Happy Halloween

HOPE YOUR HOLIDAY IS SPOOK-TACULAR!

Shadow Shots: Watcher

We pass this old church, nested among grave stones like a mother hen with her chicks, every fall on our way up to Michigan to pick apples. Every year on our way north, we see a man sitting on the steps beside the cellar door. Every year he is gone when we come back through on our way home - every year for over 20 years.

This time, I snapped a photo of the church on our way home. The man had been there earlier, as usual, and as usual was now gone. Just an old church without our mystery man.

But ... what is that shadow in the window above the cellar door?

The photo is cropped, but is otherwise straight from the camera. There isn't anything to cast that shadow, and that one is only on the shutters inside the window, not on the outside of the church.

Strange.


There are lots more shadows to see at HeyHarriet's:

The Story Stone Project

*Original Post Here

When I posted this piece for the "Beautiful" Photo Hunt topic, Sandcastle Momma suggested making up a story for this old brooch. Three of us so far have come out to play. As promised, here are the stories and links. If you're inspired too, either leave your story in the comments or post it in your blog and leave a link in the comments. I'll add links to your entries in updates to this post. So, without further ado...

From Ian whose excellent blogs include So Far, So Good.

"Never did this brooch leave my mother's possession, let alone her trinkets box. She pawned or sold everything she had- including herself- when Father got sick in the summer of '50. But never this brooch. No picture of her exists wearing this rather ornate piece of jewelry. I never saw her wear it, not even to my own wedding, not even to match the unapologetic display of wealth of my in laws.

Wait, I saw her wear it, once, when I was in third grade. I was walking home from school (since I got kicked out of the bus) when I saw her across the street, rushing through the madding crowd, brooch on her left breast, shimmering in the afternoon sun. The shimmering was abruptly dulled by the tight, excited hug of a man I've never seen before..."

From Janet, of the blog Fond of Snape:

"Back when she was a traveling gypsy, telling fortunes, she always thought the blue crystal she gazed into would, when she retired, make a lovely centerpiece on a brooch...and she was right!"

And mine:

Evening sunlight slanted past the whispering leaves of the ancient oaks on Diamair Street, danced quickly through the rippled glass of a certain attic window, and gathered, glowing, in the heart of a sky blue stone.

The sudden glint caught the eye of one Maggie Faye, age 11, as the old brooch fell from the folds of Irish lace the child had pulled from her grandmother's dusty trunk.

Maggie came often to Nanna's house. She loved its warm kitchen, its soft, flowered sofa, and the walls lined with books. She loved gardening with Nanna and, of course, Nanna herself, with her twinkling eyes and her fairytales. However, Maggie had been to the attic only once before, when Nanna had taken her there to see the photograph of her great grandfather. Nanna had used an ornate metal key to open the door, and had locked it again when they left. And so, Maggie was surprised when the door opened for her on this afternoon, when she had grown bored and gone exploring.

Maggie caught the brooch as it fell. She had never seen anything like it. There were seven small, bright stones at the top, and an empty place where an eighth had been. Nine more, three sets of three, glittered at the bottom edge. Five chained blue orbs with spiral markings hung bellow. They made a pleasant, chiming sound as Maggie held the brooch up to the light. As the great blue stone caught the sun's last rays, its misty center began to flicker. Maggie drew it closer, unable to believe her eyes or to look away.

The room had grown dark by the time a cold hand gripped Maggie's shoulder, hard enough to hurt. Blinking, Maggie looked up into her grandmother's face, drained of color and strangely unfamiliar. "Careless ... stupid ... reckless to have kept it here," Nanna whispered, staring at the jewel in her grandchild's hand.

Maggie rose quickly to her feet, heat creeping into her cheeks. "I'm sorry Nanna, I didn't mean to ... I just wanted to see what was in the trunk, honest. Here, take it ..."

But Nanna was already shaking her head slowly and backing away. "No, child. It has come to you now. There is no going back."

Things that go bump in the night

"I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do I do I do believe in spooks... " -- The Cowardly Lion

I have never seen a ghost. But I suspect they have seen me.

Tales of the unexplained are common in my side of the family. Between the lot of us, we've had covers and pillows tugged away in the night; we've seen orbs, and we've had lights that turn themselves on; objects have appeared in unexpected places or have moved without any visible cause. We've caught dark figures at the edge of sight, and one of us even had a horrifying encounter with a shadow man. At times, urgent rapping and banging sounds emanate from inside closed cabinets and from certain empty rooms. The events span decades, and have occurred in a number of houses in several states. The common denominator seems to be us: my mother, sister, brother and myself. And my kids have had a few odd experiences of their own. It would seem that we attract this kind of thing.

For the most part, I remain a fascinated observer of the paranormal field. Experiences come to me, but I don't go looking for them. It is tantalizing to think of an alternate reality just beyond our senses, but deliberately stepping into that reality feels like a bad idea.

So. Sometimes I think I'd like to see a ghost. Other times I remember to be careful what I wish for.