless to say, the condition of the once beautiful garden had my heart sinking to my feet. We kept driving slowly, as I hoped we were just subjected to a lazy maintenance manager's feats.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>But I was not so lucky.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFZ4ZsrFdb8qFQaRTcRpdNxLlQXNDMrAUXhhaUmWX2iuPXvbheH_2Z-k3PsxMwhzT5FwjZRHjRQ4O4ZFxqRPg_PO2XZ5gj7zAGo5Eh-taF5RaUxfy7oRjIjlXKtkmv53335kFd9r1qPPP/s1600/Exterior+1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFZ4ZsrFdb8qFQaRTcRpdNxLlQXNDMrAUXhhaUmWX2iuPXvbheH_2Z-k3PsxMwhzT5FwjZRHjRQ4O4ZFxqRPg_PO2XZ5gj7zAGo5Eh-taF5RaUxfy7oRjIjlXKtkmv53335kFd9r1qPPP/s320/Exterior+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b> I noticed the main entrance and the tubular bay window that used to mark it, was now utterly vandalised. We decided that this was so shocking, we drove all the way across the city back to my house to get the video camera, because this was unbelievable. Here we were, expecting to have cake and tea on the great deck of the "MINETTI HOTEL" (As my mom called it), and arrived to find a ghost hotel with only memories inside its windows.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>It was like a crew-less ghost ship, hovering in the place where it used to be a crown jewel, now nothing but a tarnished remnant of the gem it once was.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>Armed, second time round, with our video camera, we parked the car in a hidden nook of trees and quietly decided to explore the corpse of the Minetti. And we were not disappointed.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yRnfX8b2amVEbi1ejkqdM-GLk4aWIJKNRSq5sguieD-lLbbe79SGwR48paYXLNsrRv6q2qyvmrDfqXHqAnlFaySaEeDynXChOxhacbPTBAqsTwFzGyykmH-U9zzVB5pl_IcQj9xx27du/s1600/Reception.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yRnfX8b2amVEbi1ejkqdM-GLk4aWIJKNRSq5sguieD-lLbbe79SGwR48paYXLNsrRv6q2qyvmrDfqXHqAnlFaySaEeDynXChOxhacbPTBAqsTwFzGyykmH-U9zzVB5pl_IcQj9xx27du/s320/Reception.jpg" width="320" /></a>The Reception desk still looked as always, relatively inviting.....</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rJhxxprsAglYkNZqvZXX5V7KP83mITfEgfE1dFmKhIfnMNNhhpliT1bApHW_4nxuS0RlKeYw4so7a-nbukRIovjMq_YWeMobyBSiRqLFyZTJXVAjry8w55Uz_JumAotKRjqsy3keWT7E/s1600/Reception+mirror+urine.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rJhxxprsAglYkNZqvZXX5V7KP83mITfEgfE1dFmKhIfnMNNhhpliT1bApHW_4nxuS0RlKeYw4so7a-nbukRIovjMq_YWeMobyBSiRqLFyZTJXVAjry8w55Uz_JumAotKRjqsy3keWT7E/s320/Reception+mirror+urine.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b> The urine stains on the once beautiful, full wall mirrors, were no surprise....but it still infuriated me, that the vagrants have no fucking respect for true beauty from yesteryear.</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BQHYKDROaRuKJAtl95-MHj9FXvITAlKyPP63KRpR8EyNJO1MxCkgJnFfObtwQPF-IJ9bOqm4eIhFET1DMVESaouUn-dvxCJCEcWyVidVG7-wgfKsm6dCfXriBJ15e1DmGpLPzX79GGKA/s1600/Reception+mirror+writing.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BQHYKDROaRuKJAtl95-MHj9FXvITAlKyPP63KRpR8EyNJO1MxCkgJnFfObtwQPF-IJ9bOqm4eIhFET1DMVESaouUn-dvxCJCEcWyVidVG7-wgfKsm6dCfXriBJ15e1DmGpLPzX79GGKA/s320/Reception+mirror+writing.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>Of course, all kinds of lame shit had to be scribbled by the half-brained in-breds who put them there. Whatever is written on this mirror, does not even make sense in my language!</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>So we decided to brave the deeper bowels of the massive, sleeping titan I used to run the corridors of when my parents came for a drink. I could not believe the deafening silence that floated through this palace, raped and pillaged from her former brilliance of people and music and posh to-do's. The Shining really came to mind as we walked deeper into the hallways, because of the loneliness of the sound of the past being the only company....and the fact that I knew well how haunted this hotel was even in the days of its splendour.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3E-kpq1hjb-BQV7MZmzh6avXxAJCMpybV9fT6P9URZHvfzTbxv5oXFgcjkNBkctTmbH5C1WIk4xgB2xdb-TbLtyDIXYoTiqfW8jUVYpFYWoBeFuXPiPL2lQSYhB-Mq_qdf4j-P4pLsORN/s1600/2nd+floor+near+office+decrepit+hallway.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3E-kpq1hjb-BQV7MZmzh6avXxAJCMpybV9fT6P9URZHvfzTbxv5oXFgcjkNBkctTmbH5C1WIk4xgB2xdb-TbLtyDIXYoTiqfW8jUVYpFYWoBeFuXPiPL2lQSYhB-Mq_qdf4j-P4pLsORN/s320/2nd+floor+near+office+decrepit+hallway.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>The hallways I used to walk, where I could feel something rushing me off when I visited, had not lost it's sense of urgency, but now it was exacerbated by the destruction.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>It was as if the hotel was ow angry for being gutted this way and that the inhabitants of her realm were simply waiting for fresh meat. </b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGrL0riwlFDsWpWUQCSioOf-HxzqnurpqmHbpCP_Y8xmVTjAWXEHlEH4ETaArZQ9tGGEdbJ-tN0HTnRZKLJulFIEnsL_UcdAVUpJ1ibeMbVy2M8ZFmmfF2J0uOEeoTW7AzVMpHrWWSU_RP/s1600/Shattered+mirror+on+floor.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGrL0riwlFDsWpWUQCSioOf-HxzqnurpqmHbpCP_Y8xmVTjAWXEHlEH4ETaArZQ9tGGEdbJ-tN0HTnRZKLJulFIEnsL_UcdAVUpJ1ibeMbVy2M8ZFmmfF2J0uOEeoTW7AzVMpHrWWSU_RP/s320/Shattered+mirror+on+floor.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b> Broken mirrors lay everywhere and the ropes you see here, used to line the walls of the corridors to give it a stunning nautical look. The sea used to rush softly in the background of the teeming life in the rooms and hallways, whereas now, the ocean rushes furiously through the deathly silence of the building, the wind howling through the emptiness like a lonely soul begging for redemption.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKwhsJFU5bNmRnZKwQAxjkF3jET-kZXnIhU0DLl4ro_D9VPjWD7aTcD59UYfr5CizX3gClH2gYRBNf8lkqmznB0awxBf6-bTf2ZOkj4tnOZ1Y49jTTrNj-6E7WRYMYwLhJw4f0mUL7ZKk/s1600/Spiral+staircase+bathroom.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKwhsJFU5bNmRnZKwQAxjkF3jET-kZXnIhU0DLl4ro_D9VPjWD7aTcD59UYfr5CizX3gClH2gYRBNf8lkqmznB0awxBf6-bTf2ZOkj4tnOZ1Y49jTTrNj-6E7WRYMYwLhJw4f0mUL7ZKk/s320/Spiral+staircase+bathroom.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>The bathrooms in the rooms used to be filled with luxuries, in a very old world, oceanic feel.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>Now it was just shattered porcelain and waterless bath tubs.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>We continued exploring the places that the staff would never let us go to. On the third floor, the manager and some staff rooms were located, as well as the store rooms and cupboards full of towels and sheets and all the housekeeping stuff. But first we had to pass THE CORAL, the famous Seaview Hotel Bar.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSX0Xid5zcedi7M5t7u4bGijPdXpFYq24RkB4FN9dNKSn6w_hMk-Et97EAnNNu6EcAWt5peSrSfIAtXaIdDcynKRDJKbFdXvpgP-_4luuc8_XegXwP0q-armojyDuvTSvKwlwQS3pUAibE/s1600/The+Coral+deck.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSX0Xid5zcedi7M5t7u4bGijPdXpFYq24RkB4FN9dNKSn6w_hMk-Et97EAnNNu6EcAWt5peSrSfIAtXaIdDcynKRDJKbFdXvpgP-_4luuc8_XegXwP0q-armojyDuvTSvKwlwQS3pUAibE/s320/The+Coral+deck.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>As we walked towards the door of the bar, we heard a radio on somewhere. Obviously, being trespassers, we hid in a corner for a while, but the radio music did not come closer. But it was not outside, it was in the hotel!!! Okay, its a huge hotel. It could come from anywhere. Who said we were the only trespassers? The evidence of transient vagrants were everywhere. The radio music kept playing, crackling every now and then like an old AM Frequency would. I decided to follow the sound and see where it comes from.</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkTyPPJ1Tfb216f6t5pfEjHYcgS6ZwJpIkaGN-F9Xby0IzHawkgz5LHHbGASyikI-Br7BfR5ulq2l2zu_Ieorsph8BWvVdxfERSg28tQW7gCjUhfSMFxKCQmlWltG2VIopPv-n1_0MW6f/s1600/The+Coral+restaurant+&+bar.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkTyPPJ1Tfb216f6t5pfEjHYcgS6ZwJpIkaGN-F9Xby0IzHawkgz5LHHbGASyikI-Br7BfR5ulq2l2zu_Ieorsph8BWvVdxfERSg28tQW7gCjUhfSMFxKCQmlWltG2VIopPv-n1_0MW6f/s320/The+Coral+restaurant+&+bar.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><u> </u>The door to THE CORAL.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>The radio music, like old jazz, became louder the closer we came to this door. Me, Ivan and Nush looked at each other, squealing with terrified delight.....then Ivan said : "After you...."</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>And so we entered in a line.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>To our twisted delight, disbelief and paranormal getting-off...the radio continued playing right behind the bar ahead of us!!!</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPw_7dJDZocd_SS4-Qn134KYJPQkhun8-iysNjFFWECl2dtXzsTBENKn9R-JOcBO4wqFIjaeoUkT79BWE6f9w5gGBKgBc5GjKCJxfz2vFtEfFHn_sMp6IH_g6-Y6IMwemVFbx39zGUPXF/s1600/The+Coral+bar+empty.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPw_7dJDZocd_SS4-Qn134KYJPQkhun8-iysNjFFWECl2dtXzsTBENKn9R-JOcBO4wqFIjaeoUkT79BWE6f9w5gGBKgBc5GjKCJxfz2vFtEfFHn_sMp6IH_g6-Y6IMwemVFbx39zGUPXF/s320/The+Coral+bar+empty.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>To the right of this room is a small dining room where I had a Christmas lunch with the engineering company I worked for in 2005.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>I can not tell you how utterly eerie it was to walk into the room where we had a feast, and find nothing but solitude and damage.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>The jazz kept playing behind the bar, louder as we approached the sliding door that led out to the famous outside deck where we used to have tea in the fresh ocean breeze, even on stormy days, so that I could feel the wet sea spray on my face. </b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>My astonishment and paranormal wariness gave way slightly to a sad nostalgia as my eyes saw the testament of how even Rome could fall.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>As we came to the bar counter, the music ceased suddenly. Dead silence where there was just a blaring jazz fest going on! I turned to the kids, motioning that there is no radio anywhere. There was not even electricity! The kids pulled their faces in a sign of serious creeped-outness and they made for the door. I followed suit without invitation. I could almost picture a half rotten bar tender laughing behind my back....</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>And so we found the stairs up to the "off limits" parts of the hotel. Through long, and I mean LOOOOONGG corridors, we ventured to see what was hidden there. The rooms were severely damaged of course, but the view remained breathtaking.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKmqbYKXmYnLGHH-OvcnRj8BcIyL0N3KV51D6mBzESzWUaQ6NW9rVrW-o3q62EZlOV6kS4Rodektcu1q9mux4Cihyp3QvYT4BSEF9f5s7lla1zUhv60QlsjVwNEesM5C6g-quccK1VFnJ/s1600/View+from+guestroom+balcony+2nd+floor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKmqbYKXmYnLGHH-OvcnRj8BcIyL0N3KV51D6mBzESzWUaQ6NW9rVrW-o3q62EZlOV6kS4Rodektcu1q9mux4Cihyp3QvYT4BSEF9f5s7lla1zUhv60QlsjVwNEesM5C6g-quccK1VFnJ/s320/View+from+guestroom+balcony+2nd+floor.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>We each picked a place to investigate, but I told the kids not to leave the floor before we regroup. On the floor of the room I entered (above), I picked up a defiled Bible, scratched full of blasphemous symbols and some pages torn out. A knot formed in my stomach, because I knew well of these symbols. It was just then, that I felt someone behind me without question. It was more than one person, and I knew somehow that they were not my children sneaking up on me. The hair on my neck rose as I could clearly hear someone breathing behind me, but I tried to act like a skeptic and just called the kids to come and look at the view. I closed the Bible and dropped it on the floor, denying the Devil his lunch. Thank God.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnpPqGIEh6wK3FTkTRKEgXUoH-eAF-j-nNjyPkoB-CYzm-3WdwTi4BrCDM9U0r85HCREf9RK_eahjJc14Ru58674-nu-dcT1hZzsOwNAbw9BqMKJ-RvKrmLJ35gPSL5be9KWFcnPNTg5LA/s1600/Tower+room.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnpPqGIEh6wK3FTkTRKEgXUoH-eAF-j-nNjyPkoB-CYzm-3WdwTi4BrCDM9U0r85HCREf9RK_eahjJc14Ru58674-nu-dcT1hZzsOwNAbw9BqMKJ-RvKrmLJ35gPSL5be9KWFcnPNTg5LA/s320/Tower+room.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>This was the office of the manager, situated on the top floor. We used to call it "The Tower Room" because it was the only one facing the ocean that had this circular window.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>Looks at the breathtaking view!</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>I swear, if I was a billionaire I'd live in this room, along with my pet ghosts from the old days frequenting my haunt.....see what I did there? LOL!!!</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>Anywho....we decided to go to the ground floor so that I can show them where Grandma and her rock band, THE SKELETONS (how apt) used to play on Saturday nights.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEH-mHWdHJftPJSjAfwIQHnEzJL3QzMTbtFLZ7HvWAqt0eXl0akeOAC95tNAXkU2XbDsPA96j_IQ6JpcdEWcR8VCKrNCklcoSuBzYAJTCm6xNeLZEE3GpMVckOp8W_lVLvSqf2w_G6KI5/s1600/Ballroom+1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEH-mHWdHJftPJSjAfwIQHnEzJL3QzMTbtFLZ7HvWAqt0eXl0akeOAC95tNAXkU2XbDsPA96j_IQ6JpcdEWcR8VCKrNCklcoSuBzYAJTCm6xNeLZEE3GpMVckOp8W_lVLvSqf2w_G6KI5/s320/Ballroom+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>And so, dear friend, I led my cubs to THE BALLROOM....</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>It was as beautiful and vast as I recall, but again, the neglect just made me so sad. We danced on the open floor in a ring holding hands, like the Irish Faeries did....and it felt as if we were joined by the spirits of the dancers from the '50's who used to waltz and feast there. The floors creaked under our individual steps and a while later.... I felt an ice cold snake crawl up my spine. I looked about, and saw my kids were gone and I was alone in this massive hall.</b></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: black; clear: both; color: #b4a7d6; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-mCTiW7oFR8Wm_xLuZso_VVIIo-R0zm2zWZwHpToQPGred-d7XYoJyHEe5qgk0Fr4XmVx-GyyzWt_rhC9Qa60cvr6FiP7WmkJw1VlQ9CYHFP-MEKeBc6PCdK6lA-8Ed6X5wuVMOC1kXf/s1600/Ballroom+2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx-mCTiW7oFR8Wm_xLuZso_VVIIo-R0zm2zWZwHpToQPGred-d7XYoJyHEe5qgk0Fr4XmVx-GyyzWt_rhC9Qa60cvr6FiP7WmkJw1VlQ9CYHFP-MEKeBc6PCdK6lA-8Ed6X5wuVMOC1kXf/s320/Ballroom+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>I heard them discussing something nearby and found that they had discovered a trap door!!</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b>See left, there is a trap door in the floor among the mess. There used to be a corner bar for the dance parties and apparently this trapdoor is where they stored the alcohol.</b></div><div style="background-color: black; color: #b4a7d6;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #b4a7d6;"><div style="background-color: black;"><b>It was black as pitch in there in mid-daylight and I was almost thankful that I did not have a flash light. Sometimes NOT seeing is better. It was empty, though, and like Jack Sparrow, I wondered why the rum was gone :-)</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>After this we proceeded to the basement floor, where some staff had stayed when the place was "alive". The narrow little corridor led on into a dead end, though and we had to come back all the way to get to the back door, so to speak, a door "under" the hotel that comes out on the ocean side, down some old grass-eaten stairs and onto the rocks.</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>As we got right to the end of the corridor, we heard tables moving in the ballroom on the other side of the wall from which we just came. I went back up to see if there were vagrants or cops...but there was NOTHING. <i>Not a living soul.</i></b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>Still I heard right next to me, the shuffling of furniture in an empty ballroom!</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>My stomach churned and I hastened back to the children downstairs, who were shocked to tell me that something shifted in the farthest bedroom of the basement floor.</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>In all this discussion, we kept hearing tables moving. That was it. In broad daylight!</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>Our way out the back door, lucky as we were, happened to be past the ballroom, so we made a run for it!</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>As we ran past the ballroom, we heard an unholy crashing sound, two or three times, before we sprawled out the door in sheer paranormal panic.</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>It sounded as if a giant took two porcelain bath tubs in each hand and brought them down on the floor one by one as hard as he could, smashing it and the floor alike. </b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>As we scampered from the back door onto the back steps....we noticed that, inside the ballroom, it was deathly quiet!</b></div><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZgNtqm2k0X-MzU6jawgLIy-aUjPYSWEcZOqx4-fBIQwdP6V3n30ESxHdaBzGAIc_7K4TmC0-KlRTUiCqT3TaihpdPFrB5btEKsstqZ5l8-5mMIhvhDhHVMNHSb6R05kaxoJ3CuY43IM/s1600/Rock+stairway+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZgNtqm2k0X-MzU6jawgLIy-aUjPYSWEcZOqx4-fBIQwdP6V3n30ESxHdaBzGAIc_7K4TmC0-KlRTUiCqT3TaihpdPFrB5btEKsstqZ5l8-5mMIhvhDhHVMNHSb6R05kaxoJ3CuY43IM/s320/Rock+stairway+start.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red;">The Stairs outside leading to the rocks.</span></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: black;"><b>If you ever come to P.E., come to Seaview and see if the chills chase you as you look up at the decrepit splendour of the land-bound Titanic....<span style="background-color: black;">The Seaview Hotel :</span><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="background-color: black;"> "J</span>ewel of the Ocean"</span></b><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">. </span></div><div style="background-color: black;"><br />
