Age Rating: 16 +
As a child growing up, I would pray and ask that my ability to see the supernatural be taken away. My prayer still goes unanswered. At forty, I have decided to write them down. I've come to the conclusion I need to document these experiences, have some professor some place study them, and if nothing else, put them in sequence (I have accumulated quite a stack).
The most unusual one happened about ten years ago not far from my ranch in Central Oregon. At the time, I was a widow with five children. My good friend Carla stopped by to visit and wanted to talk without my kids listening to our conversation. She was having boyfriend trouble and wanted to ramble on privately about him without little ears listening in. We told the kids we were taking a drive to the neighboring ranch. It was a mile from my place and boasted a spectacular view of Mount Jefferson.
Carla parked the car in the middle of a 400-acre pasture facing the mountain and began her story. It was around noon-a perfect seventy-five degrees-a sunny, clear day. We had been there for about a half hour, her talking, me listening, when I noticed something in the side mirror. She kept talking, but I wasn't listening anymore. It was growing larger in scale and becoming impossible to ignore. Behind us, the sky was pitch black. Not from clouds. Night. In front of us, the world was as it was suppose to be, as I wanted it to be.
I couldn't take it anymore. Finally, I stopped her in mid-sentence. "Do you see anything back there?" I asked. I pointed at the night scape.
She looked back but saw nothing and continued her story. I nodded my head at all the right cues in the conversation but my mind was on the picture growing larger and larger behind me. I could see people in the night, getting clearer and getting closer.
Three Indian men were dancing around a fire, painted from head to toe, clad in only buckskin briefs. I knew they weren't from the area because their haircuts were different. They were Mohawks, an Indian tribe native to the northeast, not the west.
Why was I having this vision? Or was it a hallucination? I was honestly clueless. I felt like, "visions of this caliber" should be reserved for Indians, real ones, seemingly fitting a shaman or a holy man, not a blond, blue-eyed Irish woman. Carla kept on talking as if everything were normal though I must have been white as a sheet. I was relieved she couldn't see them.
Finally, I broke away from the vision now taking up the entire back seat window. "We better get back to the kids. I don't want to leave them alone much longer."
Carla started the car, and we turned around and headed back to the road, directly next to their campfire. It was now nighttime out Carla's window, and sunny everywhere else. The man closest to the car ducked his head to look at me through the driver's side window. We made eye contact. It was one of the most frightening moments of my entire life. This man was consumed with hate. Wherever he was in time...he saw me, and I saw him. He looked so alive I was afraid he would reach in and grab us. As I stared back at him, I wished he would disappear.
Carla drove on like nothing was happening because in fact it wasn't. I tried to explain what I had seen to her once we reached the safety of my place, but she looked at me like I was crazy. I could just hear her thinking,"whoa, somebody is slipping a gear," so I dropped it.
All that month, I made it a point not to drive down my road at night. I was still concerned whatever I had seen might pop out in front of me. Eventually, I had to face my vision. Summer was ending. My children were beginning football at school. I would have to drive at night to collect them.
I told my family, who does believe I see things sometimes, that I needed to take my dog and ride my horse over to the spot. I saddled up and rode off. I was a little spooked by what I was going to find. To my surprise, and much to my relief, there was absolutely nothing there.
Animals always notice things before humans do. My horse walked quietly alongside the dog. I was watching them both to see if they acted in the slightest way different as we crisscrossed the meadow.
Nothing. Whatever it was (or wasn't), it was long gone.
A couple of years ago I noticed a book at the library written by the controversial Sylvia Brown. A self proclaimed psychic who insists she has knowledge about visions and things of this nature. I leafed through the pages and came to her section on imprints. It was exactly what I had seen that day in the meadow above the lake. How about that! It had a name. It's called an imprint.
It was my only Indian imprint. I've lived out here for a very long time, and thankfully, I have never seen them again. I still see unusual things from time to time. There is never a set pattern to it. I've tried to pinpoint what is common about these experiences. I've gone over it many times. Did I have a trauma as a small child? No. Car wreak or head injury? No. Am I under stress at the time of the vision? No. Food allergies? None that I am aware of. Drugs or alcohol...nope!
I have searched my mind to try to put a finger on it. So far, no answer. All I know is that it happens during the day so I can't blame it on the dark, playing tricks with my eyes. And it's happening to me.
