Family Ghost Stories... (a few of them)

     HAPPY   HALLOWEEN!!!

The following are a few TRUE freaky family stories told to me by my mother.  I have more, but here are just a few.  Many incidents such have these have been experienced by many members of my family, including myself.  Enjoy and have a safe and happy Halloween! 

A Knock From Beyond

Delia had a lot of things running through her mind. The last few years were not good ones. She had good days, and bad. Today proved to be a bad day, for she found herself in tears since early that morning. On days like these, she threw herself into her housework more than usual. She had finished washing the floors in the bathroom and the kitchen, dusted, did some gardening in the garden, and now she found herself washing dishes.

It was 9:30 am in the morning. She heard the man selling the morning bread, honking his van down the street. She had awakened earlier that morning and bought bread from his earlier rounds. She took the bread, into the kitchen, fried eggs for her and her mother, and made coffee. The marmelade that her daughter had loved so much was set on the table..left there more out of habit than anything else, near her chair--the empty chair.

From the window Delia noticed the flowers in the garden. It was approaching spring, and there were flowers blossoming already. A memory suddenly came to her; a vision of her little girl coming in with a bouquet of flowers. Her vision then ended aruptly with the slamming of the front door. Her grandson was visiting for the break at school. His small voice filled the quiet and dark little home. His voice echoed in the once silent walls...just like his mother's once did, so long ago...running in the kitchen with a bouquet of flowers.

Delia found herself talking to her daughter in the kitchen. Not talking out loud, but with her heart. Where are you now? Are things better where you are? As Delia put away the last of the dishes, she decided to sit at the table for a moment to dry her eyes. Her grandson hated to see her this way, and she did not want to make him upset.

It was then, in a brief moment of silence, she heard the sound of the door. It was the sound of the green garden back door that led into the kitchen from the garden. The door was used mostly by family...each with their own distinguishing greeting. Some people would give a "yooohoooo", or a "Senhora", or "a vizinha", and others had their own distinguishing knock. Her husband knocked 2 times, her son used the bell at the front door to announce his arrival, and just walk in. Her daughter however would always knock once...if no answer, she would knock again.

The door knocked once.

Silence. Delia could smell the fragrance of flowers. She heard the sound of her grandson's laughter in the other room.

The door knocked once more.

Delia found herself unable to move. The knocks stopped.

After a few minutes, thinking that she was hallucinating, Delia got off of the chair and opened the garden door to find no one. She walked around the front door, around the backyard, asked a neighbor if she had seen anyone at the house. No one.

While the tears did not stop that day, from that day forth, she never asked herself about her daughter's well being. This incident happened a few years after her daughter's death. Louisa had answered her mother's questions that day, that she was fine, and still there near her, in the garden, listening to her heart.                       

Footsteps from beyond...

Rosa was alone in the loft that night with her 7 children.  Some of the children had fallen ill, and they had finally gone to sleep.  She was having a restless night, and decided to recite her rosary as she tried to sleep.  As she was counting the beads on her rosary, she did what she often did at night--she thought of her husband.  Her husband past away a few years ago while working overseas in Africa.  He had left her alone with 7 children, and her loneliness and grief at times seemed unbearable.  On this night she called out to him, "Where are you now?!  I need you here!"   

After finishing with her prayers, she tucked her rosary beads under her pillow, she lay there silently among her children, listening to the crickets and the soft flow of the babbling of the stream down the country road that led to her home.  She listened intently, and soon heard footsteps.  The footsteps seemed to be coming from the stream, and walking up the road.

Rosa immediately became frightened.  Her husband would walk this path many times on his way home from working on the land.  Although there were others that lived close by, it was very unusual that anyone should be walking from that way so late in the evening. 

Rosa lay there silently, as she nervously listened to the footsteps coming up to the top of the road near her house.  It was then she recognized the footsteps as being very similar to her late husband's.  His work boots always made a distinctive sound when he walked, and whoever was near her home, now walking on the walk way, was wearing work boots.  It was now that Rosa realized how she had called out for him earlier while reciting her prayers.  Could it be her dead husband coming to her now?  Had he heard her call out to him?

The footsteps were now on the walkway in front of the house, and now at the front door.  Rosa trembled, and was now in tears.  She did not want to wake up the children, and she had remembered to lock the door that night.  Surely, whoever it was would not be coming inside.  Rosa was wrong.  The door creaked open effortlessly, and now the footsteps were going through the hallway, and into the kitchen, slowly approaching the stairs that went up to the loft.