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</div>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-67256523883181653522011-08-16T04:40:00.000-07:002011-08-16T04:55:08.401-07:00Voodoo imitating Life?<span style="color:#cccccc;">Now, as some of you know, I wrote a novel about Louisiana voodoo and creepy stuff in general. This might not be a huge ghost story, but I tell ya, it raised my hair somewhat. The coincidence was just too uncanny.
<br />
<br />
<br />We were shooting the book trailer on my mother's farmhouse porch the first day. Watch the trailer, so that you will know what the porch looks like....
<br /></span><iframe height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/I_5DMWupz0c" frameborder="0" width="425"></iframe>
<br /><span style="color:#cccccc;"></span>
<br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">As we wrapped the scene, we switched off the camera and my mom teased me about the Kudu heart in my hands and how it reeked, when suddenly, from nowhere, the bottle of sherry, that I drink from in the clip, flew off the table and smashed at my feet!!</span>
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<br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">We just looked at each other, then joked about the real voodoo spirits we lured drawing the Veve's (sigils) of the various Loa (spirits) on the walls for decor. Our words had not properly left our mouths when the vase that held the roses, jumped and smacked against the OPPOSITE side of the wall from where it was standing!!! There was no explanation! No wind could blow it over....and it had been standing still for over 12 hours without even toppling once.</span>
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<br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Of course my overly Christian mother started with her dooming warnings about my dance with "alternative" religions and how this proved that drawing Veve's indeed brought spirits out....as she so clearly told me why she does not watch Amityville or Poltergeist. </span>
<br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">"they come through the screen, Axy, " she always says. "they know we watch things about them, so they have power."</span>
<br /><span style="color:#cccccc;"></span>
<br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Well, maybe I should call a money god and prove her wrong ;-)
<br /></span>
<br />Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-83220105881453483052011-03-02T04:59:00.000-08:002011-03-02T05:53:31.890-08:00KILLER TRANSVESTITE : Eater of Children<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuTyC8jjjASzx_KuHEjNgeAhJcZ48ph06qONxCeFN8fvN3Tf6AUHNsGHMCJnjR5EIX0IVfDlIUNHeSN0vSu0cZNSZHwlnnAIrqnruOYXIUFklu8kKzbCUQFC2gt87xwHvC49JP2yYgpno/s1600/Antjie+Spooky+face.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuTyC8jjjASzx_KuHEjNgeAhJcZ48ph06qONxCeFN8fvN3Tf6AUHNsGHMCJnjR5EIX0IVfDlIUNHeSN0vSu0cZNSZHwlnnAIrqnruOYXIUFklu8kKzbCUQFC2gt87xwHvC49JP2yYgpno/s400/Antjie+Spooky+face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579467243926760034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">*No, this is NOT about Eddie Izzard in a horror film*</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><u style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Table Mountain, South Africa -- somewhere in 2010</u><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In my hellish time in Cape Town I often yearned for the outdoors and all there was in the form of outdoors where you were (mostly) left alone, was the famous (and overrated) Table Mountain.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One time I recalled my kids and I walking on one of the "highways", as we called it --- pathways that were more like driving roads where the Rangers could drive their cars. It was a particularly quiet time late on a week day, so we were alone as far as earshot and visuals were concerned.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Even in broad daylight, the twisting road that coiled and disappeared over raised parts of the terrain lay in sinister silence. For once the sun had taken a time-out, thank goodness and it beautified the colors of the foliage and the rocks. Through the vast rows of trees we could hear the call of birds every now and then, but it gave us the overall effect that those calls came from another dimension instead of the same forest we stood in.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It had a melancholy loneliness to it and as we came around one of those sunken bends all three of us saw someone in a bright red head cloth/ turban round some trees, disappearing behind them in a nano-second! We all went :" Did you see that??"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then my sadistic knowledge prompted me to recall and share with my children, the tale of the demon transvestite that lives in our folklore and I added: " That kids,......*scary face*......was Antjie Somers! OMG, let's just go. Let's just speed up!"</span><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhauklMqPfbF85cZhyUuuijXQj-6Qj9XdQ8zqc5EKNy8AB_3AtYOseD6pxGSJ-8Msbnc9o-4LNwvYUQyrvQt5uWSxbBsZ0oeQyA43Cw54WjHemSzjRGXmMU1WuflaudaSfZ5Rcil0hSg/s1600/Antjie+1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhauklMqPfbF85cZhyUuuijXQj-6Qj9XdQ8zqc5EKNy8AB_3AtYOseD6pxGSJ-8Msbnc9o-4LNwvYUQyrvQt5uWSxbBsZ0oeQyA43Cw54WjHemSzjRGXmMU1WuflaudaSfZ5Rcil0hSg/s400/Antjie+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579467235903458114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" >And among the kids' questions about my revelation and their alarmed rushing down the mountainside -- to my twisted delight --- I did in fact pass a few glances over my shoulder in secret, because I know the tales all too well. Did we in fact see ANTJIE SOMERS?<br /><br />It is one of South Africa's most famous ghost stories, but because the origin of the thing has such an insanely varied spectrum of locations and stories, I will just give you an overview of what he is supposedly.<br /><br />What we all agree on is that Antjie Somers is a supernatural cross-dresser who used to terrorize travelers and children alike. The old people of all races and cultures used to warn their children to be good or Antjie Somers would GET YOU!<br />This sprang from the legend that he was a ghoulish vagrant who could go invisible at will, who delighted in catching and eating children that would not listen to their parents and ultimately stray into the woods....kinda like a Little Red Riding Hood deal.<br /><br />It is said that it was a man who dressed up as an old lady with a head scarf and a dress, with a basket hooked over his arm and if you crossed his path he would kill you and stuff you in his basket.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4JLslQ0WacvUzKDYInfLRY-uzTPRuJK0EpW8I8jv9g_gEogl7-Z5rCSiKGd2i5mxSsyn2rAaAp65vQdkTOWa9sNqJMN853DOUrVivEeH4wyNZMhfOng_Up8thfZ670SoKMcuVgW4vkk/s1600/antjie+Hag+cropped.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4JLslQ0WacvUzKDYInfLRY-uzTPRuJK0EpW8I8jv9g_gEogl7-Z5rCSiKGd2i5mxSsyn2rAaAp65vQdkTOWa9sNqJMN853DOUrVivEeH4wyNZMhfOng_Up8thfZ670SoKMcuVgW4vkk/s400/antjie+Hag+cropped.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579467238308475890" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Two origins that I know of is that he used to be a Torturer/ Executioner for the Dutch colonials and when the British banned executions in the 1800's, the old boy had no livelyhood and ended up on his own noose! Now he walks on the slopes of Table Mountain looking for victims to feed his lustful greed for blood.<br /><br />Another tale tells of Andries Somers, a fisherman who killed a man in self-defence, but had to dress like an old lady to avoid being captured and he carried with him his belongings bundled on a stick. When he finally found a new home in a small town, he became the object of mockery because of his women's clothing, being renamed "Antjie" Somers and he apparently eventually packed up and walked off, leaving no footprints, never to be seen again.....unless you find yourself on a deserted road at night in the Paarl or Table Mountain.<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"> [[[Insert ghoulish laughter here]]]</span><br /><br />Somers also apparently comes from the fact that he only appears when it's Summer (See? Only demons like the South African summer!), but who knows who he REALLY is. The tales vary from historical, to spooky, to downright demonic in nature and there are just way too many versions of Antjie Somers.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One thing is clear though, he sure is a prominent spook, well-known for his diabolical powers and that should be enough to avoid deserted roads and hikes at night in the Western Cape, doncha think???</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiST3V-Ed5gX7n4aEpudJvDly3v0R0giQPNAvyiaGC4ZLhXS4WVqo4oqlN3aitB_ef597_lZYDJ9fESg2y-mGHmofWDslh1DoSTeBuatU6-hTVVAyHRvT7Ho0a2UcJApOCzz357KxRU2hg/s1600/The_Road_Home_by_AsylumWitch.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 378px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiST3V-Ed5gX7n4aEpudJvDly3v0R0giQPNAvyiaGC4ZLhXS4WVqo4oqlN3aitB_ef597_lZYDJ9fESg2y-mGHmofWDslh1DoSTeBuatU6-hTVVAyHRvT7Ho0a2UcJApOCzz357KxRU2hg/s400/The_Road_Home_by_AsylumWitch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579477441761593586" border="0" /></a>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-46289735957684161692011-02-21T05:57:00.000-08:002011-02-21T06:14:52.159-08:00A QUICKY DETOUR ;-)<span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">My beloved friend and fellow blogger, </span><a style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.brownbugz.blogspot.com/">Sonnia</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">, tagged me to do this and I tell ya, apart from waiting three days to get my son's cell phone for camera purposes, I found it exceedingly hard to re-verse myself in cursive script!!! And this is how I used to write on a daily basis!!! :-))</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">So, digressing from a SPOOKY post just this once, here is my handwritten post. Oh....ehh.....<span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">.BOO!!!</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">1. The name of your blog and the URL --- and then write "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."</span><br /></span><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8YP9TrEzCVAinaD6T-Hd6J0s9RWpmlwl3ve1AohVVzvCcTgFvX7lRRGpmYaNignDs4f_3FOtTFKFHnE8b3ljJkm4aaX04LWUdozOTU4q7zF4XOtcKW3qnlhkiAf7_l1DWaIF_Z7OAhk/s1600/Write6.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8YP9TrEzCVAinaD6T-Hd6J0s9RWpmlwl3ve1AohVVzvCcTgFvX7lRRGpmYaNignDs4f_3FOtTFKFHnE8b3ljJkm4aaX04LWUdozOTU4q7zF4XOtcKW3qnlhkiAf7_l1DWaIF_Z7OAhk/s400/Write6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576143446336567762" border="0" /></a></p><p style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">2. Your favorite quote</p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-k_CQpJsNri9_lPeQ2pgePeH_67iATz0QFymRbJrkApz9BsSizOwE_45bR79JCo7fhXQcbL-ItpGA13qIwvkOQloRdxp3sCNK5m3JBnuic0zGi5jbOUlQczudWCnSb7v1FI8ucYEjzcU/s1600/Write5.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-k_CQpJsNri9_lPeQ2pgePeH_67iATz0QFymRbJrkApz9BsSizOwE_45bR79JCo7fhXQcbL-ItpGA13qIwvkOQloRdxp3sCNK5m3JBnuic0zGi5jbOUlQczudWCnSb7v1FI8ucYEjzcU/s400/Write5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576143079844793954" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">3. Your favorite song</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAI45EW9M-D4Eyur3g0sa8opxtvohchC1DIirDlNLoiOr00wiFBUGk5-8uBqBN9rILPSmjtRDa13XhX8AKk9D0I_4TFc5qoVdsNfiM0ZtU0h6vx0kBsZP3dEVby5AzXXO23onqUmyvS4/s1600/Write4.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAI45EW9M-D4Eyur3g0sa8opxtvohchC1DIirDlNLoiOr00wiFBUGk5-8uBqBN9rILPSmjtRDa13XhX8AKk9D0I_4TFc5qoVdsNfiM0ZtU0h6vx0kBsZP3dEVby5AzXXO23onqUmyvS4/s400/Write4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576143079492456162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">4. Bands/ music you like</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7qh5lRhciSaL6hiMg3cmsRiElYv3WfaJLK6c2_tggN8gdplaVNgmYRHaenT-rWFAkI-kOyTOaiZLgHpHNSsh8kkHpuUH207BovZnssyen47Yjt1FwBFEHbefAmEDGqclwh6KCARYHNM/s1600/Write3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7qh5lRhciSaL6hiMg3cmsRiElYv3WfaJLK6c2_tggN8gdplaVNgmYRHaenT-rWFAkI-kOyTOaiZLgHpHNSsh8kkHpuUH207BovZnssyen47Yjt1FwBFEHbefAmEDGqclwh6KCARYHNM/s400/Write3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576143078167203762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">5. Anything else you want to say?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52X7ycXBf1DdZ0-xhTRIgmnGZxkj-i3jYOnb0I7t4sgxBeDT7F5EZmU2IIRjRCDDluxim55ng4U9ss1C6n6w3IZDjkSpDb6uNEykfqvT2jgb4zwTPG4FhFLkhru5lgKzdU2cneYmRW_k/s1600/Write2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 122px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52X7ycXBf1DdZ0-xhTRIgmnGZxkj-i3jYOnb0I7t4sgxBeDT7F5EZmU2IIRjRCDDluxim55ng4U9ss1C6n6w3IZDjkSpDb6uNEykfqvT2jgb4zwTPG4FhFLkhru5lgKzdU2cneYmRW_k/s400/Write2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576143076583527362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">6. Tag 3 other Bloggers</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzrKOxAO2OzmrVHPYZmi07fB12-Faa7GJXXuCSZ35sr3_w1AuL-MfWo7r9Nf2wrYsVBQValhSYX4HMqmmLKR03b5QoARQobPWkygJtuYfQQkAX3IBWrlctMH050FtX-mDNpxlAArxeps/s1600/Write1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 351px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzrKOxAO2OzmrVHPYZmi07fB12-Faa7GJXXuCSZ35sr3_w1AuL-MfWo7r9Nf2wrYsVBQValhSYX4HMqmmLKR03b5QoARQobPWkygJtuYfQQkAX3IBWrlctMH050FtX-mDNpxlAArxeps/s400/Write1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576143071985408402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">Whoah!! That took a lot of time and a lot of careful hand-working...hahahaha!</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">If I ever get a camera, I shall do more posts in handwriting -- I kinda enjoyed rekindling it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">Thanks Ladybug!!!</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-66026836154804547252011-02-11T07:12:00.000-08:002011-02-11T07:28:27.102-08:00INVISIBLE MOSHER<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPbp7uvSQtSKR8p942bHFbYfFK2sYWs6lRmgoXZ_d2GhI3ypCum8ZDoUCkS9eAZ5PLUPxXliaJOzlHTI9_2PLLON2DkQCFQC1zufbP22Gf0jJPHRA6lsTS-TG8VpayHDkmFz0fWmt7XU/s1600/climber.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPbp7uvSQtSKR8p942bHFbYfFK2sYWs6lRmgoXZ_d2GhI3ypCum8ZDoUCkS9eAZ5PLUPxXliaJOzlHTI9_2PLLON2DkQCFQC1zufbP22Gf0jJPHRA6lsTS-TG8VpayHDkmFz0fWmt7XU/s400/climber.