My First Exposure to Paranormal Activity
Autobiography Excerpt
When I was a little girl I was the apple of my grandpop’s eye, how was I to know that my childhood and my place as “baby” of the family would be so brief?
At the age of six, and the youngest of four existing siblings, my younger brother was born.
“Baby of The Family” no more!
To make matters more complicated, Danny was born with a severe heart defect, the ventricle did not move back and forth in a rhythmic beat, but it stopped, for every two beats of the heart, Danny’s heart beat four. He also had several holes in the center of his heart, so there was a risk that the blood from one side of his heart could mix with the blood from the other side, causing immediate death.
In 1968 he was given a fifty/fifty chance of surviving until the age of six months.
At six years old, I had yet to have had any experiences with death, but I grasped enough of the emotions around me to know that this was serious and that my baby brother needed all of the attention that was once shone upon me, placed on him.
I had two more years of childhood before I “grew up”.
At age eight, my oldest sibling, a sister, went away to college, my next brother in line had a full time job after school (he was 16) and didn’t get home until 11 or 12 at night, and my next brother after that ran away from home (he was 15), so I was the oldest child at home.
My parents both worked. Mom worked midnight shift at a hospital for the mentally handicapped as a nurse and Dad, who had been a teacher prior to my birth, worked construction now and lots of overtime. When the day was over, he played as hard as he worked, shooting darts, drinking with the guys, etc. Mom had to sleep sometime, so she slept when I got home from school and I took care of my little brother until my oldest brother came in from work around midnight. Dad would be out.
During this time, my beloved grandfather, now 80 years old went blind from glaucoma. It became my responsibility to walk down “the hill” to his house and prepare his evening meal and lay out his breakfast for the next day.
I loved my grandfather very much, and at eight years old, this was a labor of love. He had been 72 years old when I was born and he lived to be 93, I lost him when I was 21.
So, in Second Grade, when I came home from school, I changed out of my Catholic School Uniform into my “dungarees” (we didn’t call them jeans in the late 60’s, early 70’s) and my “tennis shoes” (the word sneakers was not in our vocabulary yet) and walked down to grandpop’s house, six blocks away, prepared his meal, kept him company while he ate, washed the dishes, empty the ashes from the coal stove in the kitchen and the warm morning heater in the living room, stoked the fires and fed them with coal, laid out his box of cereal, bowl and spoon for his morning meal within easy reach and then returned home so my mom could go to sleep before her midnight shift at the hospital.
If she made dinner, my little brother and I ate it, if not, I made something for us and tried to keep my two year old brother entertained, but not over stimulated, due to his heart condition. Not easy work at the age of eight. Have you any idea how hard it is to prevent a two year old from running when they want to run, but they aren’t allowed to run because of their weak heart? I do.
At eight p.m. I would run my baby brother’s bath, bathe him, brush his teeth and then read to him until he fell asleep between 9 and 9:30, then I would wake my Mother up so she could get ready for work and start my homework at 9:30 p.m.
Because the house we lived in was haunted, yes, you read that right, the house was most definitely haunted, I always hated when 10:00 p.m. rolled around. In 1970 they used to put out a public service announcement that said “It is 10 p.m., Do You KNOW Where your Children Are?” I hated that announcement, because it meant Mom was leaving to catch a ride to work, her shift started at eleven, and it also meant that I would now be alone, in this haunted house, with just my little brother asleep in his crib and my dog Missy, a Rough Collie, to keep me company until either one of two things happened. Either my big brother Kenny would get home from work around Midnight, or my Dad would wander in from being out and about as he was wont to do on occasion. I had to wait up for them to come home because Mom made me lock the door and for some reason, back in that time, it was the only time our door was locked and no family members carried keys to the doors to the house. I don’t remember the doors to our house ever being locked during the 60’s and the 70’s, ever, only when I was home alone at night with Danny.
So, at 10 p.m. my anxiety would frequently begin. “The Outer Limits” came on at 10 p.m. and the beginning of that TV Show always scared the s*** out of me, it said “There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. We can roll the image, make it flutter. We can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat, there is nothing wrong with your television set. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to... The Outer Limits. Please stand by.”
