[nfbwatlk] Ghost stories of the Blind
pblackmer27 at gmail.com
Wed Nov 30 22:15:34 CST 2011
Okay first off I must admit that I have a streange and wide range of things
that just catch my interest. Lately it is ghost stories. I just found two
stories told by blind people and I thought how interesting a blind
perspective might be on this subject. I know this email is a bit long and I
hope you forgive me my breach of email etiquette. Enjoy, and be forewarned
if such stories creep you out you may want to just move on.
The Rehab Ghost
By: bnash at kc.rr.com
I have been a native of Kansas City for the last forty years, consequently,
I have a great number of stories to share with you. I have persoanally
witnessed a good deal of paranormal activities both in private homes and in
I have been blind since birth as the result of a medical accident. However,
my other senses are quite acute so not much gets by me. As a youth, I was
always curious to know how a ghost would relate to a blind person, and have
gotten a number of answers over the last twenty years. I over the next few
weeks will share a number of my adventures with you, but the following
account is the best of the bunch.
I am a massage therapist by profession, but about two years ago, I took a
second job. My position was rehab assistant at a rehab facility for the
blind here in midtown. The residents hall had at one time been the home for
medical students while they attended studies at a nearby medical facility.
The residents hall is made of terra cotta brick. It is six stories tall and
square in shape. There are four apartments on each floor. As you enter the
building, the first two apartments are directly across from each other. Next
to the apartment on the right is a door that opens onto the fire stairs.
At the end of this tower like structure, is the other two apartment with
another fire exit directly at the end of the building. Thus, my apartment
was nestled right next to this exit There was an elevator in mid hallway. It
ran from the basement to the sixth floor.
I didn't see a lot of my clients until the morning hours, unless of course
there was an emergency. My night consisted of ruining my kidneys with ten or
fifteen cups of coffee. Desecrating my lungs with fine tobacco, doing office
work, along with other odd jobs and catching a forbidden nap on the couch.
I had been working there for a couple of weeks when I began to notice odd
occurrences. The other apartments in this building were occupied by staff
members of this company. They came and went all through the evening, but it
got pretty quiet around two in the morning.
One evening, I was sitting in the living room, transcribing some material
for a student. It was around two thirty A.M. I heard the whine and clank of
the elevator as it made its laborious way from an upper floor to the ground
floor. The door opened and shut without any one exiting the car.
This happened several times a night. There were times when I would go out
to have a smoke and actually hear the elevator button be punched. The car
would arrive and no one would enter or exit. Needless to say, my smoking
increased on nights that this happened.
Many times I would nap on the couch and would go in to a strange state. My
hearing would be heightened immensely. I would hear the mumble of many
voices. The words were unintelligible. I felt a sense of unease and the
building seemed to drain my energy.
Some times the computer which is modified with speech compatible software,
for the blind, would start to talk even though the room was empty. I knew
that there were spirits in the building and tried to communicate with them
to no avale until one night.
Often when on the couch in a state of paralysis, I would feel the building
literally shake as in the aftermath of an explosion. The elevator would come
to demonic life running its idiot course from floor to floor. I would hear a
door open on an upper floor and hear and feel the vibration of running foot
steps. They would run the length of the building, entering the fire stairs
at the front of the building on roughly the fourth floor. They would run
down the stairs to my floor, crashing open the door, running the length of
the building and back on to the other set of fire stairs near my apartment.
They would run back upstairs to the fourth or fifth floor, go through the
stairs, run about half way down the hall, and then just stop. You wouldn't
hear an apartment door open or close.
This went on for a few weeks and I was greatly intreagued by these
happenings. This usually occurred around three to four in the morning. It
seemed to occur on evenings when it was overcast or quite humid.
One evening, I transcribed a cook book for a client and around three in the
morning I went out for coffee and a smoke. I went out the fire door by my
apartment and down the stairs where there is a landing. I opened the door
that leads out side and seated my self on a radiator adjacent to the door.
It was quiet, the hum of the florescent light seemed loud in the stair well.
The far off sounds of a train and other industrial sounds, along with an
occasional car passing were all rather common place but some how reassuring.
