The weather in central Oklahoma has been stormy lately, one series thunderous tempests after the other racing through and leaving paths of destruction. I awoke to a rainstorm this morning. By three, the weather was hot, muggy and sunny.
The combination didn’t last for long. Yet another storm front moved through the area, bringing with it high winds and golf ball-sized hail. It quickly passed, doing no damage in my neighborhood, but it postponed my afternoon walk.
A fragile mist hung in the air as I finally started up the road. Elevated humidity carried lingering odors with it, mostly in moist pockets settling in low spots. They reminded me of the months I had spent in the boonies of Vietnam, shielded from the elements by only a poncho liner and sheet of plastic. After living outdoors for so long, my senses became more acute. They stayed that way long after I returned to the States.
Once, Anne, Ray, Kathy and I were sitting outside by their pool. “It’s going to rain,” I said.
“I don’t know what you’re smoking, Pard, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky,” Ray said.
Within five minutes, gentle rain began soaking the cement around the pool causing Ray, Anne and Kathy to stare at me, wide-eyed.
“I could smell it coming,” I explained.
I wasn’t lying. My sense of smell was more acute than others. After living many years now in heated and air conditioned houses, that particular talent has disappeared. Still, as I plodded up the blacktop through my neighborhood, the odors carried by the mist—someone’s septic tank, the fetid smell of damp earth and grass, a dead animal—brought back memories.
It was almost dark as I rounded the last bend and started up the gentle hill to my house. Shadows cast by a darkened sky and surrounding trees formed eerie patterns on the damp and broken asphalt road. A tiny crescent moon and one bright star shined dimly through an open spot in the thick layer of clouds. It was a night perfect for wispy ghosts playing in shadowy mists. The thought crossed my mind as I shut the front door behind me.
Eric'sWeb
Showing posts with label ghost story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghost story. Show all posts
Monday, May 17, 2010
Friday, October 16, 2009
Veiled Reality
Conjure Man is a short story that appears in my book Murder Etouffee. Mama Mulate, a character reprised from my French Quarter murder mystery Big Easy, is the primary character. Mama is the quintessential embodiment of two cultures; she is a voodoo mambo, practicing the mysterious religion of Vodoun, but also holds a doctorate in English literature and teaches at Tulane University.
While well versed in spells, hexes and potions, Mama can see neither the past, nor the future. When a hapless couple hires her to help them learn the fate of their missing son, she takes them to a seer, an old black man named Zekiel that lives in a shack built on a high spot in the flood control area outside of New Orleans. Zekiel uses a crystal ball to “scry,” or see the future and the past.
Practitioners of the almost lost art of scrying don’t always use crystal balls. According to George Frederick Kunz, author of the book The Curious Lore of Precious Stones, says, “Mirrors, globules of lead, or quicksilver, polished steel, the surface of water and even pools of ink have been employed and have been found to insure quite as satisfactory results as the crystal ball.”
While Kunz is correct that seers can use any reflective media to achieve their results, many use the crystal ball, not just for its reflective properties, but also because of what lies inside the crystal. Unlike a sphere of glass, a transparent ball of polished quartz is not perfect. It contains vacuoles, fractures, veils and needles of other minerals that reflect and refract light. These very imperfections are what allow the experienced seer to tap into secrets of the past and the future.
Light and reflections are the means we use to experience reality when we see, but consider this: not everything we see reflects reality exactly. When we gaze into a mirror at our own reflection, we are not seeing ourselves as others see us. The right eye looking back at us is really our left eye. The way we perceive ourselves is only a mirrored reflection of reality.
Veils and imperfections in a crystal gazing ball reflect and refract light in such a way that they “reveal” a different dimension to the trained seer. Is it possible to see into the future or the past? My answer is yes.
While most of us cannot explain why we are able to receive wireless voices on our cell phones, there are people that can. It is just as plausible that seers can see into the past and the future, even if they cannot prove it to us, except for the secrets they reveal.
Gondwana
While well versed in spells, hexes and potions, Mama can see neither the past, nor the future. When a hapless couple hires her to help them learn the fate of their missing son, she takes them to a seer, an old black man named Zekiel that lives in a shack built on a high spot in the flood control area outside of New Orleans. Zekiel uses a crystal ball to “scry,” or see the future and the past.
