Curious Tale Text

8/14/2019 Curious Tale Text

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It would not doubt be to some that this is indeed a curious tale if they had never

crossed the path of any ghost or energy of a spirit nature. They have been in the homes I

have lived in and the offices and warehouses where I have worked. I have even

experienced their presence in the hotel suites and cruise ship cabin I have occupied while

traveling.

Until my last encounter, I never found ghosts to be particularly enlightening oreducational. I merely knew to observe them at a distance and to treat them with a health

respect. One of the more amusing manifestations I experienced over the years was

provided by my departed grandmother.

Her loving spirit would pay annual visits to my family on the anniversaries of her June

21st birthday. Sometime during that special day, we would invariably detect the faint

fragrance of her distinctive perfume wafting through our house and then evaporate. We

would always smile at one another and comment upon her whimsical dependability.

After my Mother died, that all too familiar fragrance never returned on any June dayever again. I could only assume that my Mother and Grandmother were reunited

somewhere in eternity where a French perfume, so popular in the 1920s, is no longer a

necessary ingredient to their timeless existence.

In the Charles Dickens immortal classic, A Christmas Carol, the character of

Ebeneezer Scrooge is visited by the ghost of his deceased partner Jacob Marley. He

appears dragging the chains of eternal damnation resulting from his cruel and selfish life.

His visit portends that the same fate will befall Scrooge if he does not abandon his own

heartless treatment of his fellow man.

Thankfully, no ghost has ever appeared to me like any of the specters who visited

Scrooge in Dickens allegory, but a particular spirit I encountered most recently, gave me

unique insights which I wish to share with those interested in the subject.

It all began when I moved into a condominium a converted mansion located in

Denver, Colorado. The building had captured my fancy with its massive proportions,

strong architectural lines and solid construction. The mansion was its own reflection of

Denvers history having been constructed in the midst of the era known as the Silver

Boom of the late 19th Century. The owner was a lawyer and surely prospered when hislegal advice was sought out as fortunes once gained in the silver mines were suddenly

lost. Many hapless souls experienced the Silver Bust which triggered a national

depression and Denver and its residents were no less immune.

As I directed the moving men into my unit, I sensed the residue energies from the

multitude of previous occupants who had lived there through the decade of its existence.


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From its earliest days through the depressions, wars, economic upheavals and social

revolutions, it had survived and provided no less than a dramatic backdrop for all who

passed through its doors.

The neighborhood surrounding the mansion is rich with the tales of documented

ghostly occurrence. Within a short radius is the famed Cheesman Park, which was once a

revered Jewish cemetery. Many stories have circulated over the years that not all of thebodies were properly removed when it was converted into a city park. To this day it

remains haunted, or so locals say.

The stately mansion known as the House of a Thousand Candles was located near

my home as well. Legend held that, on certain moonless nights, one could see candles

flickering in each of the mansions windows, lit by the ghost of the woman who had lived

there many years before. While I passed the building many times, I never personally saw

the phenomenon.

The mansion/apartment building next door to mine contained many accounts of itsown ghostly and even ghastly events throughout its years of existence. One summer day,

shortly after I arrived on the street, I walked past it and while admiring its own unique

one-of-a-kind architecture, I noticed the figure of a woman in a bright pink dress. She

was standing serenely at a second story window with a vacant, but pleasant stare on her

face.

I later asked the manager of the building about her. She was surprised by my inquiry,

as the unit had been vacant or some time. She also shared with me that previous renters

of that one particular apartment reported personal articles had been mysteriously movedaround and bath towels rearranged on their racks. The incidents were accepted as being

of a ghostly nature, but dismissed as humorous and benign episodes.

At twilight, I would enjoy walking around the block and admiring the variety of

architectural triumphs with a short radius of my residence. As I approached my front

steps on many of those evenings, I repeatedly noticed at the end of our driveway, a

shadowy presence that would invariably vanish into thin air.

I eventually was able to distinguish, however fleetingly, the mysterious figure of a

man. He wore a dark suit of clothing and a cap typical of a chauffeur in the early 20th

Century. I could only imagine the grand automobile he would have patiently stood

beside, while waiting to drive his passengers around the city when the all were alive.

I observed that the heart of my building was located in its imposing entry foyer. Its

high ceiling and broad staircase ascending to the second floor held a hush of the previous

dwellers. The atmosphere within this common hallway occasionally felt unsettled, yet I

could not pinpoint the source.


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Only a few days after my arrival, I took a break from unpacking and sat at the kitchen

counter eating a sandwich and drinking a glass of milk. The silence was broken when I

heard the faint sound of someone singing a melodious little song. The voice was that of a

little girl.

