A True Halloween Story

As I disclosed earlier in my blog, I was introduced to the spirit world unwillingly as a young child. Here is a true spiritual encounter I had a number of years ago.

It had been a good day.  It was evening time, time to retire for the night.  I picked up the remote and clicked off the television.  I arose from the La-Z-Boy recliner, the one I purchased years ago for my late husband, Howard’s, birthday, the one he didn’t like and would never sit in.  I crossed the room to click off the lamp, but before I could reach it the bulb began to flicker. Strange.  I looked towards the fireplace and stiffened— while my mouth opened to a congested scream!  My heart began to palpitate at an alarming rate. My Lord!  I had never witnessed anything so terrifying in all my life!  I suddenly bolted from the room and began scrambling and falling up the stairs. I felt my right ankle twist in the process, but I was still somehow able to heave myself up the remaining 4 steps.  I had been warned not to engage with spirits!  Now I knew why.  Breathless I reached my bedroom, slammed and locked the door. My chest was heavy and heaving painfully.   My body slumped against the closed door.  What was I going to do?  I grabbed and clutched the Bible and began to fervently pray for protection.  What was this diabolical evil I had conjured up?  And I was home alone…

What I saw that particular evening was something straight out of a horror movie, of which I have never been a fan.  My deceased husband’s ashes sat on a shelf in a square green box next to the fireplace.  His ashes were spewing up out of the box in the form of a heavy, white mist.  There was no breeze in the room.  It was the spookiest thing I have ever encountered.  Once I calmed down and sent enough prayers up to the heavenly realms, I faintheartedly limped down the stairs holding onto the banister and my Holy Bible.  No one was coming to save me, I had to save myself. The box was still misting.  I dashed into the room forgetting my swollen ankle, and placed the Holy Bible atop the box and said a quick prayer.  Almost immediately the misting stopped. Lucky for my late husband the misting stopped, because I was about to unceremoniously toss the box with his ashes out the door!  The Bible remained on top of the box for several years without further ado, until my daughter, Tara convinced me to remove the ashes from the house and spread them atop my parent’s graves.

There is a lot more to this story, but I shortened it for brevity to include in my blog. Happy Halloween!

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