A Haunted Childhood

As my first blog entry, I've decided to share a bit of my personal history re: origins of all my weird ideas. I've always been interested in the "paranormal" (I use the quotes because para-normal means "beyond normal". How can something be beyond n

ormal when we don't know what's normal to begin with?) I lay complete blame for this interest on my mother. She had a bookshelf full of ghost stories and Edgar Cayce, and - good or bad - we watched a lot of television shows like In Search Of and the late night Creature Feature hosted by the creepy Count Gore de Vol.

Also, being my inquisitive self (Another trait magnified by my mom. Rather than answer our every "Why?", she encouraged us to figure it out ourselves.) I always wondered from where all the ghouls, vampires, and slime dripping creatures originated. Being only six or seven years of age, my brain had a hard time getting past the answers, "from the

closet" or "under the bed".

In the rural area of northern Virginia where we lived at the time, there were several abandoned houses down dark wooded lanes, buried under vines deep in the forest. Our adventurous mother would take us for walks near these ruins to collect blackberries or some other wild edible. I'm quite sure that was only an excuse to explore the crooked and ivy covered shells that were all that remained of past settlers' homes

One of these houses sat in the middle of what was now a cow pasture. After negotiating a path through the patties and keeping an eye open for territorial bulls, we would explore the farmhouse. It was still stable, only having been abandoned within the last thirty years or so. And, being in the middle of a field, it was protected from the invasive p

lant life of the forest. It was fun to explore, but not particularly scary since it was often a bright summer afternoon when we were there.

The house I most looked forward to visiting looked like it should be haunted. It sat deep in the woods, shadowy, wild, and overgrown with thick hairy ropes of Virginia creeper. Windows were broken, the porch listed to the side, and it was generally unsafe. Due to that fact, we weren't allowed inside, but we peeked through whatever windows we were able. The bare interior was coated in dust, peeling wallpaper, and cracked plaster. The decor on the walls had been replaced by the spray painted graffiti left by local teenagers. I fa

ntasized multiple histories for this home, from a sinister occult hideout for a long line of witches to the decaying mansion of a vampire who lay buried in the cellar awaiting his next victim. Yes, I was definitely watching too much television.Sadly, this old "mansion" was set ablaze by the same neighborhood troublemakers who authored the graffiti and nothing remain

s but the stone foundation.

Neither of these homes had any real ghost stories attached to them other than the ones we created, but the woods directly behind out house had their share of tales. Most of the stories involve the few gravestones off to the side of the dirt road leading through the forest. I always felt as though I was being watched whenever we approached this small family graveyard. My interest in these graves inspired my first attempt at paranormal investigation. Using my trusty little Kodak 110 camera, I took photos of the markers, hoping to catch a ghostly image on film.

After waiting impatiently for the pictures to come in the mail (this was well before the days of digital and instant prints!) I was thrilled to see what I was sure was an apparition. I had done it! I caught a ghost! "Not so fast," my skeptical nature reasserted itself and made me look at the photo again. I had to admit, it looked more like a falling leaf caught in the sunlight, but my imagination still saw a ghost! What do you think?