A FAMILY GHOST STORY
I was seventeen and a young soldier in 1965 on reassignment orders
to a U.S. Army overseas facility at Kaiserslautern, Germany.
I reported for duty only to find that the unit was deactivating, then
in the process of moving all of its soldiers to new locations. The sergeant
told me to go find myself a cot in one of the vacant rooms, that I could
have my pick as to which, that I would be notified in a few days as
to my new orders.
It was on day two that I met two other soldiers in the same boat; however,
unlike me, they’d taken up temporary residence on another floor.
We became friends, mainly taking our meals together, avoiding all authority
while waiting for our new assignments.
The room I selected was on the second floor of the drafty, old, stone
structure that I reasoned had in the past housed many German soldiers.
But now all was quiet, and as I learned a vacant billet was an understatement
regardless of who used to call it home. It was like a ghost town.
My room was empty of all furnishings except for two other cots. No one
was claiming either and I enjoyed the privacy knowing it would be short
lived once my orders came.
On day three after a good night's rest I woke to the door opening. In
stepped a young soldier, about my age, wearing a dress green uniform
and sporting a green beret. He stopped at the doorway and asked if he
might join me in the room? I welcomed him to come in, so much for privacy,
and quickly pointed out that I recognized him as a Special Forces soldier,
the beret he wore cocked on his head being a dead give away for same.
Closing the door, he stood next to my cot where we engaged in further
conversation. I could see by the black plastic name tag he wore that
his last name was similar to my own:
-- His name was BRIDGER, mine BRIDGES.
I pointed out this fact, excited as I had not encountered another soldier
with a similar name as mine. He told me he and his family were firmly
rooted in North Carolina. I told him mine was from Kentucky. We exchanged
further small talk at which time I again brought up his green beret.
That's when he explained that he really wasn't Special Forces; that
he really wasn't even old enough to be in the army; that by some trickery
he had managed to join with a group of real Special Forces soldiers
that had deployed to a place far from his home, a place called Vietnam.
I had not heard of Vietnam, and told him so. To which he explained to
my amazement that he had been caught by surprise almost immediately
upon arrival in the jungle there -- and shot -- and killed.
What? I will admit I was surprised by what he was saying but at the
same time found his story, and his manner in an oddly and curious kind
of way, quite believable. He explained further that as he lay on the
ground dying he had wished he had not tricked anyone; that he had stayed
with family and friends back in North Carolina and not gone to Vietnam;
and, how he had wished with all his might to be able to visit with another
soldier, a relative. And that was me.
The names were different but he claimed we were related and that's why
he was there in my room. His wish had been granted if only in part.
Saying beyond that he had little understanding as to why he was there
in my room and became visually surprised that he was in Germany.
After a few minutes more he moved to one of the vacant cots and lay
down. I got up and dressed in my fatigues and was lacing my boots when
my two buddies came crashing into the room with purpose of gathering
me up to go to the mess hall for lunch. One of the two sat on the edge
of the cot where BRIDGER lay quietly looking over at me, listening to
the general festive conversation then happening from the two, but himself
I thought this rude that no one had acknowledged BRIDGER’s presence
so I asked if it would be okay if BRIDGER joined us? They looked at
each other, and at me, seemingly lost as to what I was asking.
BRIDGER said they couldn't see him. That no one else could see him.
He said he would stay until we left and then he’d continue on
with his journey.
That sounded strange but so had everything else up to that point.
Caught up in my two friend’s insistence, we left the room with
BRIDGER looking over and waving goodbye as the door closed behind us.
Thinking this had been an elaborate ruse at my expense, I laughed and
said so, bringing up the matter again as we continued down the stairs;
but again to vacant stares and comments they had no idea what I was
I tried relaying BRIDGER's story as we went but they wouldn’t
listen. Seated in the dining facility, they insisted they saw no one
in my room and asked that I drop this idiotic conversation for more
logical chit chat. I was beginning to believe they actually hadn’t
seen BRIDGER and perhaps I might be losing my mind.
Upon returning to my room BRIDGER was gone, never to be seen by me again.
