Buying my mother's house and moving my family in, was an incredible challenge. The hoarding was unreal. I cleared and cleaned it for four months before we could move in, and only to provide just enough space for our four person family to function. We were not necessarily comfortable. There was still a ridiculous amount of items that couldn't be comfortably disposed. We had only enough energy to survive.
We started noticing paranormal activity immediately when we moved in. There were taps and knocks, from the deck, loud and strong, as well as dark figures always moving in the corner of your eyes. It was especially strong if you were alone. I'd walk toward a door or window and see movement, like someone trying to hide, then hear a bang. I'd open the door, the light would start flickering, or go out, and then nothing. No one was there. The light in the hall, next to Emerald's door would go on and off, and it felt ominous. Doors would slam by themselves. The porch lights outside flickered and popped when someone walked near them. I had an electrician check them. He said they were fine and did not notice any faults. It didn't happen when he was inspecting. Em's room was right above mine. You could hear every movement, floorboards would creak and moan, whenever some one walked upstairs. I'd run up there to yell at her to go to bed, because it was 2 or 3 in the morning, but she'd always be sleeping soundly. I started sneaking up there, even crawling, to catch her walking around, because it would be loud, and last for hours, waking both Dan and I up. Every time, she was sleeping. The sound would stop and as soon as I'd return to bed it would start again. James was the first to say anything to me. He said there was a ghost that would bang on his window when he would fall asleep, and that he could feel it watching him. Em wouldn't sleep with the bathroom door open. Her bedroom door and the bathroom door are adjacent. Em always slept with the hallway light on, and her door ajar. If the bathroom door was left open by someone inadvertently, she'd freak out. She told me there was creepy energy in the bathroom, and specifically in certain places. The first day that Em and I moved in. I saw a black shadow person on the stairs, it was a small man. He wore a hat like my grandfather used to wear. My grandfather had died 13 years prior to my purchasing the property. Maybe more. He had lived in the room Emerald occupied. My intuition said that the paranormal energy was Thai. My family may have natural abilities to create TK or PK manifestations. "The terms Psychokinesis and Telekinesis [are] often used interchangeably... to distinguish Psychokinesis as the manifestation of subconscious mental energy constructs... TK... is (more or less) consciously controllable. PK is oriented to the person's body, and is usually more "set": it works the way it works for a given individual." The energy of the house constantly attacked us. An ongoing battery from an invisible entity, was apparent the moment you entered the premises. Picture Dracula hiding in the shadows waiting for you to sleep so it could drain you slowly. The house was sucking our energy. James was losing weight and always looked ill. I thought he either had a negative spiritual attachment or was taking some pretty heavy drugs. We were all on edge, fighting and feeling some unknown atmospheric pressure that we had to continually battle. When we left we were fine. It seemed like a bad dream. My entire life things would crash around me, glass cups jump from within a few feet and smash on the ground, lightbulbs explode, doors slam and clocks and watches just die within days if they're near me or attached as jewelry. My mother always said that I had a "demon" attached to me, so it was not unusual for me to have this kind of happenstance. I am a physical medium. I can actually feel and absorb the pain of others. There's a name for it in Thai. I'll ask my aunt when I see her, she lives far away, but it's a "gift" or a curse depending on how you look at it. To sum it up, quickly, my mother has incredible knee issues, refuses surgery, has intense pain and swelling in both her knees. When I had to grab some wood for the fire, I slipped her shoes on because they were right outside the door and I was too lazy to run downstairs to get mine. Within three steps my knee almost went out on me. I barely kept from falling to ground in pain, and shooting electric jolts rendered me immobile. I immediately threw the shoes off, and knew my mother wasn't faking that injury. The pain decreased by at least 75% as soon as I pulled the shoes from my body. Needless to say, my mother may have the same physical manifestation abilities and the "thing" I had to fight could have been her paranormal, black shadow baby, or it could have been her dad. Either way, it was Thai. There was a tremendous build up of negative supernatural energy. My mother