All my life, I've had some strange things happen to me. I'll remember things from 5 years ago and not remember things from 5 minutes ago, but those things can be explained.
When I was 4, I moved from Blacksburg VA to Roanoke VA to live with my dad. I really didn't want to move but it wasn't my choice.
I got to Roanoke and everything was normal for about 2 weeks-then weird stuff started to happen. I remember sitting on the couch and playing with my purse when it just flew out of my hands. I ran and told my dad about it, but he just said it was the wind. I went back in the room and it was cold as ice. No one else in the room got as cold as I did. My dad lay me down and piled a bunch of blankets on top of me and called 911. About 10 minutes before they showed up the coldness went away. When the paramedics got there, they checked my vitals and everything was fine, except my heart. It was beating very shallow and it has ever sense.
About a month later, with nothing happening, my dad and stepmom bough a house down the road from where we were living. I ended up with the smallest room. It was also the room that lead to the attic. I'd hear strange noises in the attic, like laughing and stomping. It finally got so bad that my dad let me fall asleep on the couch and then he'd carry me up to my room. He even heard the noises and went up to investigate, but he never found anything. I'd get strange feeling that I was being watched when I was going up the stairs, so I'd start running and then stop suddenly and listen; I'd hear footsteps and weight behind me even after I had stopped.
When I was 6, my boyfriend, Duncan, burned to death in his house. My dad told me that we weren't really boyfriend and girlfriend so I shouldn't feel connected to him, but I was. He went to my church and his mother worked with my stepmom. Even Duncan's brother Jeremy was my brothers best-friend. The night after Duncan died, I kept feeling cold and I'd cry for not apparent reason. I knew there was something in that house, but I didn't know what it was. All I know, is that house was old and whatever was in it liked me. It even followed me to my mother's apartment when I moved back in with her when I was 8.
I started to go to school is Salem VA and the other kids made fun of me because I was VERY sporty. I would hop the school fence with ease when we lost a ball at recess; I'd climb the cabinets in the art room to get something for the Art teacher: I did all sorts of things, and they hated me for it.
One day, a girl had called me a really bad name that can only be compared to the word "lesbian" (which I'm not) and I curled up behind a stairwell and cried. At that moment, an anger surged through me that I had never felt before. I got up, wiped my eyes and ran at her. I knocked her over and crawled on top of her and beat the tar out of her. When I got off her, I passed out. When I came to, I was in the principals office and I didn't remember what happened. She told me and I was in denial. I'd never hurt a bug, let alone a person.
I was sent home early and suspended for a week. When my mom moved again, I was in 7th grade. The house we moved into was yet another old house. This house was a "Safe House" on the underground Railroad. As a matter of fact, one escaped slave had died in our basement that had a hidden side cellar.
A couple of weeks before Halloween, I went down to the basement to get some Halloween decorations when I heard snoring coming from the cellar. I squeezed through the gap between the basement and cellar and saw a man in overalls that came up to mid calf, a yellowed shirt and some kind of hay-linked shoes on, curled up in the corner sleeping. I wasn't afraid for some odd reason. I went over to him and tried to touch him but when I did, the basement door creaked open and I turned around to see what for. My cat, Nick, had come down the basement, I sighed and turned around but the man was gone! Nick came over and rubbed my leg, he stopped and looked where the man had been laying and hissed. The hair on his back stood up and he ran off. I touched the ground where the man had lay and the ground was warm.
2 weeks later, I was in the shower when all the sudden, it turned off. I turned it back on but it went back off. I got out and heard a strange noise, I put a towel on and ran out of the bathroom to the kitchen, my cats were fighting over their food dish. I went back into the bathroom and looked into the tub. There was a little bit of water in the bottom and it looked like it was glowing. I reached down to touch it but my arm froze half-way to the tub. I looked at the back of the tub and a hair dryer had fallen in it. Whatever it was that grabbed my arm, saved my butt from getting fried and I have no doubt of that.
Now, 2 years later, I'm living with my dad again in Bedford County and my Guardian Angel had followed me once again. They tore down the house in Salem that the slave had died in. Before I left, I took a bottle of Holy Water the Priest at my church had blessed and I poured in on the spot where I saw the man sleeping. Little things have gone on sense then. I'll wake up scared and my music will be on and a night-light is shining; I'll be thirsty and get up to get some water and there is a cup beside my bed ready for me. I have only told my friends about this. My friend Sherry named it the Guardian Angel and I think whatever it is, it likes that name.