Excellent I loved my Grandmother's true ghost stories Grammy's Legacy by Beck Fenton Non-Fiction Writing Contest contest entry

My grandmother was a spiritualist like her mother before her and she passed along her beliefs and ability to look for signs from the dearly departed. She gave me the intuition and strength to survive many of my life's challenges. The Spiritualist movement began fairly close to Vermont in 1848. By the time my great-grandmother left in 1883 to go out west, I believe my family foremothers were already staunch believers in the proximity of spirits to us. Growing up, I never doubted the existence of spirits and their ability to communicate with us. I heard many ghost stories to back up my beliefs. My grandmother was a master storyteller. Here are some of her stories as she told them to me. Grammy told me of her mother foreseeing her own death, even describing the colors of the horses pulling the wagon with her casket. Her father became angry and forbade her mother to ever mention it again, but Grammy says that didn't stop it from coming true. She was ten years old when her mother died suddenly after sending Grammy out for a drink of water from the well. A buckskin and a roan pulled the wagon to the cemetery, just as she had predicted. Grammy loved to tell ghost stories that really happened. Our two-century-old farmhouse was a firetrap as it was insulated with straw and newspaper. In the nights when the lightning was striking too close for Grammy's comfort she would wake us up and we'd gather around the woodstove and beg for her stories. As the lightning flashed in the dark and the thunder boomed we listened to her voice telling us the familiar tales. "Well, we lived in this old house where a man caught his wife foolin' around with the hired help. He killed them both in a fit of temper and then he took off. That house was put up for rent real cheap, so Grampa moved in me and our five kids. I got that house cleaned right up but that bloodstain from that poor woman's death kept reappearin' no matter how hard I'd scrubbed at it. I remember when I'd spent a whole day cleanin' up the kids' room, puttin' away everythin' and dustin' and moppin' the floors. It looked so nice. In the night one of them hollered out so I went up the stairs and as I reached the door I could see what looked to be some clothes dropped on the floor. I felt so bad that they hadn't kept it picked up after all my hard work." She always paused here, knowing we knew what she was going to say, but building the suspense as much as possible. We waited. "I bent down to pick up the clothes and my hand brushed that bloodstain. The hair rose right up on the back of my neck and I kept after Grampa till he found us another place to live." They didn't move for a while, though. There was a couple of incidents she told us about that still gives me goosebumps. "Your Uncle Clarence was a man who liked to pull jokes. One time he fixed up a sheet so that it would slide down a line when it was tugged. He got the kids together and told them he was goin' to have a s�©ance. He'd fixed the chairs so his back was to the stairs and those kids had a full view. Soon he had them goin' pretty good and started pullin' that line. All of a sudden those kids started runnin' out the door screamin' and half scared to death. Well, Clarence thought that was a great joke he'd pulled, but when he turned around to get the sheet he saw it still in place and a beautiful woman comin' down the stairs wearin' a bloodied-up dress. He ran right past those kids and wouldn't fool around with no s�©ances again." Sometimes the men would get together and play poker. Grammy disapproved of card playing (especially as poker usually involved the losing of Grampa's money). "I came home one night after helpin' a neighbor woman birth a baby. I found five men includin' your Grampa and Uncle Clarence playin' poker in the livin' room. I told them that card-playin' was the Devil's work. Clarence just laughed and said "I'd like to see that old Devil. I'd ask him if he wanted to play with me." I told him not to mock the Devil, but he continued to make jokes. He'd just lost his last bit of money and threw down the cards in disgust. He happened to look out the window just then. What he saw turned his blood to ice. He saw the face of the Devil looking in and laughin' at him! Clarence never touched a card after that." Grammy was also a healer. As mentioned, she was called to neighboring houses to tend a childbirth or to bring healing poultices or herb teas. In 1935 Grampa was working in the local woolen mill. There was a big machine that shredded old clothes and Grampa got his arm caught. The machine tore his arm off at the shoulder. Grammy was taken to the hospital and she stayed with Grampa for two days. "I kept on rubbin' that poor nub the docs had left him, tryin' to get some life back into him. It was workin'. But the doctors pulled me off him and wouldn't let me touch him again. They said I was turnin' dead white and he was startin' to get some color back in his cheeks. He died within a few minutes." Grammy and two of her daughters saw my Uncle Charlie's ghost appear before them. One aunt was at work in a factory when she looked up and saw him standing right in front of her before vanishing. The other aunt was grocery shopping and saw him turn the corner before she could reach him. He never re-appeared to her. Grammy was sitting at the kitchen table and looked up as he was leaving the room. It would be days before they found out that he had disappeared from an ocean liner in the Bermuda Triangle. His body was never found, but his spirit was certainly seen. I have what I call reverse spiritual ability in one particular area. I didn't answer the phone when it rang with the news of Grammy's death. We had a party line and I went to answer but something stopped me. I listened to it ringing and decided it was the other party's line and didn't answer it. When I later called my mother, she told me of Grammy's death and of trying to reach me. And when my young step-son died in a car crash I was too terrified to answer a frantic knock on the door from someone who wanted to tell me the news. I have never been that scared either before or after. I just don't want to hear about deaths of those close to me, I guess. My grandmother's spiritual beliefs shaped me into a woman who learned to love most people, to heal and care for the sick, to love my dreams and what they mean, and to look for signs that spirits are close. I think that's the important part of spiritualism. To look for and connect with the signs that spirits leave us. My husband's death brought the appearance of red California poppies within hours of his passing where there had been nothing. That was a sign I recognized that was meant for his daughter from California who was with me in our home in Idaho. After my beloved daughter died I remember sitting outside on a warm summer day and crying silent tears, wondering if I could ever live through the pain. I remember sobbing and saying, "Oh, Lisa!" out loud and distinctly feeling a kiss on my cheek. That feeling sustains me when I feel alone. My daughter's spirit often sends me purple flowers to remind me that she is still close to me. I've learned I have to pay attention and not get caught up the grief but look for the comfort that is sent to me. I have a picture of a purple clematis flower freshly blooming on a withered vine on a cold November day. A picture of purple violets appearing overnight where there were no leaves the day before hangs on my wall. It's proof as positive as Grammy's stories. I'd like to think I'm a lot like my Grandmother. Grammy taught me to open my eyes and see all my blessings from those who have passed over before me. I'm old enough now that I live with a few dear spirits around me. I describe it as if they are just in the next room; out of sight, but close enough to hear if I'm quiet enough. They remind me that love is really all that remains. I don't know what the afterlife looks like, but I am sure, without a doubt, that my Grammy's spirit will be happy to show me around. Author Notes Every bit of my little story is true.

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