The stairs creaked softly, as they slowly went up each step. Rosa looked around at her children, whom were all sleeping silently, oblivious to their mother's cries and anguish.  Rosa then put the covers over her head, and pleaded for her husband to go back to where he had came.  She was safe, and she knew he was always there with her.  She did not need to see him, although very much tempted, she was frightened.  She could feel a presence in the room; a loving warmth came over her.  Her trembling stopped, and her tears ceased, but she kept the covers over her head, as she listened to the footsteps retrieve back down the stairs, to the kitchen, through the hallway, to the cold night.  His footsteps echoed into the night, and melted into the soft sounds of the babbling stream.  The next morning, Rosa checked the door, and it was locked. 

 

TRICK OR TREAT THROUGH J-LAND

     

It's FRIDAY!!!  YAHOOOOO.....YIPPPEEE!!!!!   

I'm making my rounds and doing my trick or treating already...  I'm knocking on as many journals I can this weekend leaving treats... (comments)... 

It's going to be a busy weekend for me.  I have homecoming activites tonight... (My daughter is performing as a belly dancer and doing another dance routine at half time), I have grocery shopping, cleaning the house all weekend, doing a wedding registry with a friend who is getting hitched, a homecoming dance last minute preparations...last minute Halloween stuff....like making cupcakes..etc..etc...  My weekend is already gone!

Have fun, and be careful of  those loosely wrapped up candy comments....        

 

Assignment #83--Spooky Halloween Story

It was the night AFTER Halloween that freaked me. 

After a weekend of lying to my parents, I thought that God's wrath was going fall upon me.  I was with my friend, Denise, and we were driving a very twisty and windy highway back home from a weekend in San Francisco.  The rain was pouring down on us, and the car's tires skided quite a bit.  There was thunder, there was lightning, and Denise had just gotten her driver's license a few months previous.  Is that scary enough for you?  It was a shakey and swervy ride.  I remember putting on a brave face, but reciting the Hail Mary under my breath as we slowly skidded down the long highway.  I remember Linda Ronstadt's Blue Bayou was playing on the radio.  All I could think of however was that song "Riders On the Storm" by Jim Morrison (Doors).  "There's a killer on the road....."  Denise's knuckles on the steering wheel were white.  I honestly did not think we were going to make it home, and that I was going to be punished somehow or another.

When I was seventeen I agreed to go spend Halloween with my best friend, Denise.  We thought it would be fun to go up to San Francisco to look for Halloween costumes, and Denise had an uncle who lived close by who invited her and a friend (me) to spend the Halloween weekend at his house. Her uncle was going to throw a big Halloween party, and urged us to go and to come in costume.  I desperately wanted to go, but I knew there would be no chance in hell that my parents would let me go up to San Francisco and spend the night there; so I lied. 

 

Denise picked me up in her mother’s old BMW, and we took off to San Francisco.  I asked my mother if I could go to San Francisco for the day, and she wasn’t very happy about it, but I somehow convinced her to let me go.  Of course, I lied and I knew very well of the consequences involved, and that I would be in a whole lot of trouble later, but at the time, it seemed worth it to just be the rebel and spend the weekend in San Francisco.  I wanted to hang out with my friend Denise,and I wanted to go to this party. 

 

After hanging out at Denise’s uncle’s  gated condo duplex community in Walnut Creek (he must have had money, because this place was massive and quite trendy looking), we decided to go on BART and go shopping in downtown San Francisco.  We went to a few costume places, but didn’t buy anything, mostly we just went window-shopping, and it was great!  I had never been on a subway before, and never had the opportunity to actually walk around downtown San Francisco!  It was a taste of independence and freedom for me.  When we got back to the uncle’s condo, I decided to call my parents, and give them the news.  Of course, I lied again, and explained that my friend’s car had tire trouble, and that I wouldn’t be able to return until the following day, but I was completely okay, because we were going to stay at my friend’s uncle’s house, and we would leave the next day…  It is only now that I can fully appreciate how furious my parents must have been with me.  Of course, at the time, I could not understand why they were so upset, and I resented the fact that they didn’t trust me. 

 

Poor Denise had no idea what I had said, and did not know that I had to lie to come up withher.  I didn’t tell her mostly because I felt embarrassedthat my parents didn’t trust me, or feel I was old enough to spend a weekend with a friend.  For God sakes, throughout high school I never got in trouble, or hardly went on dates with boys, or ever caused them worry, and Denise was someone that I actually went with to her religious revivals for the Salvation Army!  In no means was my friend a party animal of any sort, and we didn’t smoke or drink…we were two goody too shoes.  How dare my mother question what and where I was going!!  I was 17, not 12!!