It was emanating from somewhere within the building, but I could not quite locate itsexact location. I listened more intently and with understandable disbelief. I had never

given a thought to the potential presence of any ghosts in this building during all the

previous hectic weeks of inspections and other business necessary to accomplish the

purchase of the property. Without a moments hesitation, I declared firmly that the

singing can stop right now.

It obviously worked, as the disembodied voice immediately ceased. Thank you very

much, I responded, without any hint of sarcasm. I could only assume that she was

happy to have a new neighbor or had been stirred when she had heard my brief interlude

of piano playing in my new living room. Whatever her motivation, I only knew that Ihad no desire for any distraction that she might bring into my life.

As I resumed unpacking, I recalled my Mothers stories about one of her customers

who frequented the music store where she worked. His name was Ross Hunter and he

was a prolific musical composer who had also written a novel entitled, The

Changeling. It was a story of a tormented Victorian era boy whose ghost haunted the

mansion where Mr. Hunter lived just blocks from my new home. The boy had an

annoying habit of randomly bouncing a ball down the staircase to vent the unhappiness,

which surrounded his life.

It was made into a motion picture, which I never saw, but I recalled that it had starred

George C. Scott and it had received mediocre reviews. The mansion, which was central

to the story, was later demolished (possibly by fire as well) and replaced with a high rise

condominium complex. Denver historians have written about the story and of how the

sound of an errant ball continues to be heard by the residents as it invisibly bounces down

the interior concrete staircase and into oblivion.

In the days that followed, I totally forgot about the little spirit, as I was too busy with a

parade of workmen correcting the oversights left by the previous crew from theirrenovation. The electricians wired overlooked outlets, while the glass craftsman installed

the appropriate leaded glass windows and a service technician replaced a defective

microwave oven.

The carpenter arrived and assessed the condition of the massive pocket door that was

now serving as my front door. It was the greatest source of frustration as it continued to


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drag miserably across the ancient hardwood floor and barely engaged its antiquated

locking mechanism.

The doors battered golden oak panels reflected what had once been an innovative

design. In its inception, it would have glided effortlessly to open and close with an

ingenious wheel and chain system. I was certain that it had provided for many dramatic

entrances into the Victorian familys dining room for dinners and other occasions, but itnow served as a more casual living and dining room for me.

After a considerable struggle, the carpenter was finally able to extricate the massive

door from its cavity and propped it up against a nearby wall. He then held in his hands

for my inspection a sad collection of rusted and twisted pieces of metal. The old housing

had even been poorly repaired at one time with a nail pierced through its metal bracket to

hold it in place. He announced that it could take several weeks of searching through

salvage yards to locate any replacement parts and offered no guarantee that he would

have any success.

We reluctantly agreed that the door would work most efficiently by being suspended

on the heavy-duty brass hinges, which I had purchased on the outside chance that the

pocket door concept would need to be abandoned. Within a couple of hours, the great old

door was swinging gracefully out into the foyer and locking securely with a new

matching handle and lock I had purchased as well. The account of a mundane door repair

may seem irrelevant to a ghost story, but it would prove to be an important and pivotal

piece to unraveling the mysterious presence of the little ghost in residence.

The next day, I arrived home and while unlocking my new front door, I detectedsomething out of the corner of my eye on the staircase heading to the second floor. It

was best described as a small gray cloud, though it was partially hidden y the banister

railing.

As soon as I could focus my eyes for a better look, it immediately vanished. Perhaps,

it was the little singing spirit, roused by all the disruption and noises which has

accompanied the repair of the pocket door. She may have even been floating around the

building for months, as the crew remodeled other portions of her old home and

choosing to remain invisible until they had vacated her property.

Several days passed without incident, until one particular noonday when I stepped out

of my unit to retrieve the mail from the box in the vestibule. The foyer was at its

brightest from the natural northern exposure coming from the landing windows. As I

swung the massive door open I noticed a distinct shadow, the height of a small child, just

on the other side. It jumped backward and evaporated into thin air. I shrugged it off and


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did not give it another thought until it happened several more times within a matter of

days.

There was no doubt in my mind that the shadow was the same little spirit from the

staircase landing in a more whimsical form. This was a critical demonstration that

showed that spirits can be subject to and in conflict with, the physical constraints of the

here and now. They simply continue to wander through their past experiences andenvironment as they remembered it. I dubbed it the straddling effect and thought it

must be a most unfortunate and unsatisfactory way to exist.