Practitioners of the almost lost art of scrying don’t always use crystal balls. According to George Frederick Kunz, author of the book The Curious Lore of Precious Stones, says, “Mirrors, globules of lead, or quicksilver, polished steel, the surface of water and even pools of ink have been employed and have been found to insure quite as satisfactory results as the crystal ball.”
While Kunz is correct that seers can use any reflective media to achieve their results, many use the crystal ball, not just for its reflective properties, but also because of what lies inside the crystal. Unlike a sphere of glass, a transparent ball of polished quartz is not perfect. It contains vacuoles, fractures, veils and needles of other minerals that reflect and refract light. These very imperfections are what allow the experienced seer to tap into secrets of the past and the future.
Light and reflections are the means we use to experience reality when we see, but consider this: not everything we see reflects reality exactly. When we gaze into a mirror at our own reflection, we are not seeing ourselves as others see us. The right eye looking back at us is really our left eye. The way we perceive ourselves is only a mirrored reflection of reality.
Veils and imperfections in a crystal gazing ball reflect and refract light in such a way that they “reveal” a different dimension to the trained seer. Is it possible to see into the future or the past? My answer is yes.
While most of us cannot explain why we are able to receive wireless voices on our cell phones, there are people that can. It is just as plausible that seers can see into the past and the future, even if they cannot prove it to us, except for the secrets they reveal.
Gondwana
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
February Spirits
It is a windy beginning to the month here in Oklahoma. Except for the wind, the weather is fifty degrees and gorgeous. Marilyn and I went to Pearl's Graveside for their Cajun brunch. There was once a Pearl's Lakeside on the banks of Oklahoma City's Lake Hefner. This restaurant abuts a large graveyard, thus the spooky reference.
Marilyn and I usually sit at the bar and all the bartenders and wait staff know us. Some nights when the crowd is “dead,” spirits wander in from the nearby graveyard for a zombie, or bloody Mary, the pretty blonde bartender told us. She was not kidding!
The young bartender’s story got me thinking about the dating habits of spirits. Do they chase after other spirits and where do they go for happy hour? Hey, is there a happy hour in the beyond? I am working on a ghostly short story to help answer my questions on the subject. When I finish it, I will let you know.
Gondwana
Marilyn and I usually sit at the bar and all the bartenders and wait staff know us. Some nights when the crowd is “dead,” spirits wander in from the nearby graveyard for a zombie, or bloody Mary, the pretty blonde bartender told us. She was not kidding!
The young bartender’s story got me thinking about the dating habits of spirits. Do they chase after other spirits and where do they go for happy hour? Hey, is there a happy hour in the beyond? I am working on a ghostly short story to help answer my questions on the subject. When I finish it, I will let you know.
Gondwana
Friday, August 28, 2009
Marilyn's Story
Marilyn had fallen asleep in the back bedroom with the TV still on, the room illuminated by the picture tube when a noise aroused her later on that night. Looking in the mirror, she saw something black and flying through the room. Turning toward the window, she watched as it flew past the TV, and then out the closed window. She said that the incident didn’t scare her as much as it simply disturbed her, and she had trouble returning to sleep that night.
“That was weird,” Marilyn, unafraid of an evil spirit, thought to herself. We both believe there are spirits in this house (from where, neither of us are sure) but we both have no feeling that they are evil spirits. I have always felt safe in this house, somehow protected.
Perhaps the dark flying creature was but a friendly specter, checking on our well-being while we slept.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
“That was weird,” Marilyn, unafraid of an evil spirit, thought to herself. We both believe there are spirits in this house (from where, neither of us are sure) but we both have no feeling that they are evil spirits. I have always felt safe in this house, somehow protected.
Perhaps the dark flying creature was but a friendly specter, checking on our well-being while we slept.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Mystery of the Gurdon Lights
Gurdon is a little Arkansas town located about halfway between Texarkana and Little Rock, on Interstate 30. It’s known for three things, logging, the Gurdon Lights and as the place where the International Concatenated Order of Hoo-Hoo was conceived.
Marilyn grew up there and during a discussion about the place, she provided me with an answer to a mystery that has haunted southwest Arkansas for decades – the mystery of the Gurdon Lights.