Suddenly I felt the vibration of running foot steps far above me. I thought
with a sense of mingled dread and expectation, now, I finally get a chance
to meet this deranged nocturnal individual. I wasn't to be disapointed. It
came racing down the stairs and must have been thrown off by my unexpected
Instead of going through the fire door and then down the hall to the other
end of the building, it ran down the stairs and right past me. Its momentum
carried it about six feet out the door. A freezing blast of air was in its
wake. I sat rivoted to the radiator wondering if I was going to have to do
hand to hand combat.
Briefly, I entertained the idea of kicking the door shut, but there was a
heart felt feeling, that this could be a very bad idea. It pivoted and came
dog trotting back in to the building. As it passed me by only inches, to
spare, I felt that frigid blast of air again. At the top of the stairs, it
turned and regarded, with an almost palpable molevolence, radiating from it.
I could hear no breathing.
I said in my best Eastwood immitation, Hi, my name is Brian, I work with the
visually impaired people in the building, what's your name. There was a
pause of about three seconds, then his erie reply, floated across the
distance between us. My name is Alan. What apartment do do you live in,
I just stay with some people in the building, was the vague reply. There was
about the whole area, such an out pouring of negative and confused energy
that I found it quite disorienting. It almost didn't seem real. I was
getting ready to fire off another berauge of questions but it turned away
and mounted the stairs in that relentless ground covering dog trot.
Around the fourth or fifth floor it entered the main part of the building. I
waited to hear an apartment door open or close. Silence reigned supreme.
I made my way in an almost trance like state back to my apartment. I am
usually able to keep feelings for the need of my vision at bay, but I would
have given damned near any thing to know what I confronted that night. One
thing I am sure of, is that it wasn't from this world. Furthermore, it
didn't dig having its routine jacked with.
I have talked with many people in the building who have heard the elevators
running, with no passengers aboard. They have also heard the running foot
steps and slamming doors. One of my co workers was a little woman from
Honduras, she says the building is purely evil and that many people have
As yet, I haven't researched this location. I will up date this story when I
do. If there are any brave soles out there who want to investigate this
building with me, I can be contacted at my e-mail address. I love your web
site and know that it provides comfort and reassurance to a lot of people
who need their experiences clarifyed and or validated. Thanks for your time.
The Jim River Adventure
By: bnash at kc.rr.com
I sent you a story a few days ago, and as the snow falls here in Kansas
City, I am taking the opportunity to send you another one. My name is Brian
and I have been blind since birth. I have had a number of paranormal
experiences of which this is one of the best.
My mother's family are natives of South Dakota. We bought the dairy farm
from my grandma, after my grandfather's death in the late nineteen sixties.
For many years we rented the farm out to a family who were in the dairy
business, and we share cropped the land on which was raised corn, alfalfa,
along with other types of grain an hay. The wife of the dairy farmer died a
few years ago. From then on the dairy operation was closed down and we
continued to share crop the land to other farmers.
My mom and dad would go up to the farm in the summer and spent many a happy
year there. The farm is beautiful with a lot of rolling hills that gradually
slope down to the James river which runs through the border of our property.
I know my way around certain areas of the farm, but it is easy to get lost
since it spans four hundred acres of ground. In nineteen ninety two, we
decided to spend some time with my parents on the farm. My two sisters,
their boy friends and my self, packed our bags and hit the road.
For the first couple of days we visited with the folks a lot. We ate grand
meals of fried chicken and fresh produce. We took long walks on the property
and gravel roads around the farm. In the evenings we would sit on a large
hill named by my grandfather years ago. He called it Hine's peak after one
of his favorite work horses who liked to stand up there after working in the
fields all day. A wonderfully cool breeze was always present on the
magnificent hill. I was told the view was incredible. You could see the
lights from Mitchell which was some fifteen miles away. There was also a
great view of the river.
After a couple of days of R and R, I decided it was high time to do some
fishing in the James river. We called it the big Jim. We packed up our
fishing gear and arrived at the Jim around six in the evening. The next
couple of hours were spent catching catfish, white bass and carp. I was
busy helping my sisters bait hooks and casting their lines into prime spots.
As darkness fell on the river, several frogs began a happy summer serinade.
A couple of big owls started talking to each other, in the trees along the
river bank. I casted my line in close to the bank , knowing the juicy night
crawler would probably attract a catfish.