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572454013662726050" border="0" /></a><br /><u><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">Elands River</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 255);">, Eastern Cape, South Africa -- February 2011</span></u><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">Quick one.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">Last week Nush went on camp with her school and after a particularly hairy misadventure in their cabin with, count 'em, FIVE tarantulas with an uncomfortable intelligence quotient, the girls decided to go and sit by the outside fire a few yards away from the cabins, even if they had to do so all night.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">The camp is situated in the Elands River Valley, known for its outdoors activities and lodges. The pathway from the cabins to the fire, was a winding path downward under the canopy of some low branch trees. Nush decided to go ahead because her roomy decided to hang around the other girls' cabins a bit longer.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">Through the dark she walked, still reeling from the arachnid shock (she is Arachnophobic in its highest degree) and enjoying the dark solitude of the quiet late night when she said she suddenly felt very ill, nauseous and looked about her, as she felt really uncomfortable in a mini-paranoia as she progressed down the path.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">When she reached the middle of the stretch of path, almost out of the canopy and into the open area of firelight, she claimed that something came from her right and knocked her off her feet!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">She saw nobody coming at her. Just felt a force, like a body, shoving her violently off the path!!</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">Ever been in a moshpit?</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">Similar.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">The experience startled her so that she told me she could not recall how she got to the fire so quickly. When she told the resident counselor by the fireside, he just laughed and nodded.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">Apparently it happens occasionally and it has become a source of great entertainment to those who know about it when they listen to spooked campers' stories about the invisible mosher in the outdoors who waits for anyone who elects to flee from the devil's eight leggeds in the cabin.</span><br /></span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-66193565789015430272011-02-02T06:32:00.000-08:002011-02-02T07:46:09.327-08:00PHANTOM OF THE OPERA<a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);" href="http://www.peoperahouse.co.za/"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Port Elizabeth Opera House, South Africa</u></span></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">Yes, the title line is a link to the website ;-)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;">This is one of the few remaining British buildings that had NOT been destroyed or renamed inappropriately by the "new" government and I am very thankful it is still standing, because it is the most beautiful little theatre, the oldest in Africa in fact, having being built in 1892.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5cp9BdLX0OCBn31XoGwmHBkWgSfuwzA4azDwvEvAIRAj6B6Y1DnINnAS085b2hM9TQuyr2eeA1bW4mTp6bla5JIbF6Ud3lc0RTsoOGvDv0kIKJdhg5kMgPpRG4C1nniRy0uOzN9Tzvg/s1600/opera+house_.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5cp9BdLX0OCBn31XoGwmHBkWgSfuwzA4azDwvEvAIRAj6B6Y1DnINnAS085b2hM9TQuyr2eeA1bW4mTp6bla5JIbF6Ud3lc0RTsoOGvDv0kIKJdhg5kMgPpRG4C1nniRy0uOzN9Tzvg/s400/opera+house_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569116666964097682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-style: italic;">Unfortunately I was unable to obtain any pictures of its fancy old world interior, but I have been inside for a production I went to see (in 2005, when I lived at a hotel a few yards away) and I must say, aside from the distinct ghost vibe in it, that of bygone patrons still having wine and standing amongst modern day guests, the interior does make one forget what era one lives in.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-style: italic;">The curtains and carpeting lies regally in dark maroon and the wall decorations are laid in gold, giving it a very royal feel. The furniture and design of the balustrades are truly old English, with heavy Rosewood furniture and velvet drapes, and engraved posts along the majestic corridors and stairs that go up to the gallery. Even the odor in the Opera House is delectably musty, reminiscent of a well-kept museum, because, well, that is what it is.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUq2NFo8deyjBmVHCgv4s5VPXAZLMiSpsC4gqQewea3qiGcQ5gI7Nenjf0H587N3vxJoBbmL6wgUfxPyc3bgsYVrUaeCEFrDBQZxCxOpYU32vfd-c87V2k7hJXuR9KZSVbhW6Ny66q7w/s1600/opera+house+now.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUq2NFo8deyjBmVHCgv4s5VPXAZLMiSpsC4gqQewea3qiGcQ5gI7Nenjf0H587N3vxJoBbmL6wgUfxPyc3bgsYVrUaeCEFrDBQZxCxOpYU32vfd-c87V2k7hJXuR9KZSVbhW6Ny66q7w/s400/opera+house+now.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569116669109800114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The top end of the road with the modern Opera House on the left. This pic must've been taken VERY EARLY, as this road in the city center is usually overcrowded with Nigerian drug dealers, vagrants and hookers that makes it one of the most dangerous places in the city.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Today's story comes from Nush's one school friend, Matt.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">He told us that he had gone to see a show there and was one of the first people to be seated up in the gallery. Matt had two friends with him who sat three seats in from the side isle and he seated himself two seats in, as not to be bothered by passing people selecting their seats.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">He sat for a while chatting to his friends when he noticed a gentleman come down from the back of the entrance and seat himself right next to Matt in the first seat.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7SIRCMwrfIntFYZnxCXYh0T_69-vwm_9wM_l459YtmkL8MIL90x2uC7mJdsbh743tIZ_kIn6aQ9oCQox8nlx3JIaY_hOETsUFaNg97vTq6ax36CRcqJ6e64AqZ5iHmjUMv6gNGxgtb0/s1600/old+man.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7SIRCMwrfIntFYZnxCXYh0T_69-vwm_9wM_l459YtmkL8MIL90x2uC7mJdsbh743tIZ_kIn6aQ9oCQox8nlx3JIaY_hOETsUFaNg97vTq6ax36CRcqJ6e64AqZ5iHmjUMv6gNGxgtb0/s400/old+man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569116676095541138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">The old man was approximately 70 years old, well dressed and had a newspaper which he proceeded to read after he sat down. Matt greeted the old boy and the man returned his gesture with a polite nod.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">And so they waited for the rest of the audience to fill the seats below on the ground floor when Matt passed a glance to the gentleman's newspaper, in which the old man seemed quite interested.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">To Matt's surprise, the newspaper was dated 6 July 1956!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">His body shivered at the oddity of it and he quickly turned to tell his friends of this in a most secretive whisper, of course.....but as he turned back and his friends peeked round, the old man had disappeared without a trace, never having walked out of the gallery area!</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">As they were seated toward the very front, they would have seen the man leave, because it took a bit of a walk to the exit and Matt only had his head turned for a second.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">I guess the old man still enjoyed a good show now and then and like many other specters one can clearly feel in the Port Elizabeth Opera House, he fancied a bit of entertainment before joining his gravemates in a toast to bygone days.</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-62596637115245450012011-01-31T07:33:00.000-08:002011-01-31T08:36:15.966-08:00ON THE ROCKS...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeMxxPyMQREyP3iSGLLEbdVD6lV8cQG1u7f-ihkazZXCi7PZyAe4ANdd-U6fiMN-IkW8jvWrJCzc4CnOeXxePWlk1gnfvuQ1BLDo0eEaWRR0pLHdy6E8C6lQk_7_rqzw-VrNjVTSN4yI/s1600/ghost+ship+with+sails.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 496px; height: 342px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeMxxPyMQREyP3iSGLLEbdVD6lV8cQG1u7f-ihkazZXCi7PZyAe4ANdd-U6fiMN-IkW8jvWrJCzc4CnOeXxePWlk1gnfvuQ1BLDo0eEaWRR0pLHdy6E8C6lQk_7_rqzw-VrNjVTSN4yI/s400/ghost+ship+with+sails.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568374045459881074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><u style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">Yellow Sands, East London, South Africa --- 2004</u></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">My mother told me once of something she had seen, that she experienced while looking for shells on the beach, that made her flesh crawl. I had put it out of my mind until her an I had recently had lunch at a restaurant with an ocean view and she recalled under her breath, the Ghost Ship she claims to have seen years ago and I finally asked her to recount.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">It was in 2004, when her and my father had just moved to East London, on the south-east coast of South Africa. They had not found a house yet and so they had to stay at a holiday resort near his work in the meantime.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">She is very fond of collecting sea shells, and therefore this is how she spent every day while my dad was at work. Yellow Sands, she said, was a retirement resort and the owners knew them, so they got a spot there. It was a private beach exclusively for the residents.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">One morning at approximately 9am, she was walking along the pristine beach that stretched out ahead of her, looking for shells as always. She said that the morning mist had not cleared yet and she thoroughly enjoyed the cool fog that only allowed her sight a few yards ahead. She knelt to pick up a shell and when she stood up, her blood turned to ice.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84KZZXZw11SQVL3z38mz8RRR9YTv-kVahCo2qKL1NEDXjC0L1t3U_kmqRLZCWT16HI3saklPHF7_QkkCYU1r3839xEeJoFQRHVsStLQy-dz4RxJDbcXwDJZXP4iQL3l6QaDu3ZG-ceRw/s1600/GHOST-SHIPS-62167.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 536px; height: 281px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84KZZXZw11SQVL3z38mz8RRR9YTv-kVahCo2qKL1NEDXjC0L1t3U_kmqRLZCWT16HI3saklPHF7_QkkCYU1r3839xEeJoFQRHVsStLQy-dz4RxJDbcXwDJZXP4iQL3l6QaDu3ZG-ceRw/s400/GHOST-SHIPS-62167.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568374057034605522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">Not more than 50 metres into the surf the mist revealed a ship, as high as her eyes could perceive it, about 5 stories, she guessed. At first she only thought it was scary for its size --maybe it was coming into the bay --- but then she realized that a ship of that size would not be able to be so close, if not running on the rocks nearby.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">Then something else startled her. Had it been a ship coming in, it would have MOVED!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">It lay in dead silence, not a stone's throw from the tide line at her feet, leviathan and sinister and reminiscent of a ship that would not have sailed after the turn of the century, for the giant ship in the mist here, was built of wood and rope! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">It had intricate engravings and signs of craftsman skills from a time before our century. She recalled that it boasted four masts with dirty gray sails that fell triangular from the yard arms....therefore being a Barque or a three-masted Schooner, both of which, if I am not mistaken, are from the 17th to the19th Century.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">And so she stood in awe, frozen in fear of the improbability and the sight of the massive wooden vessel trapped on the rocks hidden in the mist around her, and the relentless silence that the fog brought, as it does while it envelopes one in a shroud of a forgotten world that left no witnesses apathetic to its story.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">As she told me the story, I could see the hair on her arms stand erect and gooseflesh so taut, that it became contageous and I felt mine follow suit. Her eyes widened as one by one, we debunked the probabilities of it NOT being paranormal. </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">It was too big to be that close to the shore.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">It was wooden andfixed with tar.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">It was lying dead still.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">It was on the rocks that surfaced near the shoreline when the tide was low.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">All this convinced us that our debate for realism was running thin and we realized that it had to indeed have been a bona fide GHOST SHIP.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">I asked her if maybe it was a wreck that was rotting on the rocks....(yeah, and it has not rotten away in a million ebbs and flows since 18-what-the-fuck? Unlikely.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">Every doubt in my mind that it was spectral was cast out when she told me that she looked down on the sand, because it scared the crap out of her, and when she looked up, it had completely disappeared!!!! Like mist before the sun....which was exactly what revealed the geography of the beach to her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">The fog evaporated and the day was clear and there was no vessel trapped on the rocks, no ship in sight and only her tracks lay in the sand now, witness to her presence there that morning and no sign of the giant vessel that had visited Yellow Sands' rocks in the mid of morning in the plain light of day.</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-86401624299878522992011-01-28T11:13:00.000-08:002011-01-28T11:34:02.337-08:00LATE NIGHT BABY<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVakoxB7MoiJB5Oy0Qmm9CBd5e0Pq_ALDdjNQh1NnhsyjFNwkZPPr19ty4EsUPSUjJYsjdh85xNRCsverQASXa4HlARDGvBv1ExXZOBhXLTJyhDVEajutavZywI90P8nOcPIaqpDuENCc/s1600/poltergeist-movie.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 450px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVakoxB7MoiJB5Oy0Qmm9CBd5e0Pq_ALDdjNQh1NnhsyjFNwkZPPr19ty4EsUPSUjJYsjdh85xNRCsverQASXa4HlARDGvBv1ExXZOBhXLTJyhDVEajutavZywI90P8nOcPIaqpDuENCc/s400/poltergeist-movie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567321759986019650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">I sat in the dusky room, lit solely by the flashing blue light of the TV. </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"><br /><br />Nothing interesting was on, so I decided to read some documents on my computer. The screen was on the lowest illumination because it hurt my eyes when the rest of the room is dark. The words danced mockingly in front of me as I felt my energy drain and the fatigue caused me to momentarily doze off.....and awake more alert.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">All the different hues and flashes in blues, grays and purples had me in a trance of semi-sleep and the Sandman had definitely paid me a visit already. </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"><br /><br />In all this, a carnival of letters and punctuation, I suddenly heard a soft sigh. It came from no particular part of the room ---more from </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">everywhere</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"> in the room. </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"><br /><br />A sigh. Just a sigh. </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"><br />No distinct emotion or intention, just a....sighhhhh........</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"><br />I looked over the screen of my laptop and there he stood in the doorway.