The railroad runs through Gurdon and residents have reported seeing unexplainable lights on the railroad track for many years. Many people have seen the phenomena and reported it – too many sightings to easily be discounted. Some people think it is the ghostly lantern of a man that lost his head in a railroad accident.
Gurdon has twenty-five hundred residents, about sixty-five percent white and thirty-five percent black. Growing up, Marilyn’s mother Joy had a black assistant named Hattie and when Marilyn was only twelve Hattie conveyed this extraordinary story to her and her sisters.
The story is ghostly, and creepy, but it is plausible. It is a real mystery, and also perfect Halloween fare. I’ll reveal the true story of the Gurdon Lights to the world on that day.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
Marilyn grew up there and during a discussion about the place, she provided me with an answer to a mystery that has haunted southwest Arkansas for decades – the mystery of the Gurdon Lights.
The railroad runs through Gurdon and residents have reported seeing unexplainable lights on the railroad track for many years. Many people have seen the phenomena and reported it – too many sightings to easily be discounted. Some people think it is the ghostly lantern of a man that lost his head in a railroad accident.
Gurdon has twenty-five hundred residents, about sixty-five percent white and thirty-five percent black. Growing up, Marilyn’s mother Joy had a black assistant named Hattie and when Marilyn was only twelve Hattie conveyed this extraordinary story to her and her sisters.
The story is ghostly, and creepy, but it is plausible. It is a real mystery, and also perfect Halloween fare. I’ll reveal the true story of the Gurdon Lights to the world on that day.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Teenage Fantasies and Small Town Ghosts - conclusion
“Larry, where are you?” I called.
“In front of you,” he said in a whisper. “The light is coming from over that rise.”
The little country cemetery was well kept, grass trimmed around the tombs. Some of the headstones were large and ornate but most were old and crumbling, many no more than wooden crosses and rectangles of worn concrete. We had no flashlight but didn’t need one as there were few trees to block star light and bright glow of the full moon. A graveled path led up the hill toward the gleaming blue light.
Larry and I were in ROTC and both already experienced in night maneuvers. The ghostly light that continued to beam from the center of the cemetery apparently didn’t frighten my large companion and I was feeling more elated anticipation than fear. As we crested the slight rise we both saw the origin of the eerie light.
Larry halted in his tracks and held up his hand for me to stop. Moonlight was shining directly on a large piece of blue foil once used to wrap a flower pot. The light was reflecting off the foil and onto the polished marble surface of a headstone. The resultant glow shone like the beam of a spotlight, straight up into the sky.
The light wasn’t all we saw. In the darkness, just beyond the spot where the little hill began to drop in elevation, an almost indistinguishable shadowy figure came into view. It remained a moment in one spot before continuing slowly toward us, its amorphous shape wafting in the gentle summer breeze. Larry took a step forward to investigate but a shout from behind caused us both to turn and look.
“Larry, where are you?” It was Leeann. Worried about her brother, she had followed us. We watched as she picked her way up the little hill. Just as she reached us she froze in place, put her hand to her mouth and said, “Oh my God!”
A vivid flash of summer lightning accompanied Leeann’s exclamation followed quickly by a clap of thunder that seemed as if it were right on top of us. Leeann didn’t appear to notice. She was staring at a spot behind us, still grasping her open mouth with her left hand as she pointed straight ahead with her right. Need I add how wide her eyes had grown?
Another flash of lightning lit the sky as Larry and I turned to see what she was pointing at. A sudden summer rainstorm had moved quickly overhead, already covering the stars and moon with dark puffy clouds. As lightning dissipated only gloom remained, but not until Larry and I saw a shadowy nimbus floating up the hill toward us.
Before either of us could react Leeann grabbed me from behind and screamed at the top of her lungs, trying, it seemed to squeeze the breath out of me. As she did clouds began unloading with large heavy drops of warm precipitation that lasted for no more than a minute. Dark clouds passed with the rain, again revealing clear sky complete with stars and full moonlight. Whatever we thought we had witnessed had disappeared along with the momentary storm.
“Did you see it?” Leeann asked, her long arms still wrapped tightly around my chest.
