Squished on the couch, semi-fetal, covered eyes peeking through fingers, lying in wait for the next thing to scare the bejesus out of us – that’s us.

It’s in the genes. At least on one side of the family.

Psychological or paranormal …. I just looove me a scary movie.  If it’s a thriller, chiller or white-knuckler – I am in.

The Orphanage is definitely a fave. Oh wait, so is The Shining. And Poltergeist. And Insidious. Shall I go on?

As a child, although a complete scaredy cat when it came to bugs and people wearing devil masks (Dale!), I loved The Twilight Zone, Alfred Hitchcock Presents and The Outer Limits. I was all about The Birds and Psycho. And watched unaccompanied. Just me and my shadow. Go figure.

Nowadays, watching a scary by my lonesome? Nope. (Unlike someone I know). I must be in the company of others. The others being real live humans, my nearest and dearest – within hand-holding distance.

Do I have fun, or what?

I do have one more stipulation.

Don’t let it be too for-real or slasher-y. Like the time my daughters made me sit through The Strangers. Ah, HUGE NO.

I still have not forgiven them.

The only difference between me and the doggy above is the lack of hand, pillow or blanket enthusiastically obstructing my view.

Bearing all of that in mind, and between you and me, I am about to own up to some scenarios you might find paranormally endearing. Or possibly alarming.

Here goes.

say my name, say my name

When it’s deathly still and I am completely alone I have heard the following softly whispered, “Kaaaaren … Kaaaaren”.

It used to occur when I’d been dancing solo in a studio. Now it occasionally manifests while twirling about my kitchen.

Remember, I am entirely by my lonesome. Well, at least in the physically obvious sense.

These hushed tones have a quality best described as a gentle breeze swirling with Disneyesque flair. Sweet. Right?

Unnerved might be the more obvious reaction. A disembodied voice murmuring to me?

In retrospect … probably should have kept that one to myself.

when push comes to shove

While standing on a fire escape, or at the tippy top of a staircase or escalator, I often feel an energy forcefully prodding me forward.

With that intense goading I vividly imagine the scenario of falling, followed by vigorous jolting as I bounce off each and every step on the way down.

Unlike that gentle whisper, I must admit, THIS is scary.

Consequently, I have always, ALWAYS been hyper-vigilant when making my way down a flight of stairs, leaning out a window or over a balcony. My self-doubt, when about to descend, appears as an attentive thought bubble above my head.

Per bubble: Take your sweet time missy.

The wherefores of my potential demise were revealed while chatting with a medium who channels an entity known as Veronica.

It appears hostile adversaries have shoved me down massive sets of stone steps and I’ve “accidentally” fell to my death in past lives.

Although somewhat skeptical when it comes to mediums and past lives hocus-pocus … that really blew me away.

Deja vu can be a real bitch.

who you gonna call?

Some years ago, while staying in a Dallas hotel room, having just climbed into bed, I felt an uninvited spirit set itself down on the edge of the mattress.

That mattress clearly compressed as it gave into the weight of something.

Then a dark shadow, felt and seen through eyelids intensely squeezed shut, materialized over me. This was an aggressive, disturbing presence.

As I lay frozen in fear, repeating “please, please go away” over and over, it finally whooshed up-up-and-away.

Casper the Friendly Ghost this was not.

During that call with Veronica (referenced above) this occurrence was discussed and she kindly put my fears to rest. Casper’s evil twin was not being aggressive, but rather a lost soul trying desperately to leave our earthly situation.

I imagine it flitting about the room looking for a way out and energetically begging me for heeeelllllllp.

How was I to know?

Whoever you were, I am so very sorry I judged you.

lighting the way

The day after my mom’s funeral was spent sorting through belongings and summoning up memories with my daughters. About to leave her apartment, we took the moment to audibly express how much we loved her.

With one daughter having just stepped into the hallway, the other in the doorway and me in the foyer, the light hanging above winked on and off. We were stunned. And thrilled.

Was this you, mom?

Next night, when heading off to bed, I needed to retrace my steps and retrieve a forgotten something downstairs. And there was the middle candle in the nook above my fireplace … one of those battery-operated types … flickering in all its glory.

Please let this be you mom.  

Finally, while walking from her apartment to the elevator – a rather long walk, where sconces line the right side wall of the corridor – each one blinked off and on … off and on … off and on … off and on … all the way to the elevator.

With all that winking, blinking and flickering I felt you mom.  Bright and clear.

What an extraordinary gift.

my sixth sense

I have a knack for peeping dead people.

The doorbell rings, I open the door and there is Nonnie (my deceased grandma). It takes me a moment to recognize her as she always appears to be about thirty years of age.

These delightful social calls take place in what resembles my childhood living room on Kingston Avenue. We sit and chat.

Despite the fact that I can never recall what was discussed I am always beside myself with joy. She tells me our visits will only be remembered as dreams.

It is always a lovely visit.

My beloved grandpa passed away when I was ten years old. He was the most adorable man in his bermuda shorts, knee socks and sandals. Grief-stricken and inconsolable, I released my blistering anger by forcefully shattering my collection of glass animals into pieces.

Later that night he stood at the foot of my bed. He let me know in no uncertain terms that he was peaceful, that I mustn’t torture myself, that he’d always love me and would be watching over me for the rest of my life.

And lucky me to have always sensed that comforting, watchful presence.

Visits with grandparents are always the best.

Now it’s your turn

I wanna hear all about your unique spirits and pop ins from the beyond.

Did you find my recollections to be endearingly otherworldly and whimsical? Or creepy?

Do you change the channel at the slightest indication of ominous antics and think scary movies (and those that watch) are just plain disturbing (disturbed)?

Or do we speak the same language? As in scary movies are da bomb. Yes! If so, a list of your faves please.

In the meantime …

… I hope for more time with my Nonnie,

recognizing my mom in all the glowings,

sensing the watchful eye of my grandpa,

being less judgmental of spirits,

welcoming my Karen-whisperers,

more spooky time with my fam,

and

to never ever stop focusing intensely on downward, downhill, plunging, tilting, listing stairways, balconies, porches, decks, etc., etc., etc.

As far as those blood-tingling, heart-stopping, hair-raising viewings with mi Familia? BRING IT ON!

I think I’m about to ‘Sixth Sense” it … again.