Posted on 09/26/2009 3:23:18 PM PDT by nickcarraway
Tonight, Bert and Jayme Coates will bring their electronic gear to the Central Saloon and go down to its basement to begin hunting for ghosts.
When they pull up in their 1978 Chevy Step Van emblazoned with "Northwest Paranormal Investigation Agency," Bert and Jayme Coates inevitably get friendly greetings from people.
And why not?
A 2008 Harris Poll said 44 percent of Americans believe in ghosts.
That means somebody sitting right near you at the office is a believer, if it's not you.
Friendly greetings are what the Gold Bar couple got Friday afternoon, as they parked in front of Central Saloon (better known by its previous name Central Tavern, before it started serving hard liquor) in Pioneer Square.
Employees at the historic place, established in 1892, say they have experienced supernatural occurrences, and it wasn't by Seahawks fans after a game.
Tonight, the Coateses will bring their electronic gear to the Central and go down to its basement to hunt for ghosts.
On a screen outside the joint, they will project what their camcorders have picked up in the dark using infrared light.
Plenty of ghost stories surround a number of old Pioneer Square buildings.
At the Central, David Lewis does maintenance and is the "barback guy," who restocks all the booze in the mornings. He said he has had his share of ghostly experiences.
The tavern has a stage in the rear, and in the back of the stage is a stained-glass window to the alley.
"In the middle of the day, I watched the stage and saw something go across and block out the sunlight. But there was nobody there," Lewis said.
SNIP
Twenty-five years ago the hit movie "Ghostbusters" popularized tracking down apparitions. The movie still resonates.
(Excerpt) Read more at seattletimes.nwsource.com ...
Someone has requested that I tell another story, so here goes. This one is a bit more personal than the last.
This occurred in the same shotgun house in New Orleans that I shared with my dad. He lived on one side, and I lived on the other. One night I was falling asleep on the sofa in the living room at about 1:00 am. I wasn’t quite asleep yet, I was just resting on my side facing the back rest of the sofa. I became aware that something was in the room with me, something very powerful and very fearful. Even though I could not see it, I was aware that it was walking over to me. I could not move at all, I was absolutely paralyzed with fear.
Whatever it was in the room with me stood right next to me as I lay on the sofa. Its presence was so powerful that it seemed to push the air away from me. I had tremendous difficulty breathing. I am not sure how long it stood there, but at some point I realized that it was no longer there, and I fell asleep. I woke up the next day remembering what happened, but I did not know what to make of it really. But this would not be the end of the story sadly.
I went to sleep the next night around 2:00 am or so, nothing eventful had happened since the night before. I awoke around 8:00 am to the sound of someone beating on my front door. I went to answer it, and it was my grandmother (my dad’s mom). She said, “Mr. Conrad (across the street neighbor)called me and said that your dad was taken away in an ambulance at 5:00 am this morning.” I said, “Well, Maw Maw, did Ernest (my dad) call you yet?” She said’ “No.” It was at this point that I knew he was gone, but she didn’t seem to realize that yet.
We went to Mercy hospital which was where the ambulance had taken him. We were greeted by the grief counselor at this point. My grandma didn’t seem to understand yet as she kept asking where is her son and is he okay. I felt like I was going to pass out. They took us to his room where he lay dead. He was still hooked up to the devices that they tried to save him with. We both broke down.
About a week later, my grandma and I were inside his side of the shotgun house arranging things and just trying to get stuff in order when she said, “Chris, come here.” I went over to her where she was sitting at his desk. She had found something.
My dad was a very troubled man. At some point in his life he became lost. He had done many bad things that I won’t describe here, except to say that he had been a heavy drug and alcohol user for a long period in his life. He quit about two years before his death, but he suffered memory problems as a result of this abuse. In order to compensate for this, he often wrote down every important date, appointments, and phone numbers in calendars so that he would not forget.
She had found a calendar on his desk under some other papers. There was no entry anywhere on this calendar except for one. On the box of October third was the message “5:15 am DieD”. It was written in sharpie marker, but no sharpie marker could be found on the desk. She asked me if I wrote this, and I told her ,”No, it’s not my hand writing.” I looked around on his desk and found another note that had been written previously. It contained the word “DiD”. The reason I capitalize the D’s is because his D’s were absolutely uniquely written, and it was clear that he had written the note in the calendar at this point.
