You Know What They Say

Since we’re witches, folks would be correct in assuming that Barb and I have a penchant for paranormal activity or generally spooky activities or places. Now, just because you may be correct in assuming this, let me caution you against doing that type of thing (assuming) too much because:

“You know what they say…”

You know, I have always wanted to know who this elusive “they” are and why “they” are always saying such quotable things.  Maybe, one day, I’ll be fortunate enough to meet them.  Maybe then, they can clarify some information I received as a five-year-old. Also? I want to get in on that quotable shit.

Now, the story I am about to tell you is as clear in my mind as it was the day it happened. I’m not sure of the whys or wherefores, but, from my perspective, the things I experienced, that I am relaying to you today, are 100% true. I’d swear on my life they are.

It was February of 1975. I had just turned 5 a few days before. My mom and I had gone over to my Grandma Marge’s house to take her to the grocery store. When we got back to her house, we got her bags inside, and then she asked if I wanted some pop. 

“Sure,” I said.  What five-year-old kid didn’t want some pop? So, Grandma gave me some Tab. Anyone remember Tab? It was the 1975 diet soda, it tasted like metallic ass hole, and I ALWAYS fell for the “do you want some pop” thing when we were at Grandma’s house. I’m starting to think I may have been a kind of dumb kid.

You’ve got it wrong. How can it taste so bad?

Anyhow, mom, Grandma, and I sat there drinking beverages, and we began to hear a noise in the house that sounded like, I swear, a beating heart.

“That’s weird. I heard this yesterday, too,” Grandma said.

She walked over to her front foyer and hollered up the stairs to see if it was the people moving into her upstairs apartment who were making the noise.

No answer.

My mom and I walked upstairs to see, and nobody was there.

A few minutes later, the noise stopped, and our visit resumed.

About 10 minutes later, the noise started back up.

This time, my mom and I (why was she taking me with her? Did she think her 5-year-old was going to protect her from the boogie man? I’m joking there (mostly). I probably insisted on tagging along. That’s just who I was) went upstairs and searched every room, and then we even checked the attic. We could see no reason for this noise to be happening.

And then it stopped.

About 10 minutes later… you guessed it. We searched that house top to bottom (including the super creepy basement (which is a story for another time)), and then we went outside and walked entirely around the house.

When we got back inside, the noise stopped.

“I can’t see anything that could be causing that noise,” my mom reported to Grandma.

“Well,” Grandma said, (wait for it… wait for it…) “you know what they say…”

My mom said, “No. What’s that?”

“They say,” Grandma continued, “that if you hear a strange noise in your house three times a day for three days in a row, it means the spirit of a loved one is coming to take you away.”

Now… we didn’t stay much longer after that, but two things I do know:

  1. That noise did not happen again for the rest of our visit.
  2. Grandma was found dead in her home the next day.

I could type pages of stories about this house, but it’s time for me to let Barb tell you a story:

It’s Casper, bitches!

I love Dissy’s description of Tab. Never had Tab; when I had pop it was Diet Rite, which was equally terrible. There’s a reason that shit isn’t around anymore.

The bad old days of sody pop.

There’s a place in southern Ohio we go to as often as we’re able. It’s a beautiful area near where Jay went to college, with lots of hiking trails and other outdoor activities. It’s also one of the most haunted areas in the United States.

One of the things we do when we’re down there is visit the old cemetery. I’m talking elaborate wrought iron fence around it old.

We’ve established a relationship with the spirits there, and usually when we stop at the gate and ask to come in, they’re glad to see us.

On one visit a few years back though, something was wrong. The spirits were upset and confused, it was obvious someone had gone in and done something shitty. We knew there would be no visit that night, but for some reason we didn’t leave right away.

I was standing between Jay and a friend of ours who lives down that way, directly in front of the gate, when a car pulled up. A group of giggly teenagers got out, and cheerfully told us they were going in to play Ghosts in the Graveyard.

This is where things get interesting.

In my mind, I looked over at them, said, “Nah, not a good idea tonight”, and they jumped back in their car and took off like they’d been shot out of a rocket.

So I look back at the guys in confusion, wondering what the fuck was wrong with the youngsters.

Which is when the guys told me what actually happened.

Both guys said I turned just my head towards the kids, keeping my body rigidly facing the gate. When I was staring directly at them, totally expressionless, I said (in a voice neither of them had ever heard before)

“Oh no you aren’t. Not tonight.”

So yeah, the panicked fleeing made more sense after that. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before, and hasn’t happened again since.

My best guess is that since I had opened myself up to communicate with the spirits, someone decided to borrow me for a minute, just to make sure the message got heard.

It doesn’t bother me, in fact it’s kind of cool that they trusted me enough to speak through me, and there were no weird after effects.

And hey, maybe there’s a bunch of kids down there who make up stories about the freaky ghost chick who guards the cemetery gates. Maybe I’m even an urban legend down there.

That would be pretty awesome.

Until next time,

Cent’anni bitches!

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