As promised, here’s one of my more recent smooky stories. This one actually ties into being a single mom.
So, a little background information before diving in … MP and I live in what used to be my grandmother’s house. She passed away (in the master bedroom) in 2005, and we moved in a few months later. Her bedroom became MP’s playroom, however, MP’s too afraid to play in there by herself. That’s a smooky story for another post …
Since MP’s birth four years ago, I’ve dated two men. The first was back in ’06. We’ll call him Ski Boy. Occasionally, Ski Boy would spend the night. (This was before MP could open her bedroom door on her own, so she had no idea there were ever sleepovers. I digress …) One bone of contention was the clock that sat on my bedside table.
It was a ticker. An old, cheap Big Ben my grandmother left behind when she passed away. And I loved it. The tick-tick-ticking of wind up clocks has always been something to put me to sleep. Unfortunately, the sound had the opposite effect for SB.
“Can we PLEASE do something about the bomb in the room?” he asked one night.
I placed the clock on the floor in the hall outside the bedroom and closed the door. I distinctly remember thinking, “Watch this thing go off in the middle of the night and scare the crap out of me.”
I absolutely remember checking to make sure the alarm was NOT set.
Hours later, I was startled from a deep sleep by the sound of the alarm going off in the hallway. Groggily, I looked at the backup digital clock. Three a.m. (For fans of Paranormal State, ‘Dead Time.’) My heart racing, I hurried out of bed, opened the door, reached for the clock in the darkness and silenced the deafening alarm. I knew I hadn’t set it.
It didn’t matter anyway.
The alarm hand was set to 7 a.m. Not 3.
There was no possible way that alarm should have gone off. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the button to try and recreate the scenario. Nothing.
Ski Boy rolled over and asked what was going on. I told him the alarm had gone off. He assumed I must have mistakenly set it, and promptly fell back asleep.
Maybe my grandmother wasn’t happy with the sleeping arrangement. Maybe she wasn’t happy about my choice in men. Maybe on some subconscious level, when I visualized the clock going off in the hallway before going to sleep, I put the energy out there. I hear you skeptics (Wait, maybe I’m PSYCHIC!) going, “Uh, maybe the clock was broken??”
Trust me. It wasn’t.
And for the Ghostbustin’ Virgins, allow me to introduce you to the smooky goodness that is Ghost Hunters.