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Beyond the Veil: Ghost Stories and Contacts from Beyond
Once in the long ago, there was a place on the internet much like Ricochet’s PIT. It had started out as the comment section for an odd news story, but it continued on with hundreds of thousands of comments long after that particular story was no longer accessible. Because of the initial story, it attracted an odd and quirky bunch who were soon camping out on the thread. One of these internet squatters was “Tor.”
Tor was hilariously funny. Over time, some of his history emerged. He had been a minor Olympian for his European nation. At one point, he had been in his country’s military and had participated in Desert Storm in the 1990s. Much later I found out he had also been in the forces involved in trying to protect civilians in the break-up of Yugoslavia. There was a lot of pain behind the funny.
When a bunch of yahoos decided to fly jumbo jets into buildings, Tor re-enlisted in his nation’s military. He was in his country’s special forces. He was sent somewhere, I was never certain where, although I had clues. The one thing I know is that wherever he was sent, his country was not officially there or participating. Remember when a photo in the news media outed the fact that some Polish forces were participating in, was it Iraq? Well, he wasn’t Polish, but he was in a similar situation. His nation’s government was fulfilling obligations, but did not want to admit it to the public. He was always cagey as to what was happening due to concerns over operational security.
Whatever place he was in, there was a bomb. One of what later became known as Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) took out a bus near where he and others happened to be standing. It blew him back hard, and he landed on his shoulder. He had minor injuries from shrapnel and scraping along a hard surface. He also had fibers from his flak jacket embedded in his shoulder. But, he got up and walked away from it, which was more than many were able to say from the incident. Three days later, he fell down dead. It was renal, liver, and heart failure.
Officially, since his country was not participating where the injury occurred, he had been injured in a training accident in his own country. Yes, governments lie.
Luckily for Tor, he was close to medical facilities, and he was quickly revived. The IED had had some chemical weapon included. It had taken a few days for the trace amount to which he had been exposed to shut down his systems. He was evacuated to a military hospital in Germany where he spent the next several months. The doctors were able to deal with the after-effects of the chemical weapon, but there were other complications from the initial injuries. He lost a few fingers to gangrene. But the thing that caused the most trouble for months on end were those fibers from his flak jacket that had been embedded in his shoulder. The area would not heal, and it became infected. The doctors finally determined that the arm and shoulder would have to come off.
In the months he had spent in the hospital, someone had suggested a new place on the internet for him to go, a place where wounded warriors used poetry as a form of therapy. As he knew I was a poet, he had brought me over there as well. We had spent time together through that site and communicated nearly daily. The site was a bit more private than the place we had initially met had been.
On the day he was to have surgery, I did not go on the internet at all.
I was doing dishes after dinner when I heard someone behind and above me laugh with the thought, “How domestic!” I immediately knew it was Tor coming to say goodbye. I dried my hands and went back to my office to turn on my computer and log in. There on the poetry therapy site was a fresh announcement from Tor’s brother. Tor had just passed a few minutes before. He had been too weak to survive the amputation surgery after months in the hospital.
My friends, I know that many of you have had contacts from those who have passed. What are your stories?
Published in General
This thread started because of @rightangles conversation where she talked about her father’s contacting her daughter in a dream.
I loved your story of your experience. I also thank God for the wariors that protct us and fight the barbarians like Tor. So glad he got word to you and to right angle.
Kevin
Indeed. God does as He pleases, and if there seems to be a contradiction, it is probably a misunderstanding on the human’s part.
I forgot one very important detail. My apologies to the Holy Spirit. He uses Him to speak to us also.
All respect to those who do not share my views.
Kevin
What an interesting and beautiful post.
My great-grandmother died in 1969, when I was 14. My sister was eight, and my brother was a few months old. We went to say goodbye, the day before she passed away, my mother (Dad was in Nigeria), my sister and I. We left my infant brother with my grandmother. We’d never told Great-Granny about him (he was born in the States), and we thought his being there would just confuse her. The old lady looked at my mother, and said, “Hello, Katy.” Then she looked at me and my sister and said hello. Then she looked back at my mother, and said “where’s the little one, then?”
