I’ve had a lot of encounters with the unexplained. I thought I’d try to express examples of sensory inputs from experiences I’ve had. I might continue this series if folks like it. I have a ridiculous amount of experiences to work with. Perhaps those who haven’t encountered such things will get a visceral reaction and understand what motivates us searchers of answers to the paranormal:
The hollow sound of a booted heel on a wooden floorboard alerts your attention. The cadence is casual, as if the entity has all the time in the world to peruse his otherworldly domain. You’d call out but you know you’re alone, at least, alone on the earthly plane.
You feel rubbed with ice cubes, hair standing on end, tingling deep inside as something passes through your body, entering the right side, exiting the left. It feels like cold electrical charges. You shiver deeply. Rubbing your arms doesn’t help because the cold begins within and works its way outward in a most unnatural way.
Quietly reading a book you inhale the scent of something familiar. Your mind becomes all at once nostalgic. The scent is cherry pipe smoke. You know because grandfather used to smoke it. But no one has ever smoked in your house, much less cherry tobacco. You inhale one more time, but it’s gone. You sniff about the area but cannot recreate the source. Now, all you can think of is a lonely old man looking for a place to have his quiet smoke.
A door slams shut, a wall shutters in response. Silence. You hold your breath and wait, but no one runs from the scene. Stepping into the hall you study the row of doors to find one shut. The knob is cool. The door opens easily. Studying the closed windows, you realize there was nothing to shut the door and no air-conditioning in the building to create a strong breeze. In an absent-minded show of respect, you close the door as you leave. feeling like you are the intruder.
You take the stairs two at a time, the boards are ancient and petrified, making loud groans as you spring forward, your lungs taking in the heavy musty scent of wet concrete and exposed earth. Knowing something is chasing you up the dark narrow basements stairs, you don’t take the split second to look back, afraid of what you might see. Something cold embraces your ankle and you stumbled forward, pushing the door open and making it into the sunlight of the upstairs, slamming the door shut and glad you beat it this time. Still, there will be a next time.
Above you the Waterford crystal chandelier and all its tiers of dangling pieces tinkle. Someone upstairs is pacing, back and forth, back and forth before the fireplace in the master suite. Soft murmuring male voices are carrying on a conversation, responding to each other in such soft tones it infuriates you. If they’re going to talk, they should at least speak up so the words are intelligible. But then, again, how does one ask a ghost to please speak louder?