West Coast Haunting

The theme of my blog, as decided for a class in college, in how the two coasts clash. One thing that doesn't necessarily clash, is haunting's. When I moved to California I heard stories of haunted Spanish Missions and ghost spotting's at army barracks. I was intrigued, but too caught up in the party scene in Santa Barbara to really care.

My second year in SB I lived in a house on the beach, on the biggest party street in Isla Vista; Del Playa, with 11 other people. We partied hard. One roommate in particular took the partying to a whole new level. When I first met her, the previous year while still living in the dorms, she was on the shy side and had a boyfriend back home in the Bay Area. When we moved into the house, she moved into a bedroom with two other girls. She took the loft while the other two shared space on the floor. I lucked out with my own room downstairs.

Shortly after moving into the house, I noticed a few changes in the girl in the loft. She became more outspoken and let loose when partying. She even began to cheat on her boyfriend. It got to the point where if she wasn't having sex, it seemed like she wasn't happy. Nymphomania at it's finest, or at least that's what I assumed. It got to the point where she began sleeping with roommates, (the house was made up of four girls and 8 guys). Her personality really darkened and it seemed like she was in a downhill spiral out of control. At one point her boyfriend even flew into town to surprise her, she acted as though she could care less. I was even the one who picked him up at the airport because she was "too busy".

When December rolled around, she went home to visit her family and never returned. We never received an explanation, but I have my theories. That's when strange things began to happen to one of the other girls living in the bedroom.

The first week back from December break, one of the girls, lets calls her Malory, woke up in the middle of the night and spotted her roommate, lets call her Carrie, standing by the porch door staring out at the ocean.  Malory mumbled to Carrie to go back to bed. Carrie grunted from her bed across the room. When Malory looked back at the porch doors there was no one there, so she chalked it up as dreaming and went back to bed.

About a week later, Malory woke up in the middle of the night once again, only this time Carrie was standing at the foot of her bed. Again she told her to go back to bed only this time Carrie woke up asking what Malory wanted. Malory looked away for one second, but upon looking back the figure was gone. Carrie saw nothing; but we discussed the matter in the morning agreeing that Malory was having very weird and vivid dreams.

A few weeks passed and nothing happened. Just as Malory began to forget about her nightmares the most vivid encounter occurred. She was woken in the middle of the night when she felt a tugging on the bottom of her bed sheet. When she woke up she noticed a blonde girl, who greatly resembled Carrie at the foot of her bed seemingly tugging on the sheet. She glanced at Carrie's bed and saw her in bed in a sound sleep. When she looked back the girl was practically on top of her, looking angry with what Malory described as crazed eyes. She screamed, waking Carrie and half of the guys in the house. No one else saw the figure, but Malory was shaking and clearly terrified.

The next day we researched how to get in touch with this figure who was clearly haunting Malory. We then I took a trip to State Street where I purchased a Ouija board and Carrie bought candles. At midnight that evening we lit the candles in a pentagram shape, to protect us from evil as the directions we found online said to do, and recited some poem about keeping our circle safe from those who might harm us. It was like we stepped out of a scene in Now and Then.

We started with basic questions getting yes and no answers. Yes it was the girl who haunted Mal, no it would not show itself to all of us, etc. Eventually, Carrie and I got bored and looked at each other from across the board signally that this was silly. We both removed our fingers, as lightly as we possibly could. Malory was frightened and had her eyes shut through most of the game and now was no exception. As I opened my mouth to say we should call it quits, the game-piece began to move. It spelled, "7 up". Carried joked and asked if the ghost was thirsty. Again it spelled, "7 up".  We were at a loss as to what this could mean and Malory was the only one with a finger on the board, yet her eyes were closed and she looked away from the board every time it began to move. No way she had that kind of precision.

We declared that we simply didn't understand and the board spelled, "Go up 7". Again we asked it to explain and it repeated, "Go up 7". Carried suddenly gasped. There were seven pegs on the ladder leading up to the loft that formerly housed out friend. We excitedly asked if that's what it was referring to, it shot to yes. I then asked if the ghost we were talking to was up there. It shot to No. I asked if the ghost we were talking to was trying to hurt us, again No. I then asked if the ghost in the loft was trying to hurt us. The game stopped responding. After a few minutes, I decided to go up to the loft. I began to climb the stairs and swear it got colder the closer to the top I ascended. I felt as though there was a dark shape in the corner, but convinced myself it was my mind playing tricks on me. I assumed there would be a ghost so my mind created one. I started to take one more step up when I was overcome with a feeling of anger and hate. Like, whatever was up there was pissed off and did not want me entering. I quickly climbed down and we decided to call it quits for the night.

We blew out the candles, packed up the game and decided to go down to the kitchen for something to eat. Malory flicked on the hall light to illuminate our way. Instead of turning on, the light made a popping sound and burst into flames.

*Needless to say, the girls slept in my room that night. The male roommates put out the small and very contained fire, but that light never worked again. The ghost who woke Malory up was never seen again.

--I think the roommate who lived in the loft was possessed. Or maybe she got pregnant from all the sex she had. Who knows?

East Coast Haunting #2

As promised, here's the second installment of my ghost adventures.

This haunting, like the last one, occurred in Connecticut; only this one happened in Waterbury, specifically a section of the town called Watertown, but that's like saying The Inner Sunset when describing the Sunset in San Francisco. If you've never been, which I'm guessing most of my readers haven't, it's a cute town that looks a lot like every other town in Connecticut complete with historic graveyards and haunted houses. When I was in elementary school, truthfully, I don't remember which grade-I'm guessing third, so let's assume I was nine years old-my class took a field-trip to historic Waterbury to learn about Connecticut history and see how people lived in the early settlement days. Our first stop was a historic home that was still set up as it would have been in the early 1800's.

