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.
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