 

Denise’s uncle took us out to dinner to a hole in the wall Italian restaurant.  I remember eating my spaghetti, hearing my mother’s very disapproving voice in my head.  The spaghetti wasn’t that great, and I remember thinking that my mom’s spaghetti tasted a whole lot better.  I don't know if it was really the food I didn't like, or the guilt that was building in my stomach as I envisioned my mother fuming. 

 

After dinner, we got ready for the uncle’s Halloween party.  He gave me an old karate outfit for a costume.  I turned the shirt backwards, and wore it as a straight jacket, wore a lot of makeup, and teased my hair as high as I could muster.  I wanted to look like Pat Benatar from one of her album covers.  I don’t remember what Denise was, but I think she was dressed as a cat, I can’t remember for the life of me.  I only remember feeling VERY guilty, but at the same time, determined to have fun. 

 

Well, we went to the party, and right away we both felt out of place.  It was apparent that we were at a “singles” party, and we were the youngest ones there.  The men were checking out the women, and vice versa.  People were drinking, and of course my friend Denise was totally against that, so we decided to play on the elevators and walk around.  A younger guy who was also at the party befriended us, and we thought he was nice looking, but he seemed a little too interested in Denise.  He wanted to know if we wanted to join him at hisplace where we could go drinking and smoke some Mary Jane.  I knew what was coming, so I just sat there and let Denise do the talking. 

 

“Have you tried talking to Jesus?”  Denise asked. 

 

Well, after that question, I don’t remember exactly what he said, but let’s just say he left us rather quickly and disappeared in the night.  Denise and I, the cat and the psycho girl, returned to the party, and proceeded to play on the elevators and pretended to work out in the gym and racket ball facility at the condo. 

 

To make a long story short, WE DID survive that crazy night on the highway, and although I was yelled at when I finally got home, I could clearly see the relief on my parent's faces when they saw me at the door.  I was happy to be home too.  It was a terrifying night, and this goody too shoes was done with her weekend of freedom. 

Extra Credit:  "Monster Mash"-- Not my favo; the Beach Boys version is bearable tho..  I like the song "Witchy Woman"..(Eagles) 

Oh My Word!

I'm spreading the word around for my pal, Teeisme57:

Hey, everyone is looking for journal exposure or maybe would just like some fun. Let's do both!

Starting Friday night through Monday night visit as many J-land journals as you can, and leave a comment and a link to your journal as a treat. The more "houses" you visit the more trick or treaters you'll get.

Please call your entry "TRICK OR TREAT THOUGH J-LAND".  If you come to a journal that does not have this entry title, consider it a door you knocked on and no one answered! Decorate your journal for Halloween, perhaps a picture of your front door or whatever grabs your holiday spirit. Leave links to your journals where ever you can. Stop at the same journal only once!

Start 7pm Friday and end 9pm Monday...whatever your time zone. Report back here next week to let us know how many trick or treaters you had.

 

Witch Hat

When I was a little girl, I liked playing in my mother’s closet.  My mother had a large closet full of dresses and coats and shoes, but, I don’t exactly remember why I liked playing in there, other than the fact that I’m pretty sure it had to do a lot with my mother’s pill box hat collection that she kept on the very top shelf of her closet.  They were old hats that my mother wore when my older siblings were babies, and they were what she called her “Jackie O” hats.  I never saw her wear them, and I was fascinated by them.  I would often climb on chairs or stools just to try and reach for them.  Sometimes I would throw one of her fancy heels at one of them, and they would eventually fall down one by one from off the shelf.   I would put the hats on my head, put on my mother’s heels, and walk around the house in them until she noticed.  Of course, she would eventually notice the mess in the closet before she saw me come around the corner, and I was often scolded and told not to go in her closet again, but of course, it didn’t stop me from playing in her closets…

 

UNTIL ONE DAY….. 

 

On one particular day, when her closet doors were open, I looked high up in her closet and was surprised to see something I had never seen before.  Right next to her pink, feathered pill box hat, on the top shelf, was a pointed, black, Halloween witch hat!  Of course, it was obvious that the hat was made of paper, with orange and green fringes, and it looked a lot like the hat my sister wore that Halloween, and it couldn’t possibly belong to my mother, BUT the image of that hat in my mother’s closet haunted me for days, maybe even weeks. 