If I had forgotten to change the channel before it came on I would literally LEAP into action to change that station as quickly as I possibly could! Another show to be avoided at all costs while in the house alone was “The Twilight Zone”, Rod Serling could have well been the Devil himself if he appeared on my TV screen while in that house alone. I can still feel the way I did back then when I think about it, stark fear.
An eight-year old has an active imagination and does not need stimuli like this when home alone in the dark of night. I was frequently very frightened during the hours until someone came home to relieve me of my duty of sentry and allow me to go to bed to get some sleep before awaking at 7 a.m. to get ready for school the next day.
It was on one of these nights that I had my first direct encounter with one of the ghosts that inhabited the home.
The history of our home was quite interesting. My parents got a real bargain when they purchased this single home with four bedrooms way back in 1968, and the reason became apparent long before we moved in, the house was known, not rumored, but KNOWN to be haunted.
The house had been built to be a Rectory and had functioned as one for over seventy years, until St. Anthony’s Church built a new and modern Church and Rectory and put the old Rectory on the market. The house lay empty, void of life, for seven years before my parents, moving to the area from the city, purchased it, and my father scoffed at the idea of it being haunted and bought it against my mother’s protests.
To date each of us inhabiting this home had heard strange noises and had some odd experiences, but, as yet, no one had seen anything “haunting” directly.
While my dad was from Philadelphia, my mother had been born and raised in this small town and was well aware that the house was said to be haunted by spirits seeking redemption, drawn to the priest who had ministered to them in life, and after his death, it was rumored that he had left a promise empty and inhabited the home yet in an attempt to fulfill the forgotten commitment to a lost soul.
I believe this is true. Years later when looking at a family photo taken in the garden of this home there is a disturbing image of several disembodied entities in the walkway in the background that I believe are photos of the actual ghosts. I do not doubt this.
So, back to our story.
It was a summer night, no school the next day, so I could stay up as late as I wanted even after my brother or dad should return home. The crickets were chirping and I had successfully avoided the introduction to “The Outer Limits” and I was reading one of my favorite books as a child, Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.
Danny was in bed, sleeping peacefully in his crib and Mom had just left for work. All was well in my late-night eight year old world. Johnny Carson was on TV and I was curled up on the big sofa in the front room with my book when my dog, Missy, started behaving strangely.
She was at the bottom of the steps and she was barking and whining and pacing in circles. She kept pausing and looking up at the top of the stairway to bark and then pacing and whining again. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Something was wrong. My dog never acted like this. My fight or flight instincts were activated immediately.
I didn’t want to, I was extremely frightened, but I had to, Danny was upstairs. I walked over to the bottom of the stairs where Missy was carrying on, as I walked toward her I heard furniture moving at the top of the stairway. My mom had a dry sink at the top of the stairway beneath a large mirror, the sound was coming from there.
I reached the bottom of the steps, and although I was afraid to do so, I looked up, I had to, Danny was up there.
To my shock and surprise the dry sink was pulled away from the wall, on an angle, and as I watched, it SLAMMED back against the wall!
Missy started howling!
I leapt into action and ran half-way up the stairs, afraid to go near the dry sink, I climbed up the banister and over the railing along the upstairs hall and ran into Danny’s room where he lay sleeping in his crib and grabbed him, and exited by climbing back over the railing and down the stairs and ran next door to the neighbor’s house banging on her door with a two year old in my arms and a collie at my heel.
She was awake and let me right in. My mom had told me if there was ever an emergency to go to this neighbor and I did so as quickly as possible. If seeing furniture move of its own volition was not an emergency I don’t know what is!
She stayed by my side as I put Danny back to sleep on her couch and she tried to comfort me as best she could, but she was scared too. She was a member of St. Anthony’s Parish and she knew the stories of the old Rectory being haunted better than I did.
My brother came home after Midnight and she waved him over to her door and told him what happened. He would NOT go in the house that night, asked her to keep me and Danny overnight and told her he would go sleep at a friend’s house.
By the time my father came home I was fast asleep on the couch with Danny. The next day or two Mom took off work until I was ready to go back to “the routine” again, but I never felt safe or secure in that home.
Despite it all, I found my way….
Copyright © 2008 Brigid Bishop
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This is an excerpt from The Autobiography of Brigid Bishop currently under production.
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