had stockpiled piles of other people's personal belongings. She had the entire estate of both of her deceased parents, the entire estate of a couple that went to Thailand and never returned, my once removed stepbrother's items, and my aunt, uncle's and cousin's things. They had lived with her a year or two had left their clothing and furniture. A random Korean guy rented a room for a few months and left garbage bags of clothing and even some furniture. My mother also still hoarded my father's belongings in the garage and under the house though they had divorced over 30 years prior and she had her dead ex boyfriend's things, that were 16 years old or more. Hoarding is a symptom to a much larger disease. My mother used to have money. She had real money, investments, assets, and then she had nothing. She couldn't pay her bills. We had to buy her house so she wouldn't hit rock bottom. I think you're supposed to let people lose everything, because otherwise, they don't learn. I screwed up. She plodded along without any marbles, mumbled, then hid in her hoarder cave. Though I owned the home, I couldn't move her, because of her lack of cognition, from the master bedroom. She kept the door locked because she was afraid I'd go into her room and throw her things away or donate them. Her giant suite had paths through it, like a stereotypical hoarder episode. There were piles of stacked items, as tall as person, blocking access to unusable closets, bags, totes and dressers. It was dark, dirty and the vibe was straight freaky. Blankets covered everything, like a house where people no longer lived. Most of the items were new, and unused, ranging in age from 2 to 30 years old. That was what was left of the great fortune of my mother, who was not only a gambler, but a shopping addict. Most of the piles were clothes, but there were boxes of dishes, blankets, purses, and random packaged or boxed items. You can Imagine the clearance section at Macy's, then multiply it by 100 or 1000. There was such a haunted unease in every part of the home, but especially in front of Emerald's room, and the hallway to my mother's room. My mother suffered from major memory loss, and had a tendency to repeat the same question three or more times in one sitting. She was always looking for something she had lost. She had threatened to call the police to have them administer lie detector tests on my family because she'd lost something she deemed valuable. She hid things and then forgot where she had put them. No one wanted her things. I think the thing was hiding them. A lot of things went missing randomly, and my husband and I just joked about the ghost, until it would hide our keys before we had to leave for work. That was bothersome. Because there was a lack of decent paying jobs for educated women in Nevada County, I thought I wanted to be a realtor. The man I was working with mentioned particular doorknobs; realtor talk, while we were out on a job walk. The doorknob was the same as the one at my house, in the bathroom. A memory surfaced, and I finally grasped a missing link. Ayvah, my daughter's best friend, had recently gotten trapped in the bathroom during a sleepover. The doorknob kept getting stuck. It had happened to Emerald before Ayvah's incident. Em screamed and yelled until we heard her. We were able to open the door from the outside. She was in there for a while, and was visibly shaken. In the giant house the sound is blocked in some areas, so we could not hear anything, though she said she had screamed loudly. Ayvah was so freaked out when the door finally opened, that she punched Emerald, in panic. Ayvah thought Em had locked her in there, on purpose. She described feeling utter panic, and it was obvious how distraught she was, as she was crying. Em had told me when it happened to her, she felt a presence in the restroom, one that was ominous. The realtor was a friend of my family. That same bathroom was where his daughter was molested about 15 years prior to my moving my family in. My grandfather used to live in the house. His room was my daughter's room. That creepy old man walked into the bathroom when the little girl was urinating during a family gathering, and he locked the door behind him. The girl was nine years old. My grandfather stuck his hand down her pants. She ran out of the bathroom and told her mom what had happened. Everyone in my family tried to keep it hushed. But this happenstance allowed a family member to open up to me privately about when that same grandfather molested her/him as a child. My grandfather was a pedophile and a child rapist. I am not ashamed, nor do I take any of the blame for his misdeeds. He is the one who should be ashamed. But he never was. He was proud and pompous until his dying day. My mother screamed at me, she called me a liar, and threatened to disown me because I wouldn't tell her who the family member was that bared