Where do you start on stories of a lifetime? Of hiding under the bedclothes, with my face peeping out, because I was more afraid of being startled by the ghost watching me, waiting for me to uncover my face, than by the one that I could see if I 'just' opened my eyelids.
Here is just a small collection of some of the events of my early life, up to about 2006 when I stopped writing them into webpages, because I needed a rest. Years later, as a Spirit Rescuer, I finally realised that it's a whole different energy, and I have a whole different viewpoint, on ghosts and the spiritual planes. The journey was long, but its always been interesting.
So enjoy the glimpses of my otherwise 'normal' life.
My Ouija Story - 1974/5
The haunted Unit in North Sydney 1982
My Grandmother 1964 - 1992
When I was 2, like most small children, I had an afternoon nap. When I woke up my mother would lift me out of my cot and carry me out of my room. My cot was along the wall under the windows, and to get me mum had to stand with her back to my bedroom door.
On this particular afternoon as she lifted me up I reached over her shoulder, quite strongly she says, and held out my hands to someone in the doorway of my room. I said "Gram-ma" happily. You can imagine my mother's reaction. She thought her mother-in-law had snuck into the house (they didn't get along) and swung around looking for Nanna. There was no one in the doorway, but in the air was a strong scent of the perfume her mother always wore.
My grandmother, my mother's mother died 8 years before I was born. And my grandmother had always said "I'm no child's nurse, I'll never be called Nanna!"
That wasn't the last time I saw my Grandmother. She came back many times.
One I remember in particular happened when I was about 8 (yes, around Roman Soldier time). My home life was not easy as my father was mentally ill, and this made life difficult, but that's just a side line.
I was lying on my stomach on the lounge room floor facing a half-closed set of double doors. I was colouring in the red nose of a clown picture with a pencil. I looked up and Grandmother was there, smiling, watching me from the gap in the door (a good 2 feet wide). I went back to my picture, I remember feeling unhappy that day. When I looked up again she was still there smiling. I got such a feeling of peace and love from her that I began to smile too. When I looked up the third time she was gone, but the feeling remained.
I have always been able to reach out with my senses, like touching something with your fingers, and find my Grandmother, she always stood behind me at my right shoulder. When she left (I was 30) I went into mourning, just as though she had just died.
Why did she leave? I believe it's because I didn't need her anymore. I miss her sometimes.
Now this is the experience of what is called an Anniversary Ghost, which means it comes around usually once a year. When I first got married my x-husband and I moved into a unit in North Sydney up the hill from the Cahill Expressway. I didn't need an alarm clock - was woken at 6.00 am every morning by the traffic. The unit had been chosen for us by my mother and aunt.
It was on the second floor, with a balcony running along one side which was really three floors up because of the slope of the land. It had one bedroom with a connecting bathroom. The bedroom door was on a 90 degree angle from the front door, on the right ... like this: the lounge was to the left of the front door with a dining area off it next to an over-small kitchen. It had floor to ceiling windows (which I spent two weeks stuffing with newspaper to seal the cracks, and stop them rattling (wind or no wind) the metal frames) along the whole room - nice view of the Harbour Bridge. Every other wall was cement, as was the interior of the front door, I found out later, its called a fire-retardant door.
My x-husband and I had been living in the unit for nearly six months when the problems started. I can't say precisely when, but each evening when I got home from work I would have a huge rush of anxiety as I unlocked the front door, but it would disappear as I entered the bedroom. To start with I didn't pay much attention, I was too busy with my life to worry about something small like that. It was only when PJ had to do a two day shift on the base (2 nights) that the flat would 'get to me'. I didn't like being there alone much.
On the night in question I came home from work as usual, at about half past 5, and opened the front door. I walked into the unit and could hear the shower running. Now this surprised me as my x-husband was on the two day shift and wasn't due home for two nights. It was Friday. You could hear the shower running because the bathroom wall is in front of you as you come in the front door, a sort of small hallway. I went into the bedroom and there was no sound of the shower. I looked into the bathroom and there was no shower running.
O.K. I thought - trick of the mind (remember the anxiety attacks at the front door). I walked back into the hallway, and I could hear the shower running!. I did this a couple of times - each time getting more and more puzzled.
You will have to realise that *different* things have been happening for most of my life, so I didn't worry too much until ... nightfall. First the windows started to rattle (even still stuffed with paper). The shower got louder and I could hear someone singing. I went into the bathroom and there was the figure of a woman with very long dark hair having a shower, behind her own shower curtain, while mine was still hanging there.
I stared, stunned, for just a minute before ... from the front door came the loud banging of someone trying to BREAK INTO THE UNIT. The fear hit me like a truck. I was terrified. I watched that frightened woman get out of the shower, grab a towel (and I backed out before she walked through me, mind you she was almost a solid figure) and walked out of the bathroom, around the bottom of the bed and stand in front of the front door. (I crawled onto the bed where I could see the door and, tucking up my knees, just hugged them. I didn't move until it was over.)
The woman stood staring at the shaking door, her face terrified. She waited, we both did, for the man to get in. I don't know how I know it was a man. I just know he was using a sledge hammer to try and break down the door. (This was later confirmed by the owners of the unit). He kept trying for I don't know, a quarter of an hour, if he said anything I don't remember, I was just overwhelmed by her terror. And yet, in the back of my mind, was the fact that it was her terror and not mine, and I watched in fascinated horror as the scene played out. In the end it stopped, and they both vanished.
On the carpet under where she was standing was a mark the owner's couldn't remove. The front door had a panel of wood affixed with screws across the damaged part. I stayed in the unit that night, but the next day I went home to mother! I rang my x-husband from there, as there wasn't a phone at the unit, and told him the story. It was the first time I'd really told him about anything unusual happening to me. He was great. Mum and I arranged to have the unit blessed and cleared. It was done, but we didn't stay to see the result. A fact I found out after - the people involved in the drama were still alive. The man never got to the woman. I don't know why it happened, I was just glad to be out of there. And since that day, tenants never stay for a whole year.