 

That is when I started having dreams that my mother was a witch.  Of course, the witch wasn’t my REAL mother; my mother was transformed to an evil witch when she put on the hat.  The only time she wore the hat was at night when she was busy in her sewing room, which happened to be upstairs, right next to my bedroom.  As I lay there in my twin bed, I would slowly pull the covers over my head, as I listened to the hum of the sewing machine in the next room.  The humming would keep me up late, but I would eventually fall asleep, and have another dream.  In the dream, my mother was now transformed to a witch, busily sewing away on her sewing machine of evil, as she made more and more black witch hats.  She would then jump on a broom and laugh as she flew through the windows of my room.  I would wake up from these dreams in the middle of the night, and run to the top of the stairs, where I would continually scream until I was rescued by my father and my REAL mother, who had since been transformed back to her normal pink feathered pill box hat self.  

 

After numerous dreams, I finally confided to my sister of what I had seen in our mother’s closet, and of course she ran off and told her that I thought she was a witch.  This did not sit well with my mother, but the witch hat was quickly removed from her closet and into the trash, and it wasn’t until then until the witch nightmares ended.

Bedtime Story Assignment

As I child, I fondly remember my mother reading to me from a Mother Goose book with her slight Portuguese accent.  However, most of the stories that were told to me and my siblings were not read from a book, but recited from my mother's own childhood stories. 

Most of these stories revolved around her family, and her many aunts and uncles (she had 13 of them) and many cousins.  She enjoyed telling me stories about one aunt in particular, "Tia Merquinhas", who apparently was very stubborn whom my parents felt I had a lot in common with.  Not only was she stubborn, but she was known to be sort of a rebel who often did things her way, not caring what other people thought of her.  (Okay, what is wrong with that?) When she got older, she hid her money and gold in her mattress and in the walls of her home fearing that she would one day be robbed by family members or thieves.  (Imagine the activity in that house after she died!).  The last time I saw Tia Merquinhas she barely could see very well, but she was a very strong and determined little old woman, who went about her business, taking her walks with her walking stick through the village with her dark heavy shawl.  Yes, she was a bit on the eccentric side, but it wasn't until I got older did I learn more of her very unfortunate, heartbroken life, and to this day I am not miffed at all being compared to this very strong willed woman.  (But that is another story in itself.)

Most of the stories  told to us as children were more like fables.  There was always an important lesson to be learned!  One of the stories that still is fresh on my mind is the story about the poor little girl my mother was friends with who never put on slippers after taking a bath.  She stepped upon the cold floor and immediately had a stroke which immediately left her paralyzed.  To my parent's dismay, I never wore my slippers after taking a bath, and they often felt they needed to remind me over and over again about this little girl's demise.  Another story that was told to me was the story of the little boy who always left the house with wet hair and no sweater.  He also had a stroke, and was left with a disfigured mouth marked by the cold weather.  I apparently still haven't learned my lessons, and I still leave the house with wet hair, no coat, and I often leave my shower/bath barefoot.  Dare I even mention that yearsago, I left the house for work with a towel still wrapped in my hair?  It wasn't until I noticed my young daughter's weird expression as she looked up at me, and finally felt the cold morning air, that I indeed FORGOT to take the towel out of my hair and comb it out. 

I am, however guilty of telling these stories to my own children; just because I can... 

My favorite story that was told to me was about the old man who wandered the streets carrying the large burlap bag over his shoulders, full of children that refused to sleep at night.  I remember jumping into my parent's bed with my older sister (when my father worked graveyard shifts), and snuggling close to my mother, giggling and chattering away refusing to sleep.  Suddenly, out of the darkness of the room, my mother, out of desperation would knock on the headboard.  Suddenly, we all became very quiet.  "Olha, o velho!"  my mother warned.  (Look, the old man is here!).  We all lay there, motionless, listening in silence hoping that the old man would go away and leave us in peace.  We lay there until we finally gave in to the silence and drifted to sleep, often to my mother singing "Ave, Ave Maria...." over and over again. 

Extra Credit:  Yes, I have done the old man technique story with my own children, and they now think it is very funny, and often pretend to be the old man.  I tried this the other night with my almost 2 year old, and although he probably doesn't understand, he worked like a charm. 

Coelha Rita

Guess what?  I got another email from my cousin (Coelho) this afternoon!  Here is his daughter, Rita in front of one of the fire engines in the Azores.  She is such a cute little bunny rabbit, isn't she?