Authors note: um...so I don't freak everyone out, "oh my, and we thought she was so normal, now look, she's gone to writing short stories about the supernatural." Ah, concerning my spooky little- story. This is a pre-game warm up to some other writing on a subject (tricks the mind plays) I know little to nothing about... I am planning to play around with. Don't feel you have to comment on the subject matter or send me the name of your great uncle Bennie's favorite west coast physician/shrink..ha! This is: for kicks and giggles. An experiment in writing short stories for me.
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Brittney N. Nasca
Wow. I'm absolutely in awe. Your writing is so eloquent and imagery done so well I could watch the scene play in mind as if it were a memory of a movie.
On the subject of the supernatural - when my little brother was very young, 3 maybe 4, he would say some very profound things that no 3 or 4 year old should really know. Naturally he didn't understand the scope of what he had said, but whenever he was asked where he learned it from, he would say, "I learned it when I was an old man. In my life before this one." As far as we know he had never seen anything on t.v. or heard any of the adults in the house talking about it. It was odd.
This is really creepy. I actually do believe in the Supernatural (not the vampire/ werewolf perspective of it anyway). Its just, there's stuff out there that you just can't explain.
What made you think of imprints for your exercise? It puts a spin on the fact that they were East Native Americans and not the ones actually native to the land. It leaves the reader to think of what may have happened when the Natives were alive and how they got there. Then you get the fact that this narrator recollects on this one event only, 'Was this the most unusual that they have seen? What kind of impression did it leave?'
I enjoyed this. I've gotten used to your poems, but I'm starting to enjoy your storied as well.
My mother (years before she passed way), firmly believed that she was reincarnated.
When I was a child this notion seemed comical yet entertaining. Later, when I became increasingly inspired by the teachings of a myriad of religions, I found that many faiths either believe in reincarnation or make reference to it. The conception is not limited to those religions common to India and the region (Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism; the Buddhist concept of rebirth). The idea also was fundamental to some Greek philosophers and doctrines as well as other religious convictions such as Druidism, Spirit-ism and Eckankar.
My mother also told stories of her "imprint" occurrences. They sound much like yours.
The view that there is "life after death" seems pivotal to Sylvia Brown's hypotheses and possibly to the "imprint" you experienced, Susan. It isn't beyond belief, in my view, that souls transmigrate, a fourth dimension exists and some of us are mystical travelers. Why not? My point is that you may have been "touched" in a fantastically enormous spiritual manner: possibly gifted in honoring the spirit of love in self, others, and the world. I saw your "imprint" as a paranormal process that may well be real.
It's a theory. I don't wish to offend anyone here. But what happened to you might be classified not only as captivating but also as an ingredient of the occult. By occult I don't submit to its negative and misaligned connotation as relating to a cult, but a world of wonder bursting with brain waves; a station where humans can reach beyond the bounds of ordinary knowledge and atypically stroke para-normality; the mysterious. It was an existence that simply has been relatively “hidden” from public view.
Most learned scholars of these phenomena assert that those gifted in this way are optimistic, sanguine, with each relationship present in life is an opportunity to create connection, express love, and discover compassion.
In short, I just babbled that I consider your experience buoyant, not a rendezvous with haunting.
Best short story I've read in a long time. Most believable and logical in development. Coherent? Is that the word I'm looking for? The styles are much different but I'm reminded of some of the stuff Ray Bradbury wrote: Hook'em with the first line and drag'em eagerly along to the end. Masterful!
This is a truly well-written account of an incident that, fact or fiction, accomplishes all the things I want to see and appreciate in a piece of good writing. By now you know how strict Pen is in his/her observations. But, the one thing it accomplishes that is so important, is to allow the reader to suspend disbelief and become a vicarious partner in your tale.
As for the rest of it, say what you will or have us believe what you wish, the supernatural world is a very real place, indeed. Actually, the vision which you described and those you alluded to have a very solid grounding, historically. That they aren't quantifiable tends to make the "real" world cautious in its approach to dealing with things esoteric.
Your telling was well-enough told that I would have been proud to have written it myself. ^_^
The age could be lower, btw. Much lower. ^^
Mae Futter Stein
I hear a lot of stories in my past from other people. I don't know if or not they are true, but to them, it was. One relative of mine told me about a haunted house they lived in. As a child, at night he could hear pots and pans banging around and would go to see if what he saw was real, and they were flying around in the room above his head.
Many tales I have heard, but have never seen anything myself. I have felt things, and would slowly move away from what I feared and go the opposite direction. If your story is true, it is said you must face your fear and ask, "What do you want?" Perhaps they will answer. Who knows. Any ways, Great Story....Mae