Maybe We Should...

Work Place

I really seem to choose my work places well. My current job seems to be the most haunted of all. There has been many occasions when I had felt like I was being watched. I know where all the security cameras are and I know what all of them cover. It is most prevalent in the office building on the property. Even, some of the overnight workers have commented that they think I've been going on their floor and opening doors at odd hours. I sit in a little box for most of the night, no where near their cubicles.

My personal experiences are the ones that still creep me out.

I remember vividly one night while I was getting some trash bags in a dark hallway, I felt a very disinfectant chill come over me. One I had hoped to never feel again. I took the only choice I had. I ran before I could find out what it was.

On another night, I was check the theatres for any stragglers. I looked up into the upper section of seating and had to take a second look. I swear I saw someone seated in a seat near me. But, as I looked a second time the theatre was empty.


This is just a picture taken at work. Everyone I have spoken with who were there when this picture was taken claim it to be unaltered.

A Cold Chill

While I was on my mission, my companion and I were teaching a man with an affliction not recognized by modern medicine. He was possessed by a devil.

The first time I went to his house was one of the most interesting and frightening experiences of my life.

He invited us into his small house and sat us around a table with a single light above it lighting the room which was dark as night despite this was the height of summer. As we discussed the gospel with this man, he kept reiterating the fact he had a devil within in him. Then his head rolled back and his eye went to the back of his head. When he composed himself, it spoke. At that moment I learned what evil feels like. It was a chill emanating from my spine until it was to the pool of light the center of this room. From him came the deep and sickening voice of this devil for several minutes. After he was once again granted control of himself, he remembered nothing of what was said or done.

I hope to never have another such experience for as long as I live.

Wisps of Smoke

I've worked in many different places. From schools to construction sites I've worked. My first job cleaning in the elementary school near our house was more frightening than it should have been.

It was the first place I have ever felt such foreboding sense of being watched. Even when I knew, I KNEW, I was alone in a class room I felt some one watching me. I could never really get over that ominous feeling. There was more than once when I swore I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. I'd look and no one was there.

Once, from across the library I saw something that looked like a wisp of white smoke. As I watched it, it seemed to take form the from of a small child. Something seemed to be out of place. The air felt colder and my instincts told me to run. Knowing what the fight-or-flight response is , I kept walking with a slightly higher pace.

As I said, I've worked in many places, but that was the first with such a feeling.

On the Balcony

This tale still chills my bones.

While I was a district leader, my companion and I were walking home after a long day teaching and contacted, the usual things a missionary spends his time doing. Our path home took us by the building where the sisters live, and I glanced up to their balcony to see if they were home. I took a double take as I saw a older man standing on what should their balcony. On the second look the man was gone and I thought nothing of it.

A few days later, I got a panicked call from one of the sisters. She exclaimed that we needed to get over there as soon as possible. Confused, we got ready and went over to their apartment to see what was happening.

When we got there, the senior companion explained why she called.

"We were getting ready to go to bed when I looked over at my companion. She was standing in the doorway in a almost a trance. I said her name and she didn't respond. That was when I noticed she was floating. I touched her and she seemed to come to and ran to her bed and cover herself with a blanket crying.
"I asked her what was wrong and she told me she remember sitting on her bed when this old man came in and started yelling about how we didn't belong here. Then he went into the kitchen and bang on the pots and pans just make a lot of noise. Then he came back and started to hit me. That was when you touched me."

Understandable, I was concerned for my sisters' safety. how could something like this happen with only one person in the room witnessing it while the other was completely oblivious.

They asked us to bless their apartment for them. Without hesitation we agreed. As I said the prayer it felt like a wind was rushing through the heart of the apartment out the door. I never heard of any further incidences in that apartment.

At the Foot of My Bed

This is the first of a series of stories about supernatural events. They are true, possibly true and out right fiction. I would like any who read them to guess for themselves and place their guesses in the comments of the applicable tale. Here we go.

Several years ago I lived in the room above my parents garage. I distasteful room for many reasons. It was a sauna in the scorching summer months and a meat locker through the bitter winter. This room is large enough for my parents to lodge at least two of us at a time. Simply, it was the boys room and had the accompanying chaos to match.

In addition to being the Boys' room it was the most isolated room in the house. It had its own stairwell leading up to it separate from the rest of the house. I guess that must have been a great motivating factor for my parents to shovel us off to this room.

It was rare to be alone in this room simply due to the fact my brothers and I had no where else to go in the house. Ah, one of the biggest pains of a large family.

One night, it had to be night due to the lack of light coming in from the window, I was quickly getting something from the the far side of my bed. Since it was a quick errand, i chose not to turn on the light. As I retrieved whatever it was that I was after, I looked to see a dark figure standing at the foot of my bed. I called out to my brother thinking it had to be him. He responded from the stairwell.

Needless to say i ran from my dark room into the safety of the lit stairwell. That was the most frightening experience I ever had in that room and I sincerely hope it was the last time anyone has see such a thing their.

A Broken Bowl

The other day my bowl broke.

It was simple bowl. Black, deep with no ornate decoration or even a glossy finish to make it flashy or even eye catching in the slightest. It was utilitarian in purpose and design. I found it to be reminiscent of Asian tableware with it steeply sloping sides which was appealing to me in many ways.

The manner in which it broke was of spectacular display of folly or attempted acrobatics. It simply fell from atop a stack of things in my arms as I came home from school ready to go to bed and impatient to get everything put away. I had had a bad feeling all day concerning the fate of my bowl. Then the final moment came with the shattering of pottery on my driveway.

I know this seems to be of no great importance nor consequence, but one must understand the history behind any object to know its significance.

You see this was not a bowl I had purchased for myself. I had received it as a Christmas gift a couple of years earlier from my sister. She told me she had looked for a gift I would not want to return, so she gave me a mug, a bowl and food (an excellent gift for any man). Her goal was achieved.

Since then I have used this bowl many times to enjoy curry, cereal and ice cream. I was even annoyed to find my roommate using my bowl. I started to hand wash it and keep it sequestered away from the rest of the dishes, so it would remain for me.

As it fell, I saw the first and only meaningful gift from my sister shatter into oblivion. The prang of lost resonated in my heart. Dread filled me as I thought of how to inform her. Those of you who know her can guess how she reacted. Yeah, just like that.

I know I can go to the very same store and buy many more of the same kind of bowl of many different colors to match my mood or even color coordinate with my meal, but no other bowl would have the same meaning as MY BOWL.

Alas, I must live on knowing that this chapter of my life is now over. *SOB*