Suddenly, my rod was almost torn from my hand, and I set the hook with
lightning speed. The drag began to whine as the fish engaged in a fight for
In a few minutes I had him close to the bank. I could tell from the
splashing that he would weigh in at fifteen or twenty pounds. My sister's
boy friend raced to the lip of the riverbank and grabbed the line
enthusiastically. This proved to be a winning situation for the fish. It ran
toward deep water and snapped the line like a twig, as the use of the drag
was ineffective. Any of you fisherman out there, know the sting of defeat
when such a thing happens.
Not long afterwards, a humming cloud of mosquitoes ascended on us. We packed
up our gear and grabbed a healthy stringer of fish from the river and headed
home. After cleaning and freezing the fish, we retired to the house for some
Earlier that day,we had gone to what we call the colony. Years ago, a great
number of people immigrated from Russia to our country. Many of them settled
in south Dakota and set up colonies of hundreds of people, living together
and working for the common good of the colony. They own thousands of acres
near our farm and are wondrful farmers. The produce they grow is incredible.
They grow the best sweet corn in the world.
They have in the middle of their compound a little store where the locals
can buy whatever is in season at the time. One of the purchases of the day
was an apple pie of such monumental porportions it was mind boggling. This
pie must have weighed a good ten pounds. We sat around the table chattering
about the fun time at the river and me razzing Mike about the catfish we
lost. Mom was busy dishing up apple pie and ice cream. We were served and
all fell quiet as we began to eat.
The pie fell sadly short of my expectations. The crust was heavy and doughy.
The apples and filling were tart and who ever made the pie went light on the
sugar. It hit your stomach with the weight of a wrecking ball striking a
building for demolition. None of us were impressed and I think we were all
secretly glad when the ordeal was finished.
Not long after, we made our respective beds and fell in to them happy and
exhausted. I had a hard time falling to sleep, the pie was riding me like a
cowboy on a bucking horse. My mind was filled with thoughts of the catfish I
had lost some hours earlier. Soon I drifted in to restless sleep.
Then the dream began. I was on the river bank and replayed the experience of
catching the mighty catfish yet again. But this time when the line broke, it
wrapped around my neck in a lethal fashion and started to strangle me. I
couldn't move. My arms weighed a ton and I knew that death was near. I
fought my way back to consciousness and realized that I couldn't swallow. I
leaped to my feet my heart racing like a trip hammer. I struggled to the
kitchen, and desperately poured a glass of water. As I drank it, life came
flooding back to me..
Contemplations of going back to bed were banished from my thoughts as the
spector of the apple pie loomed ominously on my mental horizon. I grabbed a
pack of smokes from the side bar and padded quietly out side, easing the
screen door shut behind me. The night was glorious. It was still quite warm,
probably in the upper eighties which is rather unusual being so far up
My thoughts turned inexorably to the fish I had lost earlier and I knew I
must redeem my self.
I went to the house dressing quickly and grabbing my favorite pair of boots.
I then, went to the garage and got my favorite fishing pole and a bucket of
night crawlers. A couple of cold beers completed my list of essentials. I
walked quietly down the driveway and soon gingerly picked my way across a
cattle guard. The wind softly sighed in the tall grass bordering the road.
The far off call of an owl was followed by the yipping of a pack of coyotes.
I smiled in satisfaction, knowing that when the animals are so active that
the fish would be biting well.
I walked on the left side of the road, tapping the ground lightly with my
fishing rod every ten or fifteen feet, so as to find the trail leading down
to the river. After about a quarter mile, I was rewarded when I tapped a
wide smooth spot.
I turned left atnd started striding confidently down the trail. My
confidence evaporated when I heard the soft but constant sounds of grazing
cattle. It was a large herd of holstein cattle and the herd was made
complete by a large and aggresive bull. Undaunted I continued down the
trail, walking so quietly I could hardly hear my own foot steps. Soon I was
among the cattle. They continued to graze as if I weren't there. I prayed I
wouldn't run into one of them. I fought off catastrophic thoughts of having
to run from them. If I wasn't careful, I would fall in the river as the
river bank is at the end of the trail.
Soon I was passed the cattle and I slowed with caution. Soon the fruits of
my labor were rewarded, as I came to the end of the trail. The edge of the
river bank was over grown with weeds just a little taller but denser than
I quickly baited my hook and cast my line about ten feet out from the shore.
Catfish come in to the shallow water to feed at night.
I opened a beer and was congratulating my self on the way things were going,
thus far. As I sat quiet, I felt the air temperature begin to drop. Then I
heard the rumble of not so far off thunder. My attention snapped back to my
fishing as something tried to tear the pole from my hand. It was so big it
almost pulled me from the edge, as I sat with my feet dangling over the lip
of the bank.