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uNzHwf9xO1uoMvw5iYV3wSRXu4QvLM1rRVdWCU5CxYGtkYeSSYHRfi72C4UK9_gdtqtZRkoFQ3qiR6ySUdu7lx7y736pHsq7yCdS6zSAxAnzTqkhkl0VJG09skKNXfUCdGF594wIGqQ/s1600/bOY.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 476px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uNzHwf9xO1uoMvw5iYV3wSRXu4QvLM1rRVdWCU5CxYGtkYeSSYHRfi72C4UK9_gdtqtZRkoFQ3qiR6ySUdu7lx7y736pHsq7yCdS6zSAxAnzTqkhkl0VJG09skKNXfUCdGF594wIGqQ/s400/bOY.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567320908216090994" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"><br />Not a day older than nine, dressed in old clothing from the 1920's or so, he stood looking me square in the face. </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">Well, I guess he was, because the little darling had absolutely no face! No face! </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"><br /><br />He just stood there and sighed with his faceless body and then I felt the numbness in my legs become unbearable. What I saw made my heart explode in my chest. Where his eyes were supposed to be, blood seeped from the luminescent skin and his sighing just escalated into full-on panting. Then his neck snapped hard and quickly to his left and he promptly disappeared.</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjVyflgJ81GKORy9DQtQBTVBpHpkY2N1WZcDXRrLE_29fHzt66XvkgfmQIG_WYjr1j98SaqhJ4WCFvsS7sGhR9QUbKmJwdhqRGX_D9cuRayZuX0g0YAq-OnZJt3kM5V6SzWeHp612B-pI/s1600/GHOST+BOY.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 440px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjVyflgJ81GKORy9DQtQBTVBpHpkY2N1WZcDXRrLE_29fHzt66XvkgfmQIG_WYjr1j98SaqhJ4WCFvsS7sGhR9QUbKmJwdhqRGX_D9cuRayZuX0g0YAq-OnZJt3kM5V6SzWeHp612B-pI/s400/GHOST+BOY.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567320069359600786" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">I still don't know if this was real or not, so that is why I'm up right now, typing in the ill-lit room of TV florescence and eerie computer shadows, ready to look up over the screen.......</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">right.......... about.............now............</span> </span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-21095434659580728692011-01-16T09:37:00.001-08:002011-01-16T09:39:38.484-08:00ACTUAL EXPERIENCE, PUT TO PROSE ;-)<h3 class="post-title"> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">NIGHT THINGS </span></h3> <div class="post-body"> <p> </p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6447/1708/1600/creature1.1.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 618px;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6447/1708/400/creature1.1.jpg" border="0" width="400" height="489" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">I open my eyes to an inexplicable impulse. The dark wraps itself around me like a cocoon and I feel the atmosphere stop. Just stop.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">It ceases to breathe around me and I feel its silent constriction take hold of my uncertain mind. It’s alive, you know. The dark lives. It moves and breathes and shape shifts all the time, but it usually leaves me alone. Not tonight. My ears start hissing. At first it’s very subtle, then it grows louder here in my mind, hissing like a thousand snakes in the house of the sun beetles. Hissssssss….</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">Where is the night? My eyes widen under the peer pressure of my sanity. I make them see reason, but they refuse me and show me the truth. The dark blankets my vision, like a solid entity. Now, I’m aware of it. It will not be denied. I stop trying to make sense of it and I just admit to myself – the Night Things are here.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">The silence is deafening now. All sound seems to be locked away from my room. The hissing progresses into a horrible feeling of helplessness in the back of my mind and I become aware of the tiny hairs on the back of my neck raising. More. More, it becomes more taught with every moment I spend in this nocturnal purgatory. Eventually it feels like an invisible hand pulls my skin so tight that I fear it will rip from my flesh. Tight, my skin pulls my hairs and I hear them, sucking the life from the darkness. The reverse reverb of the dying atmosphere glides in my ears and I know they will make themselves known to me soon.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">My body feels incredibly heavy, like dead weight, impossible to lift. All my muscles strike in rebellious weakness and I can not move. I can not move! Eyes wide, vision naught.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">The dark stands still in inanimate shock. The air is void of movement, too. I struggle to breathe as the entity lays it’s weight on top of me. Heavy. Heavier. Pressing harder by the second, it crawls over my entire body like an inevitable shadow, growing at dusk. Finally my whole body succumbs to it’s strength. Any resistance is futile, wasted. Like a black wall of death, it covers me, bringing with it, all the emotions in the rainbow of Hell.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">Tears won’t come. Vocals absent. I can not call for help, nor cry out my desperate panic. Still I see nothing there!</span><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6447/1708/1600/creatures.jpg"><img style="" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6447/1708/400/creatures.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">My ribs feel like snapping under the pressure of the invisible intruder and I can swear I hear laughter…a cackling of whispery delight, emanating from a myriad of imps, obviously surrounding my bed. The demonic choir play audience and feed on my fear. I make them strong. I hope for the aid of Angels, but they stand afar, allowing me this well deserved torment. My heart stops. My lungs implode and my skeleton breaks in defeat. I’m so alone, lonely. I’m frightened beyond comprehension and I stand alone, my soul for the taking. An open invitation. A fortress breached. I become possessed by every horrible emotion the Devil deals. Hope eludes me as they snicker all around me. They have become the night. Darkness possessed, infested by the devil’s minions.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">I feel sickly flattered. Flattered for their attention. They came all the way from the depths for me. For me.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">Innocently – unaware of it all - my room remains silent. Ignorance personified. The digital time, suspended in the dark, calls out in crimson that my hell has not progressed beyond its initial commencement! It is another illusion. Time and space is frozen to the Nightmare and his devil friends. Fiends. I can feel every single soulless imp, dancing in victory as I suffocate here under the Incubus.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">I wait. I allow. I submit. I yield. Let him have his way. Let him do whatever he is here to do. And he does.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">Then he lifts, very gradually. Lighter now, but far from gone, my body lifts with lungs filling, but still void of movement. Finally, I scream. I scream with all the screams of a lifetime, my throat raw with friction and I sit up at once, wondering what the slumberers in this house will think. But they don’t hear me. The final part of my scream dies in the new darkness. Audible once more.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">Still I am too terrified to move. I look around the room and it all looks the same, but something is different now. It is as if all the furniture saw and they know….</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">My paintings look at me with an ugly lifelikeness that makes me shiver and I’m sure they know too. I feel an overwhelming desire to switch on the television in a desperate attempt for company. Movement. Life.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">What will happen if I get up? Will I be challenged by the Night Things as soon as I start for that tiny button? It becomes my sole objective now. I need to get to the power button, no matter what. Or they will get me. This night they will take me. Pretending to be unafraid I stand up, my heart pounding, fed by adrenaline and my entire being pitched sharp for anything that should move, but my face remains expressionless. They must not know. My fear is my secret and so it must stay.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">The dark dances around me as I start my seemingly impossible feat. I accelerate towards the TV and I quietly beg my legs to hold me. They buckle and shiver with frailty, but I force them to work. As I move, I can feel that deformed dwarf pursue me and I make for the other side of the room. A tingle shoots up and down my back and through my legs, but I must not be kept from my target. I progress very slowly, for the fear runs thick in my blood, my ice cold blood. It feels as if something holds me back. Like walking uphill on a treadmill moving in the other direction. I seem to stay in one place, advancing in slow motion, but I push with all my effort and, as I hit that blessed button, I can almost feel their icy talons take hold of my hand, albeit too late for capture.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">The wonderful light of the tube paints the whole room blue and my relief is immeasurable. I feel the life return to my body and I wait happily for the screen to bring me visions of, well, anything really. I sit back down to relax and my eyes fall on the only channel available. To my dismay I realize it is EVIL DEAD, my all too recent experience mirrored on the screen by demonic zombies and animated corpses, attacking humans to the music of hellish sound effects and distorted voices from Hell itself.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">Quickly, my mind plays a game of pro’s and cons with itself and within a split second, I get up and switch it off.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-weight: bold;">Back in the stuffy blackness of the night, I return to bed and await once more, the Night Things.</span><br /><br /></span><em></em><span class="item-control blog-admin pid-835196322"></span></div> <p class="post-footer"> </p> <!-- End .post --> <!-- Begin #comments --> <!-- End #comments --> <!-- End main column --> <!-- Begin #profile-container --><!-- End #profile-container -->Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-71672582516681229422011-01-13T06:34:00.000-08:002011-01-13T06:44:42.524-08:00Eerie religion?<u style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Port Elizabeth, South Africa, last night</u><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">I had to share this, because it has a subtle paranormal feel.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Last night I prayed to the four Achangels....I'm a Pagan, we do things a tad differently. I felt like my prayer was a bit empty. As if I was not focused or as if I was not being heard.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Although I kept looking at the candle in front of me to see any unusual movement, the flame remained perfectly still.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">I lost a bit of faith, and asked the angels to prove to me that they were there, because I could not feel them. But still nothing happened and I eventually completed my ritual and blew out the candle. I went to put away my candle and incense and such, and when I rounded the kitchen counter (right next to where I cast my circle) I noticed something that sent chills up my spine!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">A napkin was standing upright on the counter!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">A TISSUE napkin, not a strong one made of fabric. It was folded in three, vertically, when I last saw it, folded up, if you will to be put away later.<br /><br />And here it stood on one of its sides, vertical, without falling!!!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">I felt my hair stand on end when I reached out to touch it, but nothing strange happened after that.<br /><br />I took the napkin and put it away in the drawer, smiling at this obvious revelation that physics as we know it is no match for the supernatural.</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-25271370460480171142011-01-12T10:05:00.000-08:002011-01-12T10:56:38.693-08:00CHANGE OF PLAN<span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-weight: bold;">While I established this blog for mostly my and my family's <span style="font-style: italic;">OWN</span> paranormal experiences, I have noticed that I have <span style="font-style: italic;">SEVEN FOLLOWERS</span> now and maybe I could vary my stories more widely. The title of the blog is in Afrikaans, so I thought to maybe include ghost stories from South Africa in general.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-weight: bold;">Did I mention I have 7 Followers??? LMAO!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-weight: bold;">Yes, I'm not used to being this popular, so I guess since I have not had any ghost hunting opportunities lately, my readers might get bored without a good juicy spook tale every week or so.....those of which I seem to have run out of for the time being.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-weight: bold;">So, a hearty, chilly welcome to my followers.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-weight: bold;">I shall tell you something from the country I reluctantly call home.......</span><br /><br /><u><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Kaapschehoop, Mpumalanga, South Africa</span></span></span></u><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I used to live in the Lowveld of the Mpumalanga Province and I always said that, if I have the misfortune of dying in South Africa, I would like to be buried on the mountain of </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Kaapschehoop, </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">a beautiful little village on top of a mountain crest just outside Nelspruit in the eastern part of S.A.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have you ever visited a place that feels like home immediately?</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A place where you could virtually hear the faeries giggle?</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kaapschehoop was mine.</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlW27MhX5vNqx_8c0-TxVJrSahFDoKkvLrnVeoonZG-krSdeIYpSaN4WkZfWgyS_Pi2Fn13Uc4ZVF5Z8-2oJHAlbKKS5C_4T1YoxebWyKHNC7ase113HieTTW_Kb8QxjCLMsenlfGtOM/s1600/Horses+in+the+mist.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlW27MhX5vNqx_8c0-TxVJrSahFDoKkvLrnVeoonZG-krSdeIYpSaN4WkZfWgyS_Pi2Fn13Uc4ZVF5Z8-2oJHAlbKKS5C_4T1YoxebWyKHNC7ase113HieTTW_Kb8QxjCLMsenlfGtOM/s400/Horses+in+the+mist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372528173676306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It is almost always cloudy, because of the altitude of the village and very much resembles Ireland when the mist is nigh and if you listen closely through the impenetrable white of the fog, you can hear the hoof falls of the phantom horses. I know. I actually heard it myself.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Right next to me, behind me, not a stone's throw away. Had it been real horses that close, I would have seen them. These horses are said to be the horses left by the British soldiers after the Anglo-Boer War, and still, the road signs warn of both the living wild horses, as well as the phantom ones :-)</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yC8sV5Wy5ZNCRJDuJ4gJK0xQq_oyOuiuKkgBA5deN5Snb-vIs2Ru6-Vj85W56rHW_B3lgJOoFAWxhClg3Vi5Ue7LZgPCPJogJwuH2oLthxoKRE0-xu4zNCwpZhjubfWgtgiFYVRq5dc/s1600/Horses+road.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yC8sV5Wy5ZNCRJDuJ4gJK0xQq_oyOuiuKkgBA5deN5Snb-vIs2Ru6-Vj85W56rHW_B3lgJOoFAWxhClg3Vi5Ue7LZgPCPJogJwuH2oLthxoKRE0-xu4zNCwpZhjubfWgtgiFYVRq5dc/s400/Horses+road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372530505408258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Kaapschehoop</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> used to be a tiny collection of houses where the gold prospectors of old settled. </span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7GxxFgH0bT_CLeKfxrgH4SWBptYss7lotnChnGOmtWFFc0LEolSuYF-8zQVN342QR21n7ynZCnh_4hns2_aNOL-K_CSDGi6M-ABWR0T8BHPTk9pJaHaCT30Rp61mfPXWvefNxaQOuU0/s1600/Mining_Commisioner%2527s_House_1884_Kaapsche_Hoop.