“I saw something but don’t know what it was,” I answered.
Leeann gave me an incredulous look when Larry said, “It was just a low-lying cloud.”
“My ass!” Leeann said. “It was shaped like a man and it was coming up the hill after us. You saw it didn’t you Eric?”
“I saw something but I didn’t get a good look. We turned away just as you called to us.”
“Trust me, it was nothing but a cloud,” Larry said as he led us back to the Fairlane.
Leeann had already begun to disbelieve her eyes as she followed her brother down the hill. I didn’t know what to believe but I was already missing the warmth of her breasts against my back. We had to bang on the car door for Jim and Cindy to let us in.
“Did you see it?” Cindy asked.
“Yes, just before the rain started.” Leeann said.
“What rain?” Jim asked. “It’s been clear as a bell ever since you left the car.”
“Well it sure as hell rained on us, didn’t it Larry?”
“For a minute or so,” he said.
Cindy and Jim stared at him, and then at me. “You don’t look wet. Are you guys pulling our legs?”
My shirt and pants were almost dry and I could do little more than shrug my shoulders. By the time we dropped Jim off at his house, talk of the ghost had ended.
Cindy and Leeann were already gone next morning before Larry and I ate breakfast. Larry didn’t want to talk about the ghost except to say it was “bullshit” and I never spoke to either Leeann or Cindy again.
The mind plays tricks and sometimes what you think you see is nothing more than an invention of your imagination. Still, as Larry and I waited on the edge of I-20, trying to thumb a ride, I reached in my shirt pocket and pulled out the remains of my scribbled journal. My shirt - we were out of clean clothes and I was wearing the same shirt and blue jeans as the previous night - was damp from sweat, crumpled paper equally moist. Something prompted me to unfold the soggy journal and look at it and I got quite a shock when I did.
Either rain or sweat had caused the blue ink to bleed on the paper and render my scribbling all but indecipherable – except for one word. In large blurry letters it spelled out WRAITH.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
“In front of you,” he said in a whisper. “The light is coming from over that rise.”
The little country cemetery was well kept, grass trimmed around the tombs. Some of the headstones were large and ornate but most were old and crumbling, many no more than wooden crosses and rectangles of worn concrete. We had no flashlight but didn’t need one as there were few trees to block star light and bright glow of the full moon. A graveled path led up the hill toward the gleaming blue light.
Larry and I were in ROTC and both already experienced in night maneuvers. The ghostly light that continued to beam from the center of the cemetery apparently didn’t frighten my large companion and I was feeling more elated anticipation than fear. As we crested the slight rise we both saw the origin of the eerie light.
Larry halted in his tracks and held up his hand for me to stop. Moonlight was shining directly on a large piece of blue foil once used to wrap a flower pot. The light was reflecting off the foil and onto the polished marble surface of a headstone. The resultant glow shone like the beam of a spotlight, straight up into the sky.
The light wasn’t all we saw. In the darkness, just beyond the spot where the little hill began to drop in elevation, an almost indistinguishable shadowy figure came into view. It remained a moment in one spot before continuing slowly toward us, its amorphous shape wafting in the gentle summer breeze. Larry took a step forward to investigate but a shout from behind caused us both to turn and look.
“Larry, where are you?” It was Leeann. Worried about her brother, she had followed us. We watched as she picked her way up the little hill. Just as she reached us she froze in place, put her hand to her mouth and said, “Oh my God!”
A vivid flash of summer lightning accompanied Leeann’s exclamation followed quickly by a clap of thunder that seemed as if it were right on top of us. Leeann didn’t appear to notice. She was staring at a spot behind us, still grasping her open mouth with her left hand as she pointed straight ahead with her right. Need I add how wide her eyes had grown?
Another flash of lightning lit the sky as Larry and I turned to see what she was pointing at. A sudden summer rainstorm had moved quickly overhead, already covering the stars and moon with dark puffy clouds. As lightning dissipated only gloom remained, but not until Larry and I saw a shadowy nimbus floating up the hill toward us.
Before either of us could react Leeann grabbed me from behind and screamed at the top of her lungs, trying, it seemed to squeeze the breath out of me. As she did clouds began unloading with large heavy drops of warm precipitation that lasted for no more than a minute. Dark clouds passed with the rain, again revealing clear sky complete with stars and full moonlight. Whatever we thought we had witnessed had disappeared along with the momentary storm.
