There was going to be a meteor shower that evening so some friends and I decided to go to the mountains and camp overnight so we could see them. I spent the whole night just lying on my back in my sleeping bag, watching the beauty of the sky all night long. I was fully dressed and I was wearing a necklace with stones and a large medallion that was special to me. When I saw that the sky was getting light in the pre-dawn, I got out of my sleeping bag and stood facing east, wanting to greet the sunrise. I was holding my hands, palms up, at about waist-level, waiting to receive the beauty of the sunrise. Suddenly, my necklace fell from around my neck and into my open hands. “Darn!” I thought. This was my favorite necklace and somehow it had broken. But when I held the necklace up to see where it had broken, not only was it not broken but the clasp was still locked.

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In Burlington, Connecticut, there is a very old cemetery commonly known as The Green Lady Cemetery. According to local folklore, long ago a woman was murdered by her husband and she was buried in this cemetery in the woods. Some of our high-school friends would go to the cemetery at night, using it as a secluded place to make out in their cars. Several kids reported seeing a ghostly, semi-transparent woman in an eerie green mist of light, walking among the gravestones. One summer night, my friend Chris and I decided to go to the cemetery to check it out for ourselves. Chris had a motorcycle and I rode on the back of it. We were driving down the dirt road in the woods, approaching the cemetery when, as soon as we passed the old stone wall that marked the boundary of the cemetery, the motorcycle stalled out and died. The lights on the bike wouldn't work anymore either. Chris tried to re-start it several times but it wouldn’t start again. No matter, we were close enough, so we just walked it the last couple hundred feet and parked it. Walking into the cemetery with our flashlights, we began to examine and read the headstones, some of which went back nearly 200 years. I found one old stone with a memorable inscription. It said: “Here, come brethren dear, whose union has been my fervent prayer. Hold fast the truth, instruct the youth, and thus for death prepare. All you who read these lines take heed, while you have life and breath. Seek Christ the Way, His calls obey, and thus prepare for death.” As the night grew later, it also grew cooler and soon there was a mist creeping into the cemetery from the surrounding, swampy woods. We decided that the mist was sort of creepy so we wanted to get out of there. We went back to the motorcycle, where Chris tried over and over again, unsuccessfully, to start it. Still, none of the lights on the bike would work. We were becoming a bit panicked that his usually reliable motorcycle was having such unexplainable trouble. Finally we decided to push the motorcycle down the dirt road – anything to get away from that cemetery. Every 50 feet or so, Chris would try to start the bike again, but it just wouldn’t start. As soon as we got the bike just past the stone wall boundary of the cemetery, Chris tried again and the motorcycle started right up and all the lights worked with no problem. I jumped on the back and we got out of there as fast as we could!

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It was around 1:00 a.m. and I was sitting cross-legged on the bed in the guest bedroom of my sister’s house in rural Maine. I was reading. My sister was in the downstairs bedroom, sleeping. We were the only people in the house. At one point, I saw something out of the corner of my eye and looked up to see “Bug”, my sister’s very large cat, in the doorway of the bedroom, staring intently into the air over my right shoulder. I didn’t bother looking. “Crazy cat”, I thought. Then I saw some motion to my right and I looked and there in the air, about three feet from my face, was this thing, made of all clear water, about the size and shape of a loaf of bread, and it was wiggling through the air. It was going at roughly a 45-degree angle and it wriggled down to the floor. Then it wiggled along the floor straight to the open doorway where the cat was sitting. (I am guessing that it had intelligence and intent as it seemed to know where it was going, though I saw no facial or other features at all, it was just this clear water.) The cat’s eyes were huge as it watched it intently. Finally, the cat had to stand and step aside to let it pass by. The water creature wriggled out into the unlit hallway and, after a moment, the cat took off after it. I was stunned! What was I supposed to do? Follow it? Try to touch it? Go out into the hall and then go downstairs and wake my sister? What was the protocol for such a situation? I was dumbfounded. So I sat and waited and waited, wondering what in the world had I just seen? Maybe twenty minutes later, bored of waiting, I went back to reading my book. A few minutes later, some motion caught my eye and this thing came wiggling back in through the doorway along the floor, making a bee-line towards the bed, just below where I was sitting. The cat came from the hallway, sat in the doorway and watched this thing, wide-eyed. The creature wiggled straight under the bed and then the cat took off like a shot after it. I wondered if there would be some sort of fight between the two but there was just silence. I wondered if I should get off the bed and crouch down and look under the bed but I didn’t really want to put my feet on the floor. I waited and waited and finally got very tired so I got under the blankets and fell asleep with the light on. I didn’t see that thing in the morning or ever again.

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Hitch-hiking is tough business, at best. Hitch-hiking with next to no money is tougher still, requiring a philosophical outlook and a spiritual faith. In 1998, I hitch-hiked from the City of Arcata, in Humboldt County, California to Maine to visit my family. I had four dollars and change in my pocket. On the first day of the journey, having made it part-way through Humboldt County, south on Highway 101, standing along the side of the road, I suddenly had a vision. I saw a patch of ground. It was grassy, with a particular-looking type of grass. In the grass was a rolled-up $10 bill. While the grass was very clear to see, the $10 bill was a bit blurry. There were four one-dollar bills rolled up within the $10 bill. I couldn’t see them, but I knew this with certainty. Then the vision ended as suddenly as it had begun. For the next few days, as I slowly made my way across the country, every time I was dropped off from a ride, I looked at the ground to see if this was the grass from the vision. In every place, the grass looked different, so I didn’t look for the money. After a few days, I was dropped off at a spot in southern Indiana. There it was! This was the spot! This was the grass from my vision! But who really believes in visions? I didn’t. It must have been just some weird mind glitch that I experienced. So I ignored it. This was an area with lots of traffic – a good place for a hitch-hiker to stand, with plenty of room for a car to pull over, but no-one did. Hour after hour went by. I got caught in two downpours. I walked to a truck stop and found a truck driver who promised he would give me a ride if I went back to the highway entrance and waited for him there. He never showed up. Eventually, six hours passed. This was, by far, the longest I had waited for a ride during this trip. I wondered what could be wrong? Finally, I decided that the problem was that I wasn’t honoring the vision. So I went back to the exact spot where I had seen the grass that had been in my vision. I vowed to find the money and started to look around through the grass. Within about three minutes, I found the money. The rolled-up $10 bill was blurry because it had apparently survived a winter and had sand from the snow plows partially covering it. I picked it up and unrolled it and inside were the four one-dollar bills! I put the money in my pocket and went back to hitch-hiking. I got a ride out of there within twenty minutes.