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7GxxFgH0bT_CLeKfxrgH4SWBptYss7lotnChnGOmtWFFc0LEolSuYF-8zQVN342QR21n7ynZCnh_4hns2_aNOL-K_CSDGi6M-ABWR0T8BHPTk9pJaHaCT30Rp61mfPXWvefNxaQOuU0/s400/Mining_Commisioner%2527s_House_1884_Kaapsche_Hoop.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561373165416249538" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To this day, most of the little homes remain unchanged, and there is a distinct vibe about the place, as if you are merely a visitor to another time. It is now the settlement of B&B's and art galleries, and of course, my personal favorite, a little biker bar where the locals welcome you with open arms, a guitar jam and a beer.....(maybe it was because I drove a 1972 Ford Fairlane V8 and looked all cool )</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">In the 1950's, a mother and her child burned to death in what is now one of the pubs. It is said that you can hear the child calling hysterically for its mother in the dead of night.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Also, the laughter of children can be heard among the rocks outside where I used to hike.</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQC0ADDUpbyJcgCaIfB3x0fF-3Hck3T8K_olw-awWCYXFLTIUH8iGyfkjWeLA_ZCyBMonF7j2kMqQzKJT59oTQiE2R05clc896A3TxbnVOmyM1T5l1Xu2vPMdZaO8gw4F_0_rqLXkYQs/s1600/Kaapschehoop_LawretteMcFarlane_450.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQC0ADDUpbyJcgCaIfB3x0fF-3Hck3T8K_olw-awWCYXFLTIUH8iGyfkjWeLA_ZCyBMonF7j2kMqQzKJT59oTQiE2R05clc896A3TxbnVOmyM1T5l1Xu2vPMdZaO8gw4F_0_rqLXkYQs/s400/Kaapschehoop_LawretteMcFarlane_450.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372540675495554" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The graveyard looks like something straight out of a beautiful old ghost story.....about 200 years old, I often went to picnic there and reveled in the obvious presence of the curious spirits that would casually stroll through me at times.....it was both terrifying and absolutely magical.</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbiYUR6K4cq8ELNo5AFB3WLjwtnMRH1JUsAnBglt984GW-xZdChf1D8yEVgKIUJdJClPDGWdr_MA-QMS9CACa-x6iaU_WA6unAQ9w-2hdswOjJykHfR4TrdYrfKsvjYqhTe_nL7KFWp8/s1600/Kaapschehoop0035.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbiYUR6K4cq8ELNo5AFB3WLjwtnMRH1JUsAnBglt984GW-xZdChf1D8yEVgKIUJdJClPDGWdr_MA-QMS9CACa-x6iaU_WA6unAQ9w-2hdswOjJykHfR4TrdYrfKsvjYqhTe_nL7KFWp8/s400/Kaapschehoop0035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372535804021202" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And then of course, there was the horses.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You can hear their heavy hooves in broad daylight, sometimes a neigh a few yards off and upon investigation one would only find empty rows of trees.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">This is the ghostly town, still caught in history, rife with the vibrations of inhabitants who refuse to relinquish it to a new era.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And I absolutely LOVE IT.</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxdwk-GSewgGrlp-jlMD6PvVor2mF5v_ItSCnIYy0nUP-5mRHB4h71AkKjDpyz9Y4zmjEMbZTTF-zKbGm1l72h5xPzKB04VJnDdd7byffRAKdZIcV8FtOyFHf5D1esXlSWjaoGYSorltU/s1600/012_Old_Jail_Kaapschehoop.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxdwk-GSewgGrlp-jlMD6PvVor2mF5v_ItSCnIYy0nUP-5mRHB4h71AkKjDpyz9Y4zmjEMbZTTF-zKbGm1l72h5xPzKB04VJnDdd7byffRAKdZIcV8FtOyFHf5D1esXlSWjaoGYSorltU/s400/012_Old_Jail_Kaapschehoop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372526204241042" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">This was the jail back in the day.....</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Can you imagine the EVP's and apparitions one would get from this building if one were to stay over night? Aaahhh....one of my wet dreams.</span><br /><br /></span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-18406785995427448732010-10-17T09:04:00.000-07:002010-10-17T09:38:07.544-07:00ZAK BAGANS CLUB<span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Last night my son Ivan went to hang with his best friend, Lance, for a weekend of.....yes, you guessed it....PLAYING PS2 GAMES till they keel over.<br /><br />Now, Lance lives in a house that was built on the hill of Perridgevale, Port Elizabeth back in the 1940's. Lance's mom told me one night how the house came with a creepy cellar and when I told her the corridor creeps me out, she told me its because there is a frail, but relatively pissed old lady in black who haunts the corridor. She stands in front of Lance's room, wringing her hands nervously.<br /><br />But apparently she had been like a guardian to Lance since he was a baby. His mom told me that when he was a fresh melon, she once asked the ghost to cover him if his blanky fell off. This happened a lot. And one night she actually watched the blanket move up over the baby's shoulder, as if he was being covered!<br /><br />So my son told me that they were playing a game in Lance's room yesterday and Ivan suddenly became aware of a burning sensation on the back of his shoulder and neck, but thought nothing of it in the heat of TEKKEN 5. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">When they went outside for lunch at 12.00 midday, he felt it burning immensely and when Lance took a look, he counted the deep scratchmarks on Ivan's neck and shoulder!!!</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I thought he fabricated it when he came home, cause well, I don't always just believe teenagers.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">He told me he had just joined the </span><a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_Adventures#Zak_Bagans">Zak Bagans</a><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"> "scratched-by-ghosts-club", and I laughed it off.....</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Then he showed me!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">And we got a picture too!!!</span><br /><a style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJvaiCazzUSc5b1tbdW3scsdbQuBrwYti0TCjrUw2QMBvJjcVEkRbIj79Z9Zj2Z9n_XpcbnOrQ2JJlKfN5f7wMUqRcvNaUbnis0RAWEDkFPjUzipFAPey5PVQabsTuQW7bDRJC165H80/s1600/Unexplained+cuts.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJvaiCazzUSc5b1tbdW3scsdbQuBrwYti0TCjrUw2QMBvJjcVEkRbIj79Z9Zj2Z9n_XpcbnOrQ2JJlKfN5f7wMUqRcvNaUbnis0RAWEDkFPjUzipFAPey5PVQabsTuQW7bDRJC165H80/s400/Unexplained+cuts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529048883392446882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The two boys and Lance's dad were the only people in the house and Lance took this pic.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Either Lance's dad has small nails or this was Lance's guardian ghost, scratching Ivan for kicking his ass on the game! BWAHAHAHAHAAH!!!!</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-35610932990973189322010-09-14T03:26:00.000-07:002010-09-14T03:50:54.061-07:00The Whisper by the Door<u style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">KIRKWOOD, 2010</span></u><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">One night while my kids and I were still staying with my parents in the old farmhouse, my son and I encountered something very cool.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">The room, according to my daughter Nush, houses a female spirit that stares at her constantly. Nush can "see" and I can "feel", so together we usually have a great time in a haunted house :-)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Nush asked me to sleep in the same room with her many times because even when she tries to turn her back on the staring 20-something with the dark, unhappy eyes and the bop-hairstyle, the apparition re-appears in front of her no matter where she turns.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I myself may have seen her one night. I opened my eyes to an outline of a chubby woman standing right in front of the window. Then it faded.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Nush was away to visit her dad in Johannesburg for 2 weeks and Ivan and I slept in this room. One night Ivan was very restless. I'd wake up several times during the night from his tossing and turning on the other wooden bed that stood horisontally at the foot of my bed....in a T-shape.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Man, he kept rolling, tugging at the covers, sighing....but I was very tired from farmwork that day and was too tired to bitch.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">The following morning I woke up very early and sat up in bed only to notice that Ivan had NEVER SLEPT IN THIS BED that night!!!!!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I only realized that when I went to the living room and found him still sleeping on the couch with his blankets and pillow!!! Fuckin' hell!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">That is the background of the room I am talking about....</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">A few days later, Ivan and I chatted in the room. I was sitting on my bed with my laptop, writing a story and he had brought me coffee. As he left, almost at the door we both heard a loud whisper : </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">"HEY"<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I tought it was Ivan, until he turned around, walked back to me and said : <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Yes, Mommy?"<br /><br /></span></span>Astonished, I told him I had not said anything. He said neither did he!<br />For a moment we just stared at each other and then, as the chills set in, we started smiling.<br />Then Ivan ran out the room and made it clear that he needed some very strong coffee</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">....</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">and maybe some rum with it!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I still can't see the girl who lives in the room, but hey, at least the bitch SPOKE for once. LOL!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-38859843888595937452010-05-25T07:09:00.000-07:002010-05-25T07:32:40.317-07:00Big Knockers<span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">For the time being we are residing in a family's maid's quarters, a small room with a toilet, basin and shower.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">The one wall is part of the garage, so we have to go through the garage to enter the back door of the house. So we share a wall with the garage.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">So, when we want to get nto the house, we enter the garage through one door, and then its about a meter from another door which takes you into the house.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">The family has three dogs. Two little ones who are very chilled and a big bitch, similar to a Bull Mastiff, who has perpetual PMS and wants to eat anything that moves.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">She makes CUJO look like a lapdog.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Anyway, we have noticed a lot of noises coming from outside at night and assumed it was the dogs, until we realized the noises came from the garage at between 12.30 and 2am, every night. You could set your clock by it!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">The first two or three nights we noticed that there was knocking on the door that we use to enter the garage. We laughed it off as a creepy entertainment, but later we notced that the knocking happened every single night at the same time!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">A rapid cluster of about 7 knocks, like you would knock on someone's door. None of that 1-2-3 shit ghosts apparently do.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">This shook us a bit, because we were the only strangers in the back, so why would any of the family knock on the back door to go into the garage? </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Then I tried to debunk it as the dogs, maybe wagging their tails against their wooden boxes, making it sound like a knock. But the dogs do not have tails!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Also, when we heard it, we sped out the door of our room, where we can see the garage's door in plain sight, and its still shut with nobody, man or dog, there!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">The other night both my kids went into the garage on a dare, and watching too many GHOST ADVENTURES episodes, with their cell phones' voice recorders on.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Every ten minutes they'd come speeding into the room --- once because Luma (the Cujo Bitch) discovered they were outside, and the other times, because they actually captured some scary EVPs on their recorders.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">They left their phones in there and we went to collect them after 10 minutes.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">They picked up a female voice that cries softly, and taps on their phone speakers....like Morse Code. Nush claims that it sounded like someone picked up the phone an inch off the floor and dropped it again.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Remember, all this we did while the family were asleep inside the house at 2am.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Then the fun really started.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">I still wake up from the sound of the dogs bowls being dragged outside, but I actually stand in the doorway, looking at the bowls at the time and they are completely inanimate. Plus, the sound seems to come from inside the garage.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Aother thing I hear on the other side of our wall, aside from the knocking that starts it all off, is a lot of shuffling, as if the place is being rearranged and faintly you can hear people talking.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">I have sprinted out into the garage when this happens, and nobody is in there....and the door to the inside of the house is far from where the family is. You have to pass from a room, lobby and corridor before you get to the living room and kitchen, so it is definitely not the voices of the family in the house.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">When the lady gave us the room that first day, she remarked that one of her daughters occupied the room for a little while. Now she stays in the house. Gee, wonder why she does not sleep here anymore?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192); font-weight: bold;">Could it be the serenade of the Midnight Knockers? :-)</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-21020099190561654562010-02-22T11:27:00.000-08:002010-02-22T11:50:47.633-08:00THE FLEETING GREETING<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CNaGVzCBXom7ZR_FkTUE1uMGPYYSut-7wsNNxcFV_G2zkcksuHXkKiFg2MmhGVTfeaIMpBcYOaVu5d5eBux-o77l_YisHQ8N7LvpMzijuUI7P0g2e55olpPo9tAzsKBLaFKJYgYrx0Y/s1600-h/Location.jpeg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CNaGVzCBXom7ZR_FkTUE1uMGPYYSut-7wsNNxcFV_G2zkcksuHXkKiFg2MmhGVTfeaIMpBcYOaVu5d5eBux-o77l_YisHQ8N7LvpMzijuUI7P0g2e55olpPo9tAzsKBLaFKJYgYrx0Y/s320/Location.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441152668639303778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><u style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-style: italic;">Brackenfell, Cape Town, last night,</u><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Nush slept over at a friend's house last night and when she came back today, she didn't even greet me.....she opened the front door and the first thing she told me was to sit down cause she HAD to tell me this.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">At about 30 past midnight last night, the two girls got the munchies and proceeded downstairs to the kitchen. While they were looking for snacks, Nush told her friend she is just going upstairs to blow her nose. She has a bad cold.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">See bathroom above.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Nush came up the stairs to the bathroom and as she was about to enter, she heard two distinct knocks on the bathroom door!!! She thought someone was behind the door, so she went in anyway, but as she shut the door, she realized that there was nobody in the bathroom.