her/his soul to me, when I backed the little girl and her father during the legal settlement against my grandfather. I don't cower from bullying. I'm not interested in protecting the reputation of a rapist/child molester. The truth actually made sense. Finally there was a clue to the rampant promiscuity, addiction, violent bipolar behavior, schizophrenic outbursts, hospitalizations, massive depression, hoarding and denial in every member of the family on my my mother's side. The seven children and who knows how many grandchildren, nieces, nephews, cousins and friends and family members have been victims. People hide these things, they are ashamed, and blame themselves. He was just a pervert that hurt them, and worse, he was someone they trusted, a respected family member. The doorknob at the house we were inspecting reminded me of the bathroom incident from fifteen years prior and also of the recent events of my daughter's sleepover. I hurried home. I immediately dug into Emerald's room. I ripped through all the dressers and drawers again. I thought I had purged everything, when we purchased the home, but there was one drawer that was stuck, that never was opened. I pried that sucker open with a giant flathead screwdriver and it popped open. Sure enough, I found the jackpot of handwritten journals in Thai writing. Then I tossed them into the trash. Out of respect for my mother, because he was her father, I took a couple pieces of of his writing, threw them in a paper bag and stuffed them in the garage. She can frame it and put it in her bedroom on an altar for the pervert. But we wont be worshipping rapists in my part of the house. Cleaned his crap out. I waited until the entire family was gone. James and Dan were at their jobs, Em was in school and my mother was in Thailand. I went to work. I researched online and I painted a sign in Thai, "Go to the light. You are forgiven. You are loved. You must go now." I didn't love him, but I'm sure someone, like maybe the Great Spirit, could love him. I had been studying the occult my whole life, for a battle like this one. I was trying to kill it with love. I had a salt bath, to ground, and then I smudged the entire house, starting at the bottom level, and I worked my way up to the top filling the entire space with sacred smoke. I grow my own white sage, and it's California native, and so am I. I trained with a Native American man. He was a teacher, a friend, a spiritual mentor and a leader in his community. I felt confident that there wouldn't be a problem using my home grown sage regarding cultural appropriation. I also had a handful of Thai incense from the Thai temple. I chanted the words of the prayer over and over throughout our home. I attempted to push the spirit of whatever was attacking my family, creating chaos and clouding the atmosphere out of our living space. The doors were all open. I could feel it moving. Everything seemed to be working just fine, I could feel the change in the air, it was lighter, cleaner though still a little overwhelming. I had Thai incense and white sage smoke billowing from one hand, and a paper with the words I was chanting in another language, in the other hand. I didn't know the proper pronunciation because I did not speak Thai. The Google translator was great, but my memorization wasn't. When I got to the hot spot, in front of Emerald's room, everything became darker, though it was the middle of the day. I felt a push back. I was able to get into Emerald's room, throw her sliding glass door open and continue chanting, but when I started back toward the hallway the invisible entity pushed me away. I ran to the Thai alter space that my mother had neglected and grabbed a framed image of Thai monks, that have crossed over. I needed their help. I returned to the hallway and when in the bathroom placed the sign I made on the area where Emerald felt the "entity." I still chanted in Thai, but another voice came out of my mouth, that wasn't mine. It was real Thai, with the proper pronunciation. It didn't sound like me anymore. Something spoke the same words, through me. The spirit was louder and deeper than my actual voice. Suddenly, right in front of me, directly in the center of the bathroom, a black mist manifested then attempted to hide in the shower. I ran into the shower, chased it, with the armload of smoke and kept chanting. The black mist moved swiftly away from me, out of the shower and then out the bathroom door, toward the laundry area and into my mother's room. I followed, smudged the laundry area and then broke into my mother's room, using a key I knew she had hidden. It could hide anywhere in there. The room was such a hoarder's mess. I just started methodically smudging the space, still chanting in Thai, with the voice that wasn't mine. My vision blurred. I felt physical pain starting to squeeze me, it wasn't strong, just little stings, but it did