My new orders came that day and that was the last I saw of my two lunch
buddies. For which I was thankful, for I was sure they thought me completely
Nearly ten years later I learned our family name of BRIDGES had in fact
long ago been BRIDGER. My ancestors had migrated from North Carolina
and taken up residence in Kentucky.
Submitted by Jerry Bridges
THE LAST GOODBYE
On April 8, 1990, at 8:30 pm, I received a phone call from my brother.
We were three time zones apart. He informed me that tonight was THE
night. I knew what that meant. It was only a week earlier than originally
scheduled and I was counting days. I had depended on having at least
seven more days of sharing with him what time he had left. Since my
last visit with him, I spoke to him daily by telephone; generally once
in the morning and again during the early evening hours. I had spent
a week with him just six weeks earlier, knowing it would be our last
visit. He forbade tears in his presence. He was in good spirits and
not morose about his impending death at all. During that particular
visit, we spoke of death and pondered the afterlife and what it may
or may not be. We both believed that we are energy life forms and therefore
the energy must go somewhere. When we parted from that visit, I hugged
goodbye an almost skeleton. He was quickly wasting away.
This particular April evening would be the last time we would speak.
Our conversation lasted only thirty minutes. All arrangements were in
place. I knew he was in good hands. I wished him peace and a smooth
way. I hung up the phone and I went out on my back porch. There was
a full moon. I cried long and hard knowing I was about to lose one of
my life’s best friend.
I went to bed at 10:30 that evening. My mind was recalling past events
that involved my brother and me. Memories. Fun ones, happy ones. I saw
him on his first bicycle riding off to school. He rode his bike along
side me as I walked and he made crazy eights and circles, and we chatted
away until we had to part ways. I walked on to my high school and he
rode off to grade school. I watched him pedal up the tree lined street
on an early Spring morning. I was so happy for him that he finally had
his long awaited bicycle.
I cried off and on and couldn't sleep. I dreaded the expected phone
call that would advise me all was finished, but at the same time I would
welcome it. My brother's suffering would be over. I kept glancing at
the digital clock on my nightstand. The numbers glowed a sky blue and
cast a soft light in the darkness of the room. Each time I would calculate
the time where my brother was. My last glance at the clock before I
mercifully dozed off read a few minutes before two a.m.
I was awakened by a light tickling right between my eyes. I surmised
it was cat whiskers and I opened my eyes expecting to see my cat in
my face. But there was nothing. I closed my eyes and drifted back to
sleep for only a few seconds and felt the tickle again in the very same
spot. This time I smoothed the blanket down and looked for the cat.
But from the corner of my eye off to my right side, I caught a tiny
dot of light hovering about eight inches from my head. A tiny dot of
bright white light in the semi-darkness that did not belong there. I
turned my head and focused on the light and once I did this, the light
began to expand and it drifted away from me.
The light had my full attention and I was trying to discern what I was
seeing, although I could not recall ever seeing anything of its kind
before. I became aware of a steady, even hum. Yet, I was unable to discern
if I was actually hearing this hum or feeling the vibration of sound.
It was similar to the experience of holding a tuning fork and striking
it. The steadiness and evenness of the sound/vibration was incredible!!
The light had grown and now filled the entire corner of the room. It
was a soft light now and it had depth dimension to it, but I could see
my bedroom furniture through it and the light now had rainbow colors
within it. It had grown from a bright dot of light to something more
defined with color and depth, but less bright. All this occurred in
the space of about forty-five seconds. I then remembered the plight
of my brother and the light quickly faded away. I turned and looked
at the clock. It was 3:12 am.
I awoke just before 7am. I received the awaited phone call at 9:50 am.
My brother’s suffering was over. The remainder of the day seemed
like a fog. There was the realization and finality, the memories, the
loss, the pain. Already I missed my brother and still do. As the day
turned to evening I suddenly recalled the light and the hum that awakened
me in the early morning hours. I remembered it was 3:12 am when I last
saw it. I raced to the telephone and called the person who would know
the answer to my question. What time did my brother die? I was told
between 6:00 – 6:30am. In my time zone that would be between 3:00
I began laughing and crying at the same time. That light! That hum!