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio . . .”
One of mine died that year, too. ;)
Indeed. People near death often seem to perceive things, perhaps because closer to God at that moment.
I think a ghost from the PIT would have thrown something at your head. And then laughed.
Nice story, A.
Sorry about your friend Tor.
Or plucked the spinach off of the pizza.
Just so we keep the stories flowing…
My mother grew up in Georgia. She was the fifth child of her parents, and they were both in their forties when she was born. Her paternal grandfather had passed on before she was born. He had been a wrecking engineer for the railroad. As he was often working at scenes of destruction, his preferred clothing was a flannel shirt and blue jeans, rather than a more expensive but more delicate suit. She had never even seen a picture of the old boy.
After she had grown up, married, and moved to Illinois, she had a dream on one of her birthdays. She saw a man in a flannel shirt and jeans come down the hall to her master bedroom. He was a very tall man. He walked in and handed her a card in the dream. She was thinking, “The mailman doesn’t usually come into the house, and he isn’t wearing a uniform.” She opened up the card and saw that written inside was, “Happy birthday, Kitten.” That was followed by her father’s initials. Her father had not been a tall man. Accounts vary, but he may have been as tall as 5’6″.
When she called her mother later in the week, she described the dream. Her mother revealed that it sounded just like her late father-in-law (my mother’s paternal grandfather). He was a very tall man, well over 6′, and he always signed only his initials. (My grandfather had a different middle name, but had the same initials as his father.)
My first grandpa passed away a few weeks before my 16th birthday. I had been his first grandkid and while he was a man of few words, we had an unspoken bond that ran fairly deep. He was the first person who taught me how to drive, and every time I had to go help out in the field, he had a moon pie and a soda waiting on me so I usually ended up running around with him all day.
When I was almost 17, I started dating a 21-year-old guy. My parents HATED him and we fought constantly about it. I ended up secretly dating him into my first year of college, but my parents eventually found out. I didn’t come home for a month due to the ensuing blowout. At some point during this month long window, he and I both woke up from very different, but very interesting dreams.
I had him go first explaining his dream. Important info: my beau had never met or seen a picture of my grandpa. He described my grandpa to a T, down to my grandpa’s very distinct deep gravelly voice. My grandpa had told him in his dream “You’re not doin’ right by my princess.” Then he proceeded to tell the guy that he ought to break things off with me because it would be the right thing to do. I later showed him a picture of my grandpa, which he confirmed was the man in his dream.
In my dream, I was walking through a dark forest. I saw a light off in the distance so I walked towards it. There was this clearing and all these animals were surrounding a stump with a boy sitting on it. The boy looked a lot like my little brother, but wasn’t. He looked up at me as I approached and smiled. He said softly to me, “You’re not taking care of my Jules.” I asked, “Who are you?” He said, “You need to take care of yourself and be happy.” Then I had the realization who he was as he stood up on the stump. He said, “I have to go now. I love you.” I grabbed his hand and said “Pa, I want to walk with you.” He shook his head sadly and smiled at me again. He patted my hand and replied, “You can’t go with me. I’ll see you again though.” Then he walked off towards the dark and I woke up.
I mentioned this dream to my grandma the next time I saw her. She dug around in her picture drawer and found a picture of my grandpa at the same age he was in my dream. Same clothing, same haircut, everything. I still have that picture in my photo album.
Within the next couple weeks, I found out that guy I’d been dating had been cheating on me with every 2-bit hoochie in town.
I had to report back for my sophomore year at college a week early, for some training as an RA. As the sun went down on that first night, it dawned on me, after walking all the floors and checking the other RA rooms, that I was the first one back and the only one in the entire building — indeed, it seemed I was the only soul on campus at all — and as I climbed in to bed that night, I realized it was getting to me.
For the first time in my life I felt homesick, longing to be anywhere but there. Every creak of the old dorm made my heart race. Finally, I turned to face the wall and made some fervent, nonsensical sort of wish that someone, anyone, were there with me, so I wouldn’t feel so scared and alone.