hurt, especially when I got toward the back of her room, toward her shower. Then it moved from the shower area to a to a giant walk in closet that wasn't accessible to me. Too many piles blocking, and in the dark dangerous. I suddenly knew. The entity was welcome in my mom's room. It was hers. She had been caring for it or feeding it her energy for years. I couldn't remove it, or even if I did she would get it back or make another one. I still smudged and let the smoke fill the room and I tried my best to push it outside, creating an environment that it would not want to stay in. I spiritually sealed all the entrances into the house with holy water, and homemade black salt. I put the monks back, but I kept the Thai sign in the bathroom. I was drained. I know this story is hard to believe, especially if you're not versed in the supernatural, or have the ability to see/smell/hear/feel sprit. I put up an epic fight. I learned a lot. My throat hurt from whatever spoke through me. I was grateful, though, because everything was different from that point on. We're resilient. The activity has decreased by 90%. I have since created talismans and protections on all the main entrances. I still smudge about once a month, just to keep the atmosphere fresh. I try to do Em's room about once a week. Her room is too close in proximity to my mother's living space for my liking. Em is picky and doesn't like any burned smell, not even sweetgrass, the weirdo, but I can spray Florida water or tar water. My mom still hoards her things in her room. I don't know how many little demon babies she hides in her piles, but they're her problem. She's the most stubborn and hard to live with person on the planet. I did her a solid, allowing her to retire and save face, without losing her home, so I have no guilt about spreading our dirty laundry into cyber space. I have a lot of untold stories that will slowly come to light, but my childhood is not relevant to this story. James moved out on his own, hopefully he does a little protection ritual or a prayer once in a while at his new place. Every so often Em or I will see a little black shadow "cat," but it's not so bothersome. It hangs out mainly on the stairs. You have to pay attention to your footing. It's just safe enough. I have a little spirit area, where I put out tea and cakes for it, outside the kitchen door, on the deck, near where I feed the birds. I'm trying to keep it outside. It can play with the skunk. The main thing is we're not fighting anymore. we're more or less comfortable. The house is now truly ours. I moved the Monks to the wall, right outside, of Em's room. And put up a cross. And a mirror.
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"This is Anita." That's the creepy way I answer my phone if I don't have your number already programmed in my device. Scamming telemarketers and aggressive bill collectors looking for some other name are usually thrown off by my blunt weirdness.
"Hi. This is Christy from the Nevada County board [of something or other] and I have a question for you regarding the submission you sent for the art and poetry card design contest. The quote, where did it come from?" "Yay, Hi Christy [See, I'm nice now that it's not someone trying to sell me a time share or calling me Sonia]. The quote came from a short piece I wrote a year or so ago." "It's original. That's great!" I explained how the parameters called for 25 words or less. When I put my name as the quo-tee, it seemed a little much for a card that people would carry. No one wants to hold a person in their wallet. I don't want to actually be in their wallet. Names are powerful. I didn't tell her that. I said with my 3 word name it put me at 26 words, over the cut off. "I can tell you then, that our poet laureate chose your piece in the 18 and over division, and your submission is the official winner." Being chosen by a writer, for my art and edited poetry has made me giddy. I'm confirmed as an artist/writer in the real world, and this has legitimized the hard work I've been doing. I've been really busting my own balls to get some grasp at these watercolors as a medium. I worked with acrylics for 20 years, but watercolors have eluded me. But I did it. I even took a class. And each day that I force my self to do a little more studying, it's finally paying off. Strangers will have the chance to hold my art, though it may just be a laminated little library card in their pocket. They wont know me, but I hope they will feel the heART I put into my work. I was also recently asked to be a judge of the children's art at the county fair this year. They are going to pay me, AND give me and fancy pantsy lunch. It feels wonderful to be a grown up right now. I'm an artist. I can be proud of myself for a minute. And I am. |
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July 2023
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