I fought the fish with all the skill of thirty years of experience. Soon I
had it close to the bank, I scrambled down the treacherous bank and stood at
the edge of the river. I brought the fish closer, I grabbed it through the
gills. In supreme disgust, I realized the fish was the biggest carp I had
ever caught. It was over three feet long, it weighed about twenty pounds. I
put it on a stringer and after securing it to a log, returned to my former
spot and rebaited. my hook.
A few fat cold rain drops began to fall. I soon had another bite and was
fighting another fish as it began to rain harder. This time when I went over
the bank to land the fish, I could feel the river rising, the current was
picking up. I landed a fifteen pound catfish and added him to his companion
on the stringer.
I almost fell in the river as I tried to make my way up the bank. I was
soaked with water and my teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. But fishing
was so good I couldn't bear to leave. I recast my line and waited in
huddled misery as the rain fell in buckets. A tremendous clap of thunder
shook the ground and the smell of ozone filled the air. There was a mighty
crash followed by a tremendous splash, about fifty feet to my left. I knew
that lightning had struck one of the big cottonwoods on the bank.
Lightning is nothing to play games with. I have been struck but that is
another story. I laid my fishing pole on the ground as not to attract any
unwanted electrical activity. I snatched it back as something tried to drag
it toward the river with a vengence. I landed another carp about three
minutes later. It weighed about ten pounds.
The rain started to slack off. As it subsided, a swarm of deer flies came
out and I thought this strange as it was probably four or five in the
morning. I eased carefully down the bank and grabbed the stringer of fish,
in preparation to leave. I tied the stringer of fish to my belt and pulled
it behind me as it was to heavy to carry along with all my other equipment.
The thick rich dirt of the river bottoms of the Dakota's become like gumbo
after the rain had subsided. Soon the return trail played out, I realized to
my horror I was lost. I walked on hoping for a miracle. I heard a rooster
crow in the distance and knew morning was fast approaching. I wanted to make
it home on my own steam so to speak. If the family got up and found me
absent they would
come looking for me which would be humiliating.
Soon I began to trek through thick grass, and tree limbs began to claw at
me. I slowed and reached out in front of me to find a barbed wire fence. I
followed it for about a half a mile. Now I was becoming really disoriented
and the fish I was pulling behind me seemed to weigh a ton. MY ego was
suffering from the rancor of being lost on my own farm.
I came to a hedge row made up of small but wickedly thorny trees. I ran into
one and scratched my face and forehead. I stood ,shoulders slumped forward,
a perfect study of dejection.
Then I heard a voice. It came on the breeze clear as a bell. "Brian", was
the only word that was uttered. It came from a location approximately a
hundred feet off to my left.
My grandpa died when I was only five and my memories of him have dimmed with
time. However, I know it was him that spoke to me. I continued on in the
direction the voice had come from and soon to my amazement was standing on
the trail leading back to the road. Luckily, the cattle had gone to graze
else where. The rest of my homeward journey was blessedly uneventful. I
walked in to the farm yard around seven thirty by my braille pocket watch.
By this time I was carrying the stringer of fish triumphantly. I walked to
the back door. I wrapped smartly on it with a wet and muddy hand. My mom
soon opened the door. She regarded me in stunned silence.
Then she said that she had gotten up a few minutes before not to find me on
the couch. Knowing me all to well, she figured that I had gone to the river
to fish. I dropped the fish on the grass made soft by the rain. I was so
muddy and bedraggled I left my clothes outside and came in clad only in my
underwear. Then to my embarrassment pictures were being taken of me.
Imagine this, my family is so into photography, even I like to take pictures
of people and places. I am probably the only blind photographer if the
world. I told my story to the family, seated at the table, drinking one cup
of hot coffee after another.
I omitted the time when I heard grandpa calling my name, I didn't think they
would believe me. But when I look down through the years at this momentous
night, it is time my dear grandpa is given full credit for getting me home
Since this event, my dear mom has passed to the other side and we don't get
up to the farm much any more. I have a picture of the fish I caught, and
will send it along if I can find it. When ever I hear distant thunder, it
always puts me in mind of a mystical night when my grandpa came back from
another land to get me home safely.
Thanks for your time and keep up the great work.
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