A few years earlier, on a school trip overseas, my friend Bill and I had stayed up to all hours, drinking contraband wine and talking of everything under the sun. We’d fallen asleep, mid-conversation, curled up there on my bed, with his arm wrapped around me. Caused a minor scandal, of course, but it was all quite innocent. Bill had died just a month earlier, that summer, in a drowning accident.
I’m not sure anymore if I was actually thinking of him, when I begged for some company that night, but I do know that just after making that wish, suddenly a warm presence enveloped me and it felt as if I were wrapped in comforting arms, safe and protected. My trembling stopped immediately and I drifted off to a peaceful sleep, just as I had that night in Paris.
Sure, maybe it was all in my very active imagination but I still like to think that my friend came by to help me out, and say goodbye.
These stories are giving me goosebumps!
Like you @Arahant, I believe these things. I was in my early twenties, had just started working as a staff accountant at a downtown CPA firm in Boston and I was living in a small apartment on Beacon Hill. It was a Saturday. My brother, Dad, Dad’s neighbor John (a dear friend) and I were supposed to go fishing off Cape Ann so I had set my alarm for an early rise. At approximately 3:00 AM, a small mirror that was securely attached to the wall in my room fell from its perch and crashed in pieces on the floor. That event came with a terrible premonition: John had had a terrible accident.
I cleaned up the mess and dismissed the thought. Since my alarm was set for 5:00 anyway, I showered, dressed and started my drive to the north shore. On the final stretch, I passed a graveyard and the premonition returned, stronger than before: John had died.
I arrived at the docks to find out from my Dad that John, a retired submariner, had been called into his job as a maintenance engineer for a large cardboard box manufacturer. It was an emergency. There had been some kind of problem at the plant. He left his house in the early morning hours. On the drive in he suffered a massive cerebral aneurysm. The state police found him in his car on the shoulder of the road. They were surprised he’d been able safely navigate his way off the interstate. (Even at 3:00 AM on a Saturday, the highways of greater Boston are flush with vehicles.) He was alive, but barely when they found him. They airlifted him to Mass General. He was declared brain dead and removed from life support around 5:30 AM that morning.
I never told my father or brother about the mirror or my premonitions. We did go fishing that day and I felt John’s presence there with us the entire day. John loved fishing.
Great story.
Some people start early and never change. ;)
No ghost stories or spooky dreams to relate myself, but I am enjoying these.
I still have a few more, but am hoping others will come through with theirs. In a group as large as Ricochet, there have to be dozens at least.
I had another strange incident in that same dorm, though thankfully, all the players are still with us.
I was supposed to head in to town with some classmates but when they came to get me, I kept stalling our departure — checking and double-checking if I had everything. They were getting impatient and even I was mystified by my reluctance to leave but I kept saying it . . . “wait, wait, I can’t leave yet” . . . and coming up with ridiculous reasons why.
Finally, they pulled me out of the room but I still dragged my feet the entire way down the hall. We reached the lounge, the elevator arrived, and I was taking one last look backwards as I boarded, trying to figure out why I felt like I shouldn’t leave yet, when the house phone rang and suddenly, I knew. “That’s for me,” I said.
And it was. My best friend from Tulsa, who was in college at KU, happened to be driving close to my campus that day and she’d been in a bad car accident. I was the only one she knew nearby, so she’d told the hospital to call me. (She was fine — just terribly shaken up and really needed a friendly face from home at that moment.)
A lot of great and holy women have walked the halls of my alma mater for the last 150-plus years — most of whom are buried right there on the south hill of the campus. I’m convinced that there’s a lot of special energy in that place.
Tor: The Hunter From The Future?
No, short for a name which means “Thor’s Elf.”
Also known as the Mighty Cod.
Khmers believe when you no longer dream of your deceased loved one, he or she has been reborn into his or her next life.
Now that’s scary!
Smart move.
Work first. This thread will still be here later.
My dearest friend Elaine was also my husband’s oldest sister. (