“Did you see it?” Leeann asked, her long arms still wrapped tightly around my chest.
“I saw something but don’t know what it was,” I answered.
Leeann gave me an incredulous look when Larry said, “It was just a low-lying cloud.”
“My ass!” Leeann said. “It was shaped like a man and it was coming up the hill after us. You saw it didn’t you Eric?”
“I saw something but I didn’t get a good look. We turned away just as you called to us.”
“Trust me, it was nothing but a cloud,” Larry said as he led us back to the Fairlane.
Leeann had already begun to disbelieve her eyes as she followed her brother down the hill. I didn’t know what to believe but I was already missing the warmth of her breasts against my back. We had to bang on the car door for Jim and Cindy to let us in.
“Did you see it?” Cindy asked.
“Yes, just before the rain started.” Leeann said.
“What rain?” Jim asked. “It’s been clear as a bell ever since you left the car.”
“Well it sure as hell rained on us, didn’t it Larry?”
“For a minute or so,” he said.
Cindy and Jim stared at him, and then at me. “You don’t look wet. Are you guys pulling our legs?”
My shirt and pants were almost dry and I could do little more than shrug my shoulders. By the time we dropped Jim off at his house, talk of the ghost had ended.
Cindy and Leeann were already gone next morning before Larry and I ate breakfast. Larry didn’t want to talk about the ghost except to say it was “bullshit” and I never spoke to either Leeann or Cindy again.
The mind plays tricks and sometimes what you think you see is nothing more than an invention of your imagination. Still, as Larry and I waited on the edge of I-20, trying to thumb a ride, I reached in my shirt pocket and pulled out the remains of my scribbled journal. My shirt - we were out of clean clothes and I was wearing the same shirt and blue jeans as the previous night - was damp from sweat, crumpled paper equally moist. Something prompted me to unfold the soggy journal and look at it and I got quite a shock when I did.
Either rain or sweat had caused the blue ink to bleed on the paper and render my scribbling all but indecipherable – except for one word. In large blurry letters it spelled out WRAITH.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
Monday, June 22, 2009
Teenage Fantasies and Small Town Ghosts - part 2
“Have you ever seen the ghost?” Leeann asked.
There was swagger in Jim’s voice when he said, “Lots of times. Once it waved a knife at a friend and me.”
“Did it scare you?” Larry asked.
“No way,” Jim said
As we sat on the side of the road, listening to Jim’s story, a gentle summer breeze wafted the large tree’s leaves and branches causing shadows to dance across warm blacktop. None of us commented as Cindy applied the gas and started away toward the cemetery.
As I recall the short ride to the suspected rapist’s place of internment, I realize that Jim probably had visions of mending fences with Cindy, and perhaps a romantic connection induced by her anxiety at possibly seeing a ghost. When we reached the cemetery, I’m sure the visualization we soon saw caused his thoughts of romance to disappear out the open window, along with his phony boldness.
The little cemetery lay just off the blacktop and had a small dirt parking lot. Cindy pulled into the lot and turned off the car’s lights. The night was moon bright and it took only a few moments for our eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. A fence of wrought iron surrounded the cemetery stretching before us like a silent metropolis of the lifeless.
“Hear it?” Jim asked. “The dead boy’s soul is calling out to us.”
I couldn’t hear anything except semis passing on a distant highway along with a chorus of crickets and tree frogs. Still, Jim’s words evoked a certain anxiety. Cindy also felt it as she slid toward the center of the car and closer to Jim. Leeann uncrossed her legs and grabbed my hand in a firm clasp. I couldn’t see Larry’s eyes but I knew he must be frowning. We had all just noticed something that none of us could explain.
Leeann clutched my hand even tighter when Cindy said, “Oh my God! What is that?”
Before us an eerie blue light rose straight up from the center of the little cemetery, stretching like the creepy luminescent beam of an ethereal spotlight pointing high into the sky. A slight breeze caused the beam to vacillate like the luminous arms of a ghostly hula dancer.
We all sat in silence, waiting for the image to disappear so our minds could promptly deny what we all had seen. It didn’t happen that way.