When I swung the door out in its new configuration, she was startled as it was not how

she remembered it and instinctively jumped back to get out of its path. Obviously, even

ghosts can be caught off-guard. I could just picture how the little girl a hundred years

before, would have stood at the dining room pocket door waiting to surprise either a

member of her family or a household servant as they slid open the pocket door from the

other side. The playful episode would certainly have been accompanied by the giggles of

her childish delight, though I never heard any audible sounds during accompanying theseoccurrences.

The invisible magnetic energy, which she omitted, was strong enough to attract

microscopic dust particles and produce her faint, but visible form. I observed that with

each successive sighting, she became weaker and weaker, until her figure finally faded

away and I never saw her again. She departed once and for all when her spirit realized

that this present dimension no longer validated her existence on this plane. All of the

construction work, including the pocket door conversion, clearly showed her that this was

more certainly not her dimension any longer.

There was only one other occurrence on the staircase which had a strong connection to

the now departed little ghost, I entered the hallway on yet another sunny day and once

again saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was best described as being an

article of clothing, most closely resembling a gold colored shawl, which was trimmed

with long matching fringe. It was casually draped over the balustrade and vanished just

as I turned my head to focus upon it.

When I shared the story of the shawl with the apartment manager neighbor next door,

it reminded him of an old black and white photograph one of his former tenants hadshown him. The man had been doing some work in my building prior to my arrival and

when he tore out one of the upstairs walls, he discovered the crumpled remains of the

picture, which he had shown my neighbor.

It was a black and white photograph and while faded and torn, it revealed the image of

an attractive young woman attired in a flamboyant dress, typical of the Roaring


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Twenties. Draped prominently around her shoulders and partially covering her skimpy

flock, was a light colored shawl with long strands of fringejust like what I had seen

that sunny day.

According to the neighbor, the photograph disappeared when the man moved out of

his building and I never had the opportunity to see it and confirm the connection. After

some calculation, the manager and I concluded that the age of the little girl spiritcorresponded almost exactly to the chronological age of the young woman in the

photograph in the 1920s. They had to be one and the same person and the shawl must

have belonged to the adult incarnation of the little Victorian girl all grown up.

After several years, I sold the condominium and moved to another part of the city. It

was a truly interesting experience to live in an authentic nineteenth century mansion and

perhaps even assisted a little spirit on her natural path. I wonder, on occasion, if the

phantom chauffeur ever materializes in the driveway. Perhaps even the female apparition

in the bright pink dress, appears at the second story window next door to where I lived

and turns to give him a ghostly glance.

The End

Epilogue

I hope this story of spirit energy will not deter you from the desire to live in an old

house. My experience has shown that buildings of any age can retain this energy residue

from previous human habitation. It is simply a sensible idea to clear any new dwelling

which you will be occupying for the comfort of your own spiritual self.

It is important to remember that human beings are comprised of many fascinating

materials from water to carbon and in this instance, the fact that we also contain

electrolytes which are critical to our hearts rhymthic patterns and demonstrates that we

are no less than electrical. In the dry winter, we are noticeably conductors of static

electricity when this phenomenon becomes clearly evident when we walk across a carpet

and switch on a light and a spark is generated.


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For over fifty years I lived and maintained an early 20 th Century Arts and Crafts

Denver Square house in east Denver. After a considerable amount of remodeling and

updating it for the 21st Century, I made certain to clear it of the old residue energy from

my family and previous occupants and fill it with positive energy to receive and welcome

the new owners, their family and friends. I repeated the same procedure prior to vacating

the condominium as well.

In Philadelphia, real estate transactions must now include a document in which the

seller declares whether the property being sold is haunted. This disclaimer, in my

opinion, begs the issue of whether there are spirits present or not.

My Mothers ambitious annual household Spring cleaning was an old-fashioned and

unconscious method of clearing the air. She mopped and dusted and hung bedding and

rugs on the backyard clothesline. I would arrive home from school to find all the

windows in the house wide open as a Winters worth of dust and negative energy

generated by months of human confinement was released. This procedure will be ofparticular benefit for new homes interiors, which are almost airtight from the advances in

construction, insulation and energy efficient window designs.

Another successful method to energize a dwelling can be accomplished through the

Eastern practice of Fend Shui. The methods employed through this ancient art can

provide for new and varied paths for energy to properly circulate within an interior

environment, which will attract positive forces. I used some of the practices when I had

my properties on the market with noticeable success.

While I was living in the condominium, I tested for any discernable magnetic

disturbance caused by the presence of unwanted spiritual energy. I used a simple hikers

pocket compass and the magnetic North did fluctuate and was erratic when I stood inside

any of the rooms within my particular unit. The little magnet then stabilized and gave

accurate readings after the little spirit had departed and whenever I took a measurement

outside of the building.