The problem is he died in the ambulance on the way to Mercy hospital. The time on his death certificate was 5:15 am. He was not in his house at 5:15 am...I thought maybe he wrote this as he left, but I can’t see ambulance attendees allowing a man in the throws of a fatal heart attack to stop and sit at his desk, thumb through a calendar to the exact date and write this prophetic message while he was still alive.
I still have this calendar, and when I look at this message, I know that it was written by him after he died. I don’t have an explanation as to how. My dad died of a massive heart attack about 27 hours after I was visited in my living room by a very powerful entity. I am not going to speculate as to what that was, because my dad and I look exactly alike and lived right across the wall from each other.
That’s a very interesting story. I believe that it really takes something to scare a man. I know that I do not scare easily, but that which is unknown scares the hell out of me.
It’s also interesting how he get’s teary and nervous as he relates the story. When I tell my stories, even when I just wrote them for this forum, I sweat profusely, despite the fact that it is 69 degrees in my house right now. It seems to be a spontaneous physiological reaction on my part.
I heard a news story informing us that a class in this “vocation” would be held at our local tech school. The last class will be on Oct 31, so they might practice what they have learned. I wanted to go just to see who would go. You must be at least 16 to sign up.
I heard a news story informing us that a class in this “vocation” would be held at our local tech school. The last class will be on Oct 31, so they might practice what they have learned. I wanted to go just to see who would go. You must be at least 16 to sign up.
bttt
I've had them. It really is a terrifying thing, not being able to tell a bad dream from reality, and you do feel quite awake, hence the "lucid" in lucid dream.
The first one I recall was from late childhood, age ten, eleven or so. Something was in my bedroom. Couldn't see anything distinct, but man oh man did I ever feel it, sense it. I couldn't move. The bedcovers began to be lifted up at the foot of my bed, could see where something was holding it in two places about where hands should have been but nothing was there, and the bedcovers continued to rise. I still couldn't move, and felt like I'd pass out from hyperventilating.
That's all I remember.
Wow, that is really scary. Gives me chills just to read it.
The thing that gets me about my experience is that I am certain I had not fallen asleep yet. I recall that I had just laid down on the sofa, and within one to two minutes the event occurred. But, of course, I cannot be certain, because sometimes sleep just overtakes us very quickly.
But I remember my eyes being wide open, like pegged open. I couldn’t look at it, because I couldn’t turn my head at all. I know it stood right next to me, I could feel it right there, couldn’t breathe because there was no air.
I think whatever it was took my dad the very next day.
I don’t drink at all, sir. That was my dad’s specialty.
For $100.00 a night I will sit in front of your closet with my patented "Boogie-be-gone" whacking stick.
My son took a ‘class’ like that. He said it was cool - until they started using ‘crystals’ and mediums and such. He was looking for something more scientific. He lost interest after that.
A few years ago, Mrs. Othniel was involved in a ministry with some people from church where people with deep-seated issues were prayed for. (I helped out now and then, but she did more.) Sometimes, it was something that the person wanted to get rid of, like chronic lust, or anger, but never seemed to be able to be shaken. In probing their past, there was invariably some kind of experience that opened a door for demonic oppression. Note: not possession, but oppression. The devil wasn't living inside your house, but he would ride his bike every so often and heave big rocks at your window. When the root cause was discovered, it was confessed, renounced, and the demon bound and cast out. The latter part was often accompanied by shouts, vomit, cursing, and, once, broken furniture.
Anyway, one night, as I was drifting off to sleep, my eyes opened. There, beside the bed on the other side of my wife, was a figure. It was dressed in jeans and a shirt, and it had blonde, stringy hair. The face was blood red, and it looked like it was melting. It had a woman's shape, though kinda dumpy. I felt malice from it. It regarded my wife for a few seconds, then, with a snarling look on its face, kicked my wife. Mrs. Othniel immediately jerked violently in bed and moaned, like she was in pain. After it did that, the thing vanished. I woke her up, and we prayed about it, asking the Lord to cover us both, and our sons as well. I saw a few wierd things after that, once when I was fully awake, but nothing like what I saw that night. I'm convinced it was a demon of some kind, sent to bother my wife for interfering in Scratch's work.
http://bmovies.blogspot.com/2006/10/my-personal-ghost-story.html
He has a ghostwriter.
***rimshot***
LOL! Good one!
Haunting spirits.
If this is in my closet...
...I'll have to pass on your offer, thanks!
(Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nada.)
Because ghosts aren't real.
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