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">She quickly exited the door, closed it behind her. As she did so, her friend's bedroom door shut and the door handle was pressed down to click it shut!!! </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Just before it clicked shut, she heard a faint disembodied whisper clearly say :</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">"Goodbye"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">She flew downstairs like a rocket, needless to say, shared the story with her friend, who then refused to sleep in her own bedroom.</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-49602148384045919282010-02-18T11:20:00.000-08:002010-02-18T13:15:33.696-08:00PISSING PARTNER<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAC-I312eHgAWvQSEctUF8AkyiBMDbEaewLu0_1C4BxfAtIjebfS0bMmiHkaW8geS-eT2UGkgxw4t0toS-sVRA6zrizGjwB3-pp9XnqxHpFVPDl9tBTRD6OofTxXl0wlaMWbFc6byNNbY/s1600-h/Courtyard.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAC-I312eHgAWvQSEctUF8AkyiBMDbEaewLu0_1C4BxfAtIjebfS0bMmiHkaW8geS-eT2UGkgxw4t0toS-sVRA6zrizGjwB3-pp9XnqxHpFVPDl9tBTRD6OofTxXl0wlaMWbFc6byNNbY/s320/Courtyard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439694003308375586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><u style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Castle of Good Hope,2009</u><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">I have told this one before briefly, but it was my latest experience and such a wonderfully obvious haunting, it was awesome.</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">It was at the Good Hope Castle here in Cape Town when we went to see the historic wonder for the first time. In the center is a big courtyard and in one of its 5 corners was a tiny, dark little entrance wherein lie the restrooms.</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">I had a very serious pee and had to find the elusive toilets. I entered the dark doorway and realised that the toilets were not there. What there was, however, was a long-loooooong corridor of old stone from the 17th Century, winding ominously into the bowels of the old fort.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"><br /><br />Dark, not just the weak-lighting-dark of the mineshaft style lights lining the sides of it, but a darkness that drifted subliminally through it and whomever might be caught in its snaking maze.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The kids decided to "stand guard" at the entrance, as they always do when scared shitless in their cowardly way :-))</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I started down the corridor, around one corner, long straight in the soft yellow light that made the stone look orangy and it was as if I was back in 1669, because not a sound from the courtyard or the children at the entrance followed me.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVokJTER4G-9BkEvYO6n72o8Ncqiv6r87zz9JNww0ygO16-tTCHvpbgGlOzAK7NGuuh0KXqwqzw-z25wgmVkZ2vBV0xh6e3RJomqE09ybY0IOAL9jXY219ogTcDNvPYa6lUSxFzGURfvA/s1600-h/29-08-09_145809.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVokJTER4G-9BkEvYO6n72o8Ncqiv6r87zz9JNww0ygO16-tTCHvpbgGlOzAK7NGuuh0KXqwqzw-z25wgmVkZ2vBV0xh6e3RJomqE09ybY0IOAL9jXY219ogTcDNvPYa6lUSxFzGURfvA/s320/29-08-09_145809.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439693990457069922" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"><br /><br />All I heard eventually was the running overflow of the toilets and I was very happy that relief was in sight.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Take note, I was not in the least thinking about ghosts. At all. I was in wonder over the age of the building I was in and the way it was built, immune to weather and artillery alike.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I reached the end of the tunnel and it flanked to the mens, and ladies restrooms, respectively.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The only sound was the hypnotic water running continually.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I found four cubicles and picked the third, as they were all empty.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I wanted to make it quick because there were many tourists who were bound to find out where the toilets were and I hate the awkward feeling of coming out of a toilet and confronting an audience who I always imagine are thinking : "We know what you just did." LOL!!</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"><br /><br />And so I got to leaking and to my dismay, I heard one of the fuckers come into the cubicle next to me. I literally rolled my eyes at being discovered, and rushed to finish and leave before the chick next to me came out of her cubicle. I first wanted to call out to Nush, but realized that if it were her, she would have said HI. I heard the sound of urination and a hearty throat clearing. So I thought I'd not embarrass myself and kept my mouth shut.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I finished, flushed and briskly rushed out of my cubicle to wash my hands before she came out.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"><br /><br />As I got to the taps, I glanced in the mirror and noticed that the cubicle next to mine was EMPTY!!!!</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"> I swung round, thinking the reverse view might be confusing me, but all four stalls were empty. I was alone!</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I was more puzzled than anything, but as I left the restroom, quite swiftly, I realized that I had just shared a restroom with something supernatural and a tingle ran up my ass, prompting me to quicken pace.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZdKz7ddbLeYUSls97oBYqWWl7kmBD-9b2mqZrMqgYXJ9-tJYHNFsnsxNiXITaWtTpiHvdSqvLIX-BpSfLiGnMr2HHfLlCi-uRyNbqJcxW-5nBGm8tfv9uDTmPvnJhmJ8FLK6b6wTWmE/s1600-h/29-08-09_150029.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZdKz7ddbLeYUSls97oBYqWWl7kmBD-9b2mqZrMqgYXJ9-tJYHNFsnsxNiXITaWtTpiHvdSqvLIX-BpSfLiGnMr2HHfLlCi-uRyNbqJcxW-5nBGm8tfv9uDTmPvnJhmJ8FLK6b6wTWmE/s320/29-08-09_150029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439693999034388402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I ran-walked back down the corridor, making damn sure there is nobody else who may have been in there with me, but its a single file corridor that runs uninterrupted to the front entrance and I was alone in there. As I walked away I could hear a soft snickering behind me and I made it to the entrance in record time, hoping the kids were playing a trick on me.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">But how could they have?</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">They were in the doorway, chatting loudly so that I could hear them well into the corridor.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);"> I asked them who else came in or out and they replied that nobody had entered since I did!!!<br /><br /></span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">After I told them why I asked, I dragged them into the corridor with me and sure enough, when we got to the toilets, we distinctly heard a woman clearing her throat. We freaked out and made our way back out, now shamelessly running.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">According to the plaque there, the corridor was the oldest part of the fortress and was used to store weapons, gunpowder and artillery right after the fort was built in 1666.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Go figure.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I would love to be locked in there overnight with a camera. Maybe I should invite a few friends from Las Vegas ;-)</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-11787496547029141642010-02-10T05:43:00.000-08:002010-02-10T06:41:52.504-08:00My first house and its "other" inhabitant<u style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">Heidelberg (yes, <span style="font-style: italic;">again</span>), 1993</u><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">After I got knocked up and married to get my parents off my back, I rented a house in Heidelberg, where I had finished school a year before. I would love to have that little house NOW.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">It looked like a doll house on the outside, similar to the house I was staying in now, but on the inside it was HUGE!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The landlord was a friendly Afrikaner who owned an electrical store next to the house and when we had a look at the place (myself, my husband and my parents), my dad asked what kind of deposit we should pay, etc and the guy said something to the effect of how he knows newly weds need their money and such, and that he does not require a deposit. The house rent was ridiculously cheap, even for a low income person as myself (I was just out of school and at my first job), but I saw it as the old man wanting to help us out.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I loved that house. It had wooden floors, a stoep (porch) and three bedrooms with a kitchen full of beautiful dark brown wooden cupboards. The kitchen was massive. You actually </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">traveled </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">from one side to the other and it had a look-through in the wall. I don't know the proper word for it, but its like a diner window that you can pass food through to the next room?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">You know what I mean ;-)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I was 8.5 months pregnant at the time and commuted to Johannesburg daily, an hour's drive there and back. My parents literally FORCED my husband to work (he was a total deadbeat, which is one of the biggest reasons I dumped his ass that very next month) for a security company, because he had not graduated from High School and it was the only job he qualified for.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">So I'd leave for work at 6am and come back at 7pm, and my husband, Paul, would leave for his evening shift at 6pm and come back at 5am. So we hardly spent any time together in the house.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">One night he was out on duty again and it was raining hard. Now, I love rain and thunder. Baby, I am straight out of the Addams Family, so I love that kind of weather. It was still dusky and I sat on the porch with some tea, admiring the demonic wind and hammering rain. Bliss.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Until I had to go back in the house.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The town was known for power outages, as Gauteng province lies on the Highveld, which has severe electrical storms in the summer. (See why I'd love to have that house again?)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The power went out as I walked through the front door into the living room, which was the size of a soccer field!!! :-)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Waddling uncomfortably through the pitch dark of the living room, listening to my own footfalls, I felt a terrible feeling of alarm. As if there was someone in there with me, following me very very closely. I dared not turn around and now and then, the lightning would briefly illuminate the room and I prayed silently that it would not reveal anything that might make my heart stop.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I felt my way along the walls to my bedroom for a candle and hopefully some safety, and again almost prayed out loud that I would not touch someone against the wall. It felt like an eternity, getting to my bedroom door and just before I got there, I got what I refer to as the "Hellraiser" effect ---- my skin pulled so taut from gooseflesh, that it felt like I had hooks to my face, tugging back so hard that my skin would split!!! Something was trying to keep me from getting past the threshold and at once I felt like I was walking in one place and not getting any closer to my room. My heart was pounding and I felt warm tears well up in my eyes. Tears from sheer terror.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I felt distinctly how someone was breathing behind me and it took all my energy to get through my door, which I immediately closed behind me.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I ran to my bed and as my room did not have a key, I sat in the picth dark of my bedroom, occasionally seeing my shut door in the flashes of light from outside. I knew I had to watch the door, but I did not want to see.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">As I sat staring wide-eyed at my door, the fucking thing creaked open and stood ajar for a minute or so, revealing the vast blackness of the living room and I could feel my baby kicking in anguish as I shook from fear. Then it opened a bit more and I kept telling myself it was the stormy wind that came through under the kitchen door that caused it. Who knows.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I knew I had to shut it again, but I could not move. I was paralysed, wishing my parents would come check on me, alone here in the power failure, but no-one came. The air was filled with static, and not just the weather's. Whatever was behind that door, was malicious and I could feel it as clear as crystal. It was watching me and made no secret of it.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">On my way to the door, I sang out loud, and moved deliberately slowly, as not to let the thing know that I knew it was there. I acted like a true skeptic. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">My voice was drowned by the occasional snaps and crackles from thunder of epic porportions which had me screaming in starts ever now and then. You know when thunder sounds like Aramgeddon and suddenly cracks its demon whip right next to you? Those.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I got close to the door and noticed a milky figure born right in front of my face!! With every inch of power I could muster, I reached out and shut the door hard! Wham!! I could feel the energy through the door. It was PISSED!!! A hot, evil vibe seeped through to me and I jumped back, hiding behind my baby's crib, but I could not hide from the fear as I heard the angry, heavy footsteps pounding the wooden floors rhythmically into the living room. You know, I have had many many encounters, but this was one of m worst nights ever.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I sat crouched on the floor until my husband came home that morning and when I told him, he just laughed and said :"Oh good, I thought I was going crazy" !!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Sometimes in the kitchen, I would be convinced that Paul was standing in the living room, staring at me throught the window thingy and I would talk to him and then he'd come through the back door and I would realize I was talking to someone else.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">One night we sat alone watching TV. It was Paul's TV. An old type, with press-in knobs to switch on and off. You push the button in and it would swicth on --- and then push it in again and when it comes out, it switches off, right? We heard someone clearly walking from our bedroom, pass us and walk staright to the TV, switching it off!!!! We looked at each other in astonishment, but more amused than afraid. Paul got up and switched it on again. He sat down and true as nuts, it walked loudly past us again, and switched the TV off.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Now it was just plain funny. We laughed out loud, telling it that we wanna watch TV and we won't take any shit from anyone. Paul went and switched it on. Then he walked to our bedroom and got some isolation tape and taped the knobby thing IN, to stay ON. He had not even sat down yet, we heard the footsteps to the TV and we were like two kids waiting for someone to ignite our cherry bomb.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">"Click"...we scoffed....."click, click", but the knob would not come out, cause it was taped down. It was HILARIOUS!!! Paul laughed out loud, twirled round and flipped it the bird all over, wherever it may have been in the room. It was the funniest thing how we used good old school tape to thwart a haunting.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Sometimes it can be amusing if you can get past the fear.