Professional investigators into the paranormal employ not only magnetic compasses,

but even more sophisticated and sensitive instruments for even more accurate

documentation of the presence of electrical current generated by spiritual phenomenon.

The Internet has a multitude of websites, as well, centered on spirits, ghost

investigations and any search engine query under these topics will produce a plethora of

information. As with any service, be sure to request references and any necessary and

valid certification they can provide.


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It is important to note that modern day electronic desires ranging from televisions to

cell phones and microwave ovens have produced new layers of intrusive electrical

interference. They create something of an electromagnetic fog which disturbs the

already unstable spiritual energy, which makes it harder to isolate and to dispose of in a

proper manner.

This residue energy from a previous occupant, either living or dead, can be created byunresolved issues with others to the traumatic or even violent events in their lives I never

ascertained what issues kept the little Victorian spirit on this side, but I never felt the she

was particularly distressed, merely confused. I remain grateful that she did appear to give

me a better understanding of what comprises these apparitions and I would trust for those

who have read this curious tale as well.

The following poem, The Whispers of a House, was inspired by my continuing

fascination with old house and all they hold within their wall, both visible and invisible.

It is important to note that buildings are inanimate objects with no spirit of their own, but

they can hold and absorb like a sponge the human energy residue, which I have justdescribed. The ghostly chauffeurs appearance in the driveway clearly demonstrates this

observation. The automobile he most certainly would have stood beside while he was

alive never manifested itself. It was created by man and therefore without any spirit or

soul as human beings contain.


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The Whispers of a House by

B. K. Wrighthall


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The Whispers of a House

by

B. K. Wrighthall

When I hear a house whisper, I pay close attention,

I tune up my ears and prepare for retention

A dwelling I happen to come on by chance,

Shows me its worthy of more than a glance

As I walk through the rooms, taking my time,

I detect a vibration, which isnt sublimeThis particular sound speaks clearly to me,

As a pattern unfolds and the decades I see

Of a previous dweller whose footsteps were labored,

His life unfulfilled and he no longer savored

The floor boards responded, and answered in kind,

Bending their will to his souls state of mind

This spirits regret sings right under my feet,I feel just a twinge as floor and toes meet

Then stepping around and avoiding the spot,

I simply respond, the battles been fought

I continue to search and find cracks in the plaster,

Gazing upon them, Ive become quite the master


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These thin random veins on the walls and the ceiling,

Talk of the earth and of times quite appealing

Buildings will settle in ways hard to see,

Shifting around, up and down, they can be

Held by the anchor a foundation provides,

While the dirt of the ages caresses its sides

The older the house, it will often contain,

Imprints of craftsmen who worked mid the strain

With hand driven tools and toil bathed in sweat,

Stole patience endured, their creation was met

Up to dark attics, with their airless insides,

Deep from this world what often resides,

Are large wooden rafters with all of their strength,

Cut to perfection in unbroken lengths

Below in the basements, in worlds all their own,

Are rooms plain and simple, which never are shown

Filled with the remnants of lives overflowing,

And the elements needed to keep the house going

Stairways and stairwells then beckon to me,

The drama they hold I especially see,

Treads of old wood worn down from the weight,

Of thousands of footsteps which never were late

And spaced along hallways are doors to be treasured,

These free-swinging panels are easily measured

As previous mortals left scrapes, pits and notches,

And the careless remains of greasy old blotches

The comings and goings now linger behind,

Samples of haste which were sometimes unkind

The ebb and the flow never cease for the living,

But these temporal enscouncements never stop giving


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The ceilings light fixtures cast shadow and light,

Which play on the walls and fill up the night

Once they competed with candles that flamed,

But mans genius conquered and darkness was tamed.

Not in many old houses, I can sense when I linger,Something close by, I could point with my finger

The air holds the clues drifting slowly around,

Of spirits revealed, which are no longer bound

Some can be heavy reflecting their life,

Leaving odd traces you could cut with a knife

Still others are light like a fluffy meringue,

They pass like a breeze, but can linger and hand

All are unsettled and at times interfere,This dimensions now foreign and not in their sphere

So depart now old spirits, leave nothing behind,

Your destinys world is where nothing will bind

This moments safe haven where new souls are now,

Has shed what is past as it takes a new vow

Relinquish these bonds so your spirits may fly,

And pass from this world to your sweet by and by

It is safe to assume once the air has been freed,

From a vaporous presence which still held a need

The dwellings transformed to a fresh sanctuary

Safe and secure with no need to be wary

The End


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