Talk of the ghost had elicited Jim’s desired effect on Cindy. By now she was practically sitting in his lap, her arms clutched desperately around his neck. Jim didn’t seem to notice as his eyes in the reflected moonlight were big as proverbial saucers, his own arms gripping Cindy as tightly as she held him.
They weren’t the only ones caught up in the spooky moment. Leeann clamped my right hand with both of her own. She couldn’t have drawn any closer without occupying the space where I sat. What Larry was thinking about the situation briefly crossed my mind.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Leeann finally said.
Larry was having none of it. “No way, we need to find out what’s causing that light. I don’t believe for one minute it’s a ghost.”
When no one responded to his statement Larry opened the back door and started for the cemetery gate. I was more interested in Leeann’s pressing warmth and tender softness than the ghost but it quickly returned to my attention when the door slammed behind him. Concerned for her brother, Leeann released her grip and pushed me toward the door.
“You’re his friend. You go with him.”
When I glanced at Big Jim his wide-open stare quickly told me he would be of no help. Leeann’s frown and folded arms had returned so I opened the back door and followed my friend into the night.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
There was swagger in Jim’s voice when he said, “Lots of times. Once it waved a knife at a friend and me.”
“Did it scare you?” Larry asked.
“No way,” Jim said
As we sat on the side of the road, listening to Jim’s story, a gentle summer breeze wafted the large tree’s leaves and branches causing shadows to dance across warm blacktop. None of us commented as Cindy applied the gas and started away toward the cemetery.
As I recall the short ride to the suspected rapist’s place of internment, I realize that Jim probably had visions of mending fences with Cindy, and perhaps a romantic connection induced by her anxiety at possibly seeing a ghost. When we reached the cemetery, I’m sure the visualization we soon saw caused his thoughts of romance to disappear out the open window, along with his phony boldness.
The little cemetery lay just off the blacktop and had a small dirt parking lot. Cindy pulled into the lot and turned off the car’s lights. The night was moon bright and it took only a few moments for our eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. A fence of wrought iron surrounded the cemetery stretching before us like a silent metropolis of the lifeless.
“Hear it?” Jim asked. “The dead boy’s soul is calling out to us.”
I couldn’t hear anything except semis passing on a distant highway along with a chorus of crickets and tree frogs. Still, Jim’s words evoked a certain anxiety. Cindy also felt it as she slid toward the center of the car and closer to Jim. Leeann uncrossed her legs and grabbed my hand in a firm clasp. I couldn’t see Larry’s eyes but I knew he must be frowning. We had all just noticed something that none of us could explain.
Leeann clutched my hand even tighter when Cindy said, “Oh my God! What is that?”
Before us an eerie blue light rose straight up from the center of the little cemetery, stretching like the creepy luminescent beam of an ethereal spotlight pointing high into the sky. A slight breeze caused the beam to vacillate like the luminous arms of a ghostly hula dancer.
We all sat in silence, waiting for the image to disappear so our minds could promptly deny what we all had seen. It didn’t happen that way.
Talk of the ghost had elicited Jim’s desired effect on Cindy. By now she was practically sitting in his lap, her arms clutched desperately around his neck. Jim didn’t seem to notice as his eyes in the reflected moonlight were big as proverbial saucers, his own arms gripping Cindy as tightly as she held him.
They weren’t the only ones caught up in the spooky moment. Leeann clamped my right hand with both of her own. She couldn’t have drawn any closer without occupying the space where I sat. What Larry was thinking about the situation briefly crossed my mind.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Leeann finally said.
Larry was having none of it. “No way, we need to find out what’s causing that light. I don’t believe for one minute it’s a ghost.”
When no one responded to his statement Larry opened the back door and started for the cemetery gate. I was more interested in Leeann’s pressing warmth and tender softness than the ghost but it quickly returned to my attention when the door slammed behind him. Concerned for her brother, Leeann released her grip and pushed me toward the door.
“You’re his friend. You go with him.”
When I glanced at Big Jim his wide-open stare quickly told me he would be of no help. Leeann’s frown and folded arms had returned so I opened the back door and followed my friend into the night.
Louisiana Mystery Writer
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