Was that my brother’s energy force communicating to me?? The deliberate
yet soft tickle between the eyes, the waiting for my full attention
and focus just to show me that yes, the energy does go somewhere and
it is conscious and aware and has purpose. I could almost hear my brother
laughing as I began connecting the dots. And I knew that he knew that
this demonstration would comfort me at this time and I would hold it
in my memory forever. A treasured last goodbye.
Submitted by N. Abele
THOSE OLD HAUNTED HOMES
One family's experience in the state's oldest
Our family moved to a small eastern Washington community in 1989 where
I took a job with the City. One of my responsibilities was the overall
management of the cemetery. It dated back to 1854 and had roughly 6,300
burials. Early in 1990 I hired a sextant to make an effort to correlate
all of the cemetery records through an on site review and then we would
compare the records at City Hall to see where it would come out. During
the preceding years, I and the office staff had data based all of the
city's cemetery records.
By the spring of 1993, I had a very strong knowledge
of this cemetery and its various sections.
At the time, we were living a few blocks away in one of the community's
older homes. My wife and children professed a great amount of anxiety
and fear over what they perceived as an incessant amount of strange
occurrences in this house, none of which they were able to explain.
I frankly was very skeptical, although we had lived in homes before
that had a lot of paranormal activity. I decided to check out this one.
A number of the City staff had lived in town all of their lives. Upon
inquiry to one of my clerks, I was informed that at one time there had
been a third floor on this house that had burned during the war. There
had been a fatality. Consensus seemed to indicate that the casualty
was a young man. This entity was very mischievous. Apparently, he enjoyed
turning on water faucets, opening washing machine doors, turning on
or off lights, slamming doors etc. I was skeptical of these claims.
One Saturday night I got up to visit the bathroom.
The only light that was on in the house was in the hallway. When I exited
the bathroom, I was quite surprised to see that the only lights that
were not on were in the bedrooms. The front room, dining, kitchen, and
laundry room lights were all turned on. I decided that the family was
right, we need to move.
The very next morning, I was on a walk through
the cemetery when I noticed a young woman in a faded dress standing
in front of a headstone in one of the older parts of the cemetery. The
dress looked like an early 20th century wedding dress. I turned and
walked over to where she was standing. She appeared to be in her twenties.
She was slim, long brown hair and of medium height. She was looking
down at the headstone with a very sad look on her face. I quickly surveyed
the cemetery. There were not any vehicles or other people in the cemetery.
From where I stood, I could see all of the grounds. She vanished as
I approached. I noticed a man's name on the headstone. I wondered what
could be happening since she probably wasn't buried here. The name on
the front was that of a man, Slocumb. But, since the stone was four
sided I decided to check the back of it. It was the only Jewish headstone
in the cemetery. It was unique in shape and I had remembered it from
previous trips to the cemetery.
The name Emma Moore was on the rear of the stone. She died at age 26
in the early part of that century. A daughter, maybe. A check of the
City's burial records confirmed that they were both buried in this grave.
Sad.... Never more Emma Moore.
We soon found another house and moved ASAP. The
children were becoming paranoid and my wife was unhappy with the current
arrangements. Peace at last, I thought. Wrong. It wasn't long before
the children began complaining about noises in the basement and footfalls
on the stairs coming up from the basement. One afternoon, several months
later, I was home preparing lunch when I heard footfalls coming up the
stairs. They were located directly behind the kitchen and these footfalls
were quite loud. I sprang to my feet and ran to the door at the top
of the stairs. This will end right now, I thought. As I opened the door,
A wispy figure of a middle aged woman scooted by me and into the kitchen
where she soon vanished. That afternoon I checked with the long time
residents again about the prior occupants of that house. The building
inspector informed me that a woman fitting the description had lived
there about twenty years earlier. She died in a plane crash a few miles
west of town. The call went out again, we're moving. We subsequently
found a fairly new home that had no complications.
I then received a phone call from a local car
mechanic that had moved into our prior residence. He stated that he
had heard about our experiences in this house and that he and his family
had recently moved into this house and was having some strange experiences.
What kind I asked? He stated that he had placed their three month old
child into a play pen in a side bedroom. When he entered the room some
twenty minutes later to check on the baby, he found it crawling around
on the floor outside of the pen. How could that happen I asked ? I don't
know he responded. What should I do he asked ? MOVE I said.
Submitted by Don