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We were working on an old lighthouse, converting it to an automated lighthouse. There was some old furniture in the lighthouse and one of the contractors who worked with me would arrange the furniture the way he wanted it arranged. We’d go back the next morning and all the furniture was back to the way it originally was again. Then one morning we arrived and there were seaweed footprints leading out of the ocean and up into the lighthouse. We learned that, years ago, the lighthouse-keeper went ashore for supplies this one day and a fisherman arrived at the lighthouse while he was gone and the lighthouse-keeper’s wife ended up running away with the fisherman. When he returned to the lighthouse and learned what happened, the lighthouse-keeper was broken-hearted and committed suicide. We think those were his footprints.

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My friend, John, liked to take LSD. He said that when he took it, he had minor telekinetic powers. So I watched him one day while he was tripping. He balanced a large, wooden, kitchen match on the lip of a tall water glass. He put his index fingers about a quarter of an inch away from each end of the match. Then, without ever touching the match, wherever he moved his fingertips, the match would follow, swiveling one way and then the other and even going nearly vertical along the side of the glass. I always wondered if that power was just in John or if anyone using LSD could develop that ability. I have also wondered how much further that ability could be developed?

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I used to do contracting for the Coast Guard. We were awarded a contract on a lighthouse, in New London, Connecticut, the Latimer Reef Lighthouse, about a mile from the shore. There were various projects to do there. I arrived at the lighthouse the first day and I was cutting old bolts out of the wall with an acetylene torch. While I was cutting, I heard this music, this folk song, and I figured it was just the torch whistling into the hole. But I continued to hear the song after I stopped the torch. So I thought it must be the cap on top of the oxygen bottle whistling, but it wasn’t. And I kept hearing it. It was a woman singing an old folk song. When I got back to the mainland, I went in to the main Coast Guard station. I told them I had this funny experience. I heard somebody singing. It was an older woman singing an old folk song. They said “that’s the first we hear of anything happening at that particular lighthouse. In other lighthouses we’ve had a lot of ghost reports, but not that one.” So I was the first one to hear the ghost of that lighthouse.

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The Wall

07/30/2013

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When I was six or seven years old, I lived in an old house in Seattle. In this one room, by a certain wall, when I walked by, the wall would sort of dissolve and “open up” and it would sweep me inside of it. As I walked past, the wall would just sort of disappear and then I would be inside of it; not trapped between the layers or on the other side of it but in a whole different place. Inside that space was a circle of little people with painted faces. This happened many times. I remember this sound, a really weird, deep sound that I heard while I was in that place and it was frightening. When I was 42 years old I was talking to my sister and I was telling her about the “opening” in the wall. To my surprise, she said “I remember seeing you go through that wall.” I didn’t believe her so I told her to tell me which wall it was and she knew exactly which wall it was. That this happened has plagued me for my whole lifetime. 

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Vanished

07/29/2013

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I worked as a machinist in an old factory in Glastonbury, Connecticut. The factory was built in 1832. There was a new part of the factory that was added on later. I worked in the old part of the factory. I worked by myself at night, until about 3:30 in the morning. About once a week at about the same time, about 1:30 in the morning, I would see, out of the corner of my eye, people walking by very quickly. A couple of seconds later I would think “Wait a minute! There is nobody else here but me!” So I saw that a few times. Then one evening I felt someone staring at the back of my neck and I turned around and there were three people, all men, arranged by height. One was tall, one medium, and one small. They were dressed in plain woolen shirts. They looked like average factory workers in the 1800’s, I assume. They had this look like they were looking beyond me. I stared at them for a minute or so and then they just faded away. I didn’t tell anybody because I didn’t want anybody to think I was looney. But then a couple of months later a guy from another part of the factory got very panicked. He had to be calmed down. He was in the old part of the factory getting something and he saw somebody with a broad-brimmed, black hat and a long overcoat - like what you would wear in the mid-1800’s. He went to chase the fellow and as the man in the hat walked into the new part of the factory, he vanished. 

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Saucer

07/28/2013

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This was years and years ago when I was working in a theater in upstate New York. It was Summerstock Theater. We had a really long tech rehearsal that went into the wee, wee hours of the morning. In fact, it was just starting to get light when we were heading back… they housed us in dormatories. It was a college. I was walking with someone from the cast across campus and we saw this light coming. It was silent. There was no engine noise. It was in the sky, not very high, just over the tops of the trees. It glided from one part of where we could see to… there was a dining hall and as it came closer, we could see that it was a flying saucer. I swear to God. It was shaped like a saucer. It glowed from the inside. I’m not the kind of person who easily believes in stuff; I don’t really like sci-fi stories. But this was something I witnessed myself. It hovered for a minute over the roof of the dining hall, which is the biggest building on the campus, and then it took off again until we were no longer able to see it. We both saw it. To this day I can’t say that I really believe in flying saucers but what the heck was that? It sure looked like a flying saucer to me.

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