</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-64872816033006359582010-02-06T01:39:00.000-08:002010-02-06T02:17:26.083-08:00In Broad Daylight<b><u><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Heidelberg, Transvaal, 1989</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></u></b><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">I was 16. It was a Saturday afternoon at our 3 bedroom house in Heidelberg, near Johannesburg and I was in my room, as always, drawing. My Metallica was not too loud, as I needed to concentrate on what I was drawing and in the next room the rugby was starting.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">My parents were big rugby fans, like 95% of the country and it was apparently some big match semi-final or something, so the TV was loud in the living room. It was about 2pm on a sunny day and my curtains were wide open so I would have proper light for drawing. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">The sun rays fell in thick streaks over my mattresses (I did not have a bed. I was allowed to decorate my own room and I wanted to sleep on the floor) as the match wore on and I could hear my parents cheering in the next room. Occasionally my dad would scream profanities at the ref, which pretty much told me how the match was progressing.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">I switched off Metallica to catch a catnap, as the concentration on the drawing's detail was fatiguing me. I walked over to my cupboard to put away the drawing pad and suddenly felt like I had no energy in my entire body. The air in the room felt really heavy and I felt like I was moving under water. But I just thought I might be tired form drawing.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">I sat down on my "bed" and sorted my tape collection because I had tapes lying everywhere on my bed. I was still busy reading the names on the labels, when I could have sworn my bed shifted an inch. My whole body went ice cold with adrenaline and I tried really hard to put it out of my mind, but you know sometimes you are so scared that you can pretend to read labels all you like, but your brain keeps saying "There is a fucking ghost in here" :-))</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Again, the bed shifted and I heard the next kick-off in the living room. Then, the bed MOVED. It moved so powerfully, that I was almost thrown off and I clutch both sides of the mattress with my hands, my heart exploding in fear.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">With all this, all that was going through my mind was how I was being cheated in the rules of the supernatural....I kept thinking how unfair it was that this was happening in broad daylight and how impossible that is supposed to be!!! I knew my room was iffy at best, but this shit is only supposed to happen in the dark, man!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">My dad screamed at the referee again and my mom laughed heartily, as the bed propelled across the room with me on it, IN THE BRIGHT HAPPINESS OF THE SUNSHINE outside! I was terrified, and hearing my folks in the room right next to me, was just cruel. I tried to scream at the top of my lungs, but not even a whimper came out!!!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">My scalp was so taut from goosebumps, that I thought my face was gonna tear in two, the hair on my arms and legs stood on end as if an electric current went through me. Still I screamed in mute panic, trying to stay on the violently shifting bed which moved completely to the other side of the room.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">I was right next to the window where the bright sun light was and the irony still confounded me. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">My mom suddenly knocked loudly on the door and came in. The bed stopped shaking at once and there I sat, my eyes like saucers in my head, next to the window. She looked at me, quite unfazed at the obvious terror in my face and said : " Oh nice, you moved your bed. I always told you you need more fresh air in your room," pointing at the open window.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">I dared not tell her what really happened, because although she is a believer in the paranormal, she always blamed all the weird shit on my music.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">"Yes, its that devil music that you listen to" or "Its the metal that makes you hate your drunk father".......you know, eventually you don't bother anymore.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">I wonder what HER excuse was when the things that bump, bumped her! She is a Country Music fan.</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-19683611176359145882010-01-31T10:33:00.000-08:002010-02-01T09:31:06.123-08:00My first Poltergeist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.texasescapes.com/TexasHillCountryTowns/KingslandTexas/NewHayOldFarmHouse07ErnieWymer.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 410px; height: 308px;" src="http://www.texasescapes.com/TexasHillCountryTowns/KingslandTexas/NewHayOldFarmHouse07ErnieWymer.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">This is just a similar looking house and basic set-up of the house in the following story.</span><br /><br /><br /><u style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Bethal, Gauteng, South Africa, 1980</u><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I was 7 years old when we went to visit my uncle Jan and aunt Lizette on a smallholding in the old Transvaal (now called Gauteng) province. They had just moved there and I'll remember that weekend forever.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">It was an overcast day and when we arrived I could not even see the house. It was enshrouded in dense trees and I remember the atmosphere being dark. Like the house was in another dimension.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">It felt like time stood still there. The house was painted white and looked a bit run down, but inside it was vast and beautiful. It was virtually empty, because they had just moved from a regular sized 3 bedroom home and did not have nearly enough furniture to fill this huge house. Many of the rooms were empty which just made it feel more melancholy.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Maybe it was the overcast weather, but it seemed very dark in the house, even though a lot of rooms had massive windows with no curtains, so you'd expect a lot of light coming in. One of these rooms were at the very end of the house and resembled a ballroom of sorts. Either that, or it was an extremely large dining room. It had to base walls and the rest of it, were windows, like a giant bay window! The floors, you guessed it, were wooden and some of the furniture were very old, like a few wardrobes and side boards, that were already in the house when they moved in.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I overheard my aunt tell my mom that she hates the house and it scares the life out her, but they did not want to discuss it around me and sent me out to play. My dad and uncle were going out that night to go fishing, leaving the women home all night. There was a loud machine outside among the bushes next to the house and my uncle told me it was a generator, because they had no electricity. The immediate vicinity outside the house was ominously quiet --- no birds or crickets and such, just the horrid generator idling on and on. I stayed away from the various little out buildings, most of them filled with old farm tools and fire wood.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The men left at 8pm or so and it was getting dark, because it was summertime and the sun only set about that time.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">This was hands-down the most terrified I had EVER been in my life. And although not much happened to me that night, I wish I could describe the terrifying atmosphere of rage and despair in the house. It was like walking into a wall and you could almost hear the static in the air.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I remember being quite bored, as they just sat in the kitchen all night.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">In hindsight, I'd take the boredom over what was to come anytime!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">We took baths in shifts, with the other two "standing guard" right by the door. It was a creepy old bath. I dunno what the real name for it is, but it was a beautiful old free-standing bath tub, but I remember it being very cold, like a winter crispness in the bathroom. They put me to bed in a makeshift cot in the ballroom of all places. I remember looking at the black trees outside the windows and thinking there is only glass between me and whatever was hiding out there! But I dozed off later.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I woke up when the generator was turned off for the night, the silence deafening. At once I felt dreadfully alone and listened to my mom and aunt whispering far off in the house. I dared open my eyes and vaguely saw the lamp light of the paraffin lamps they lit, wandering down the corridor to their rooms.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">It was quiet. Dead quiet. So quiet that I could never sleep. It felt like time stood still. No stirring of anything.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Then I heard a door open and shut quite loudly and obviously.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">My mom scared the shit out of me, coming racing down the corridor in hysterics with her lamp, sweeping me up in her arms and running back to my aunt's room as if the devil was at her back. More than anything I remember the pounding of my heart that night. Even while nothing happened, my heart was racing.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">We all got into my aunt's bed together, and I recall the two women were adamant on keeping their lamps on all night. We settled to sleep, feeling as safe as we could. We were all together, in light, so there was a bit of comfort.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">My aunt's voice cut the silence like a knife : "It feels like someone is looking at me"</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I will never forget that. The words cut through my soul like an ice pick. I tried not to open my eyes as I got the sensation that someone was indeed looking at us and I was convinced that, if I opened my eyes, I would stare into the face of something evil. I opened my eyes slightly and all I saw was a calendar on the wall. The light in the room was yellow and in the mirror I saw my aunt get up briskly to shut the bedroom door off the corridor. My heart almost stopped as my 7 year old eyes caught sight of Lizette's shadow on the wall, distorted by the lamp's fire light, swiftly sliding along the old walls of the room like a witch intent.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">She closed the door and literally ran back to the bed.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">At once it felt like we were now fair game, as if we just made our presence known to whatever it was and it was on!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">And it </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">was </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">on!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I listened to Lizette and my mom whisper hysterically to each other and Lizette kept saying : "It's </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">him!!! </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">It's </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">him!!!!</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">"</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Apparently a farmer who owned the house shot himself when his crops failed a few years before.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Her high pitched hysterical whisper was hardly done when we heard a door slam so hard, as if it was coming off the hinges from the force!!!! They screamed next to me and I started crying.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The windows shuddered from the force of the door and my mom held me so tightly that her fingertips dug into my skin!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">We could hear heavy boots walk down the corridor, towards the room. I thought I was gonna die when it paused in front of our door, my heart exploding with every beat. Then it continued onward as I listened to my mom and aunt's terrified whimpers.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Then it was quiet for a bit and the women decided to stay awake and chat to relieve their nerves. It comforted me somewhat and I fell asleep. Much later I awoke with a piss like a racehorse......which had been the cause of much of my distress in supernatural situations throughout the years. Many more stories there. LOL!!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I found my mom and Lizette fast asleep and did not know what to do. I was relieved to hear some crickets outside while I was contemplating peeing in my pants :-)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Eventually I worked up the courage to wake my mom and break her the bad news.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">She was not angry or anything, but I could hear the fear in her voice when she said we should make it quick. We got up and as we neared the door, Lizette whispered :" No way I'm staying here alone" and grabbed her lamp.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Now, going down that corridor was something I will never forget. Just the feeling, the vibe. I had never been that scared since in my entire life! It felt as if Farmer John was following us with his half blown off head and a 12 gauge in his hands. There was that consistent tingling in my tummy as far as I walked. You know when you are so scared that you want to walk INSIDE your companions? You don't wanna be in front. You don't wanna be in the back. You don't wanna be in the middle. Hell, it could grab you from above, for all you knew. THAT is how I felt.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Our hair stood on end as far as we walked and when I finally got to pee, I already dreaded the walk back.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">We did a brisk run-walk back to the room and I tried not to see how pitch dark, matte black the corridor was and I tried not to think about what would happen if Lizette's little flame went out from our rush!!!!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">We cruised into the bedroom, slammed the door and jumped right back into bed. It was now 3am, I remember as my mom asked Lizette the time. Yeah, 3am......the </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">real </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">witching hour.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153);">Farmer John must've woken up from our minor disturbance. Once more the boots trod down the wooden floor towards the room where I would have slept!! The ballroom with its wardrobes. We held our breath in shivering silence as we listened tot he footfalls going up the corridor, into the ballroom and then we heard him opening the wardrobe doors and drawers, as if to look for something. He was frantically looking for something, slamming the drawers shut and slamming the doors. Then he came thundering down towards the kitchen and proceeded to slam the cupboards violently, and shattering glass, smashing the dishes all over the floor with such violence that my aunt for some reason grabbed her shotgun and pointed it at the door.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">It would not have helped, but I guess she was so spooked, she felt that she needed to protect us.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">The ruckus continued in the kitchen and then we heard the back door creak open and slam shut, as if to rip it out of its hinges. A loud gunshot shattered the air and echoed away, and it made us jump. My mom and I both looked at Lizette, cause for some ridiculous reason, we thought it may have been her shotgun.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">SILENCE.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">It was suddenly dead quiet.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Lizette sat with her shotgun, talking to my mom until the sun came up and I felt like my eyes were swollen and my entire body was exhausted. We went to the kitchen because we had to go and switch on the generator for some much deserved coffee. There was no evidence of any disturbance!!!