Our tour guide was deep in character, she spoke with an accent, dressed in a petticoat and acted as though quilt's were the world's greatest accomplishment. My eyes were beginning to glaze over when we entered a bedroom. It was small, there were a few beds inside and a doll in the corner. The guide explained that this is where the family slept. The whole family. In one room. The entire class was in a tizzy discussing the idea of sharing a room with their entire family, discussing snoring and annoying siblings, but not me. I was drawn to the doll in the corner of the bedroom. It was away from the beds, which struck me as odd. I wandered closer to the doll which caught the guides attention. She came up close, away from the other kids, and spoke in her normal voice to me. It was along the lines of, "Aw, you noticed the doll. That doll belonged to a little girl who lived here. In those days, when little children got sick, many of them never recovered. We'll be visiting her grave when we go to the cemetery." It was spooky and probably not something she should have told a nine year old little girl, but I was fascinated. As we moved on to the next room I never took my eyes off the doll. It captivated all of my attention.

Soon after, we left the historic house and our guide took us to the cemetery across the street. It was a beautiful Connecticut day. The sun was shining, there a barely any clouds in the sky and zero wind, perfect for wandering around a cemetery. The guide pointed out tombstones that were believed to be from the late 1700's but the dates were too faded to determine. As she gave us history lessons on some of the grave styles and family plots, I discreetly picked flowers. They were mainly those little purple violets that grow likes weeds all over Connecticut with a few Dandelions for a splash of yellow.

I had picked a pretty sizable bouquet when we made it to the family plot of the home we had just visited. The guide told pointed out each tombstone and made sure to look at me as she mentioned the little girl's headstone. As the class took turns looking and moving on, I made my way to the little girl's grave. I placed the bouquet of flowers on top and took a second to take in the scene. There was a little girl my age buried there. That really hit a nerve.

When I came back to reality I realized my class was gone. I mean gone. I couldn't see them anywhere! I began to panic and cry. I was standing in the middle of a cemetery gasping for air through my tears in an utter state of panic when out of no where I found myself surrounded by a gust of wind and began to get chilled. Through the wind I heard a little girl's voice say, "They're over the hill." It was crystal clear, as though someone was standing next to me, speaking into my ear. As soon as I heard the words the wind disappeared  and the numb panic I was feeling began to subside. I followed the directions of the wind and walked up over a hill to spot my class and a very worried tour guide and classmates. I re-joined them and was scolded to staying behind.

Shortly after we went home and I told my parents about the field trip. My parents urged me to research Waterbury and the little girl. Computers were far from what they are today, when I was nine, so I had to go to the local library and look through history books about Waterbury, Connecticut. I think my parents assumed I wouldn't find anything, get bored and move onto a topic other than ghosts. Instead I found a few "real life ghost encounter" books mentioning a little girl ghost in Waterbury. I obsessed over this for a while, begging my parents to take me back to Waterbury, but it was almost two hours away and they were not playing into my "haunted" fantasy. Over time, I began to focus on other things and slowly forgot my ghost encounter.

Now fast-forward seven years. When I turned 16, like every other teen I was eager to get my driver's licence. I took a driver's ed class, got 100% on the written exam, arrived to take my test and was told I had to use a driver's ed car, not my parent's car. I had only ever driven my parents car. The driver's ed car had a brake that stuck and a broken rear view mirror. The man administering the test clearly had an upset stomach and did not want to be there. When I got in the car, he asked me if I was Latina  I nervously replied, "No, Jewish." I'm pretty sure that was when he decided to fail me. I swear I drove like a pro, but he marked me down every time I hit the break. For the record, 12 students took the test that day. The only one who passed was a true Latina chick from Guatemala. The rest of us failed.

I instantly called the DMV and tried to get a real appointment, asap. They had one opening, the following Saturday, but it was in Waterbury, Connecticut. No problem. My parents let me drive the entire way to the DMV. We even followed a driver taking their test and took a few practice laps before the test. I knew that shit cold. When the tester called my name, I cold feel her hating me already. The first thing she asked was why a Greenwich girl was taking my test so far from home. My heart sank but I reminded myself that I was a good driver and had no reason not to pass. We got in the car, my parents car, and I began to drive. I was doing great! I stayed in the center of the lane, I counted to three in my head at each stop, I used my signals; then she asked me to turn left. This wasn't on our practice lap. I turned my left signal on and swallowed hard. I could do this. I counted to three at the stop sign, looked both ways and pulled into the intersection. I pressed the gas and began to acceleration when a little girl appeared in the middle of the road. She looked pissed. I slammed on the breaks, terrified. I blinked. There was no little girl. The tester was smirking, she had ever pulled the emergency break to ensure I wouldn't drive as she documented the situation. I took in my surroundings and realized I was smack in the middle of a deserted road between a historic house and a cemetery. Every ghostly memory came flooding back to me.

Needless to say, I failed the test; but I didn't care. I wanted to know why the little girl was pissed. I pondered that the entire ride home as my parents let into me about failing an official driving test. For the record, I re-took the test a few weeks later and the tester told me I was a fantastic driver and that the lady in Waterbury was known for nitpicking, he made me feel much better about my driving skills.

I still ponder why she was pissed at me and why I had such a strong connection with her. Maybe she was angry because I grew up? Or maybe because I never went back to visit? Maybe I knew her in a past life? I'll probably never know; but I do know that it still makes me feel empty when I think about how young she was when she died. One of these days I'll take a trip back to Waterbury just to put a bouquet of flowers on her grave.

Flowers much like the one's I put on the little girl's grave...

P.S. Now that the internet exists, it's much easier to find proof: http://www.ghostsofamerica.com/0/Connecticut_Watertown_ghost_sightings4.html