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">There were no smashed plates, no open drawers, no broken glass and the door was still LOCKED!!!!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Lizette seemed completely unfazed by the phenomenon and unlocked the door to go out. When the men returned my mom told them of our nocturnal ordeal. My dad, a skeptic, laughed and mocked the "hysterical bitches" all day long, but my unle remained silent and just laughed along, but the look in his face told all who beheld it that he was very well aware of the night we had experienced.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Research and heresay:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Years later my mom called me all excited and told me that she met some people at a party who lived in Bethal for years. They apparently knew about that house from word of mouth. Family of theirs knew the people who stayed in the house and there were stories in town about how the farmer had stashed some money in a secret drawer and apparently his wife took it with when she left him after the crop failures.<br /><br />When he needed the money and frantically searched for it, and could not find it, he lost all hope and shot himself.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">I never went to Bethal again.</span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-42999018760692843882010-01-28T04:34:00.000-08:002010-01-28T05:37:51.488-08:00Angry soldiers?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgmLZt20vRBBb2LnyUrMV4rkyUzhOoiclcgcDvmsUEJNDyU4Zdbxi9OFLPp0yMI29Ycqd7RD1-E1Zv8NbpSTvnKsBVXjiK3nKWjodxOO-4XEFP3ecAY7LxgV1MC3_tZjGFwBYp5pCWNw/s1600-h/Farm+house.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgmLZt20vRBBb2LnyUrMV4rkyUzhOoiclcgcDvmsUEJNDyU4Zdbxi9OFLPp0yMI29Ycqd7RD1-E1Zv8NbpSTvnKsBVXjiK3nKWjodxOO-4XEFP3ecAY7LxgV1MC3_tZjGFwBYp5pCWNw/s400/Farm+house.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431782641451180402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><u style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Grahamstown rural, 2008</u><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">While we lived in P.E., my daughter went to visit a school friend and I was told her parents were "loaded" and had a farm near Grahamstown, where I usually have my films screened at the Arts Festival. So this is what she told me after she returned two days later, quite spooked and excited.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">It is a desolate farm, flat and empty with red soil, save for the dry bushes and thorn trees, typical of the Eastern Cape climate and plant life.<br /><br />Nush was told that the house is haunted, but she dismissed it as fun small talk....until she saw it.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">It was a typical old farm house, huge and cool with a stoep (porch) that goes all round the house. Inside the ceilings were high and intimidating in its majesty. The corridor ran high and long into the bathroom at the end. And this is where the girls had their first encounter that Saturday night.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /><br />Lizbe, Nush's friend, decided to take a bath and asked Nush to keep her company. Now, I raised my kids very privately. We never share baths or come in when someone is peeing or bathing and such, so she thought it odd that this chick did not mind her parking her ass on the toilet lid while she was taking a bath. But she kept her friend company, nonetheless.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /><br />Now we know why......</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The tub was filled and the tap closed. Lizbe stripped in the corner and Nush parked on the toilet. </span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">As Lizbe was about to get in the bath, both girls were astonished to see an invisible hand run strongly up and down through the water!!!! Like someone was testing the water.<br /><br />They bolted out of the bathroom and ran straight into the guestroom, which was apparently the worst thing they could have done, because it was the most haunted room.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">After composing themselves and trying to find some rational reason for the water disturbance, they each had a bottle of Coke and chilled out on Lizbe's bed. There were two single beds in the room, but they both sat on the one bed.<br /><br />As they were chatting, the bed started rattling a little, stopped, and then slowly began to slide. They thought....or shall I say HOPED....it was maybe a slant in the floor that made it slide under their weight, but then the bed violently shifted and ploughed into the other bed!!!! They squealed and sat dead still, as not to piss it off.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">All calmed down.<br /><br /> They started talking about what to do, as Lizbe's parents did not believe her before and they dreaded the night ahead. While they talked, Nush's Coke bottle flew off the dressing table and crashed against the opposite wall, sending the two girls screaming down the big corridor and they took refuge in the small TV room, where two lamps were shedding very welcoming light. </span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">They watched TV for a bit and every few minutes the room would turn icy cold. Every time the cold spots came, the TV screen would show static.<br /><br />They decided to try and brave THE ROOM again. </span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">As they left the TV room, both lamps died simultaneously!!! </span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Needless to day, the girls decided on an all-nighter.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Another blatantly creepy thing that happened earlier that evening:</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The girls were all over the farm with quad bikes. All afternoon.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">At dusk, they made a move to the house, as it was "not wise to be outside after dark".</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Lizbe knew the roads much better and sped ahead of Nush, leaving Nush pretty much alone on the ridge, at dark dusk.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Nush told me that she was driving really slow, because she could not see the road and ditches very well in the dark and did not want to speed on unknown terrain.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">She looked ahead to try and find Lizbe ahead of her, and then she saw a sight that made her blood run cold.</span><br /><br /> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">All around her, like an old camp site, she saw light grey shapes take form into what looked like soldiers from a forgotten era. Anushka did not know anything about Grahamstown's history at the time, so that is how I know she was serious. She saw soldiers take shape and walk around as if they are in a military camp, surrounding her completely.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The fear numbed her legs and she was unable to call out to Lizbe. At once, her adrenaline kicked in and she revved her quad bike into action, jolted out and sped down the black road she could hardly see.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">I did some research on the area around Grahamstown and lo and behold, there it was!!!</span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">This farm was part of a military post in the 1800's !!! Anushka was not impressed :-))</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"In 1812, the Colonial Office in Whitehall received a dispatch informing them that Graham had succeeded in his task by using “a proper degree of terror”. </span><p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The war of 1811-1812 was in fact a very nasty and bloody conflict, unlike the earlier skirmishes. Stockenstroom was killed and Graham was lucky to escape with his life.<br /></p><p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Before the action in which Stockenstroom died he and Graham were scouring the countryside and looking for a place where they could establish a military base.<br /></p><p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">They came across an overgrown and abandoned Boer farm called the Rietfontein which seemed to be a most ideal spot, and the military base began to grow. The tree which they sat under is now marked by a plinth in High Street. Cuyler named it in Graham’s honour and called it Grahamstown."</p>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-16909436969813994142010-01-23T08:43:00.000-08:002010-01-23T09:55:48.390-08:00My brush with African Black MagicThe wonderful thing about this event, was that we only realized that it was supernatural in nature after it was over. At the time, all I felt was awe and excitement, as I usually do when something unexplained happens to me. After re-running the chain of events in my head, fear hit me like a ton of "what-ifs"......<br /><br />It was Barberton, 1999.<br />I had been retrenched from my well-paying job in Pretoria and had to relocate, against my will as always, to my parents' house on a farm where my dad worked at a meat processing plant there.<br /><br />Barberton is a very old town in the province of Mpumalanga ("place where the sun rises"), the old Eastern Transvaal of old South Africa, situated in the north-east of the country and known for its incredible beauty. Mountains and forests stretch as far as the eye can see, and the area is known for forestry, mostly. The atmosphere reminds me a lot of what I imagine Santa Fe must be like, without the desert ---- motorcycle rallies are held throughout a myriad of small old miner towns that all have their own appeal of old world charm. A very laid back, faerie kinda place.<br /><br />Now I'm not big on research when it comes to things and places I know, so what I am about to tell you about the entity in question, is just what I heard from the local Black people throughout the years, and if you Google it, you might find something slightly different. I prefer to know what I hear from the peoples whose culture this thing belongs to. That's enough for me.<br /><br />On the farm were resident workers who lived up the ridge from where my parents' house was. Among them a matriarch called "Betty"......her "White" name. A forward, loud old Black woman who adored me and the kids and constantly stopped by to help us in the garden and such, but she was sometimes a bit of a nuisance and over-zealous and when my mom politely told her off, you could see her demeanor turn dark. Betty was known as a practitioner of "muti"....the dark version of New Orleans "hoodoo" and then some ;-)<br /><br />One night, my mom, dad, children, and a few friends were hanging out in the living room. It was about 8pm and as always, we were jamming on the guitar and they were drinking and chatting. Somewhere during the conversation, we heard an unbelievable noise in the ceiling. We all kept quiet and listened. It sounded like something big dragging itself along the length of the house. We were used to having cats and snakes in the ceiling so we weren't too alarmed. We figured it was a big cat and we continued our conversation.<br />The sound became much louder, as if to drown out our voices. It dragged so heavily in the roof now that we looked at each other in amazement, guessing amongst ourselves what thing THAT BIG could have gotten into the ceiling in the first place.<br /><br />Then it started dragging chains. At one point we actually thought whatever it was dragging would come cutting through the ceiling boards and fall on us. It now moved overhead, stunning us with its apparent size and weight. It was as if there was a horse up there, dragging a multitude of iron chains and spikes behind it. But no distinct footsteps, just the leviathan dragging sound, deafening us!!!<br /><br />My dad went to call King. King was a teenage boy from the settlement nearby and we always had him round to take bees nests out of the ceilings. He seemed to be immune to bee stings.....and to fear, at that! King crawled up into the ceiling for us and we could hear him walk from the entrance to where we were in the living room. All was silent. King's footsteps covered the whole length of the house and back and his muffled voice announced that there was absolutely nothing in the roof....not even cats. He was alarmed when we told him what the disturbance was, but I will not disclose it at this point.<br /><br />He left and the party continued. Chatting, laughing, sounds of the kitchen kettle.......and BANG!!!!!! It started again. Right above our heads, the clanging of the chains, almost slamming into the ceiling boards, as if the thing had grown angry. Like a fucking HORSE!!! I was just waiting for the ceiling to cave in on us. We decided to ignore it and my dad asked me to sing.<br /><br />Now here is the weird part:<br />You know how they say that music soothes the beast? I expect that's true, cause as soon as I'd start singing, the sound would die down and eventually cease. The moment the song is finished, the banging and dragging would become exceedingly violent, and we'd hear giant nails scratching at the roof, as if it was clawing its way through!!!<br /><br />I'd start a new song and it would die down again......quietly listening to my voice. Dead silence. Not a twitch while I sang. Even without the guitar I would sing and nothing was there. As soon as I'd stop the ruckus would continue. This went on until 10pm or so and it became an amusing experience for all of us. A kind of game.<br />"Lets see if he likes country music or hard rock ballads....this is a Poison ballad..." HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!<br /><br />Eventually it stopped and did not come back. It remained quiet and to this day we have not heard that again. Anywhere.<br />King told us he thinks its a Tokolosh......a demonic "baboon man" that is usually sent to kill victims of a Sangoma or black magic witch.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjP_QNWUDF3VUNEzXoSpjJnlm3EhaK1XBXSrpYxXnFb8TeKzDzHqPuKMC7ixcSjlZLgBifHuksOHRbW1bXuJfm5Bri4pTZbjd1_OPrAaDLgqk9hMNvEysFv9L4zIkrcfnPfOIPThMbfgY/s1600-h/Tokolosh.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjP_QNWUDF3VUNEzXoSpjJnlm3EhaK1XBXSrpYxXnFb8TeKzDzHqPuKMC7ixcSjlZLgBifHuksOHRbW1bXuJfm5Bri4pTZbjd1_OPrAaDLgqk9hMNvEysFv9L4zIkrcfnPfOIPThMbfgY/s400/Tokolosh.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429991612485105762" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Morne, one of the guys there and an old school friend of mine, affirmed this.<br />His father was a kind of exorcist, specifically dealing with Muti and African Black Magic. They once chased down a Tokolosh in a family's home and the father of the house cornered it in the shower, where it reached out and grabbed him, scorching its hand print into the man's arm....where it sits black in burned flesh to this day.<br /><br />Who knows what would have happened if we did not fight this thing with MY POWER?<br /><br />The Power of Melody!!! :-))Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7761195998019595051.post-41027147591316269222010-01-22T06:54:00.000-08:002010-01-22T06:59:50.333-08:00WELCOME FOOLISH MORTALS<span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I have been wanting to do this since last year, but never had the time or patience.<br />This is a blog for ghost stories I have heard and also a lot of things that had happened to me. Ghost hunting has always been one of my passions and now I feel I want to create another space I feel perfectly at home in ---- THE NETHERWORLD and its tales.<br /><br />From a very early age all kinds of spooky things have happened to me, and I want to share my creepy experiences with others who believe and those who just enjoy a good chilling tale.<br /><br />Take note: I don't want any shit from anyone here. You are welcome to comment, but I want everything in good fun and creepiness. This is not my attempt at proving anything and its certainly not a place for self-proclaimed scientists to come and spoil the fun for ghosty freakies.<br /><br />The next AND FIRST story I post will be the most chilling and strange thing that had happened to me in Barberton, South Africa, back in 1999.<br /><br />HAPPY HAUNTING!!!<br /><br /></span></span>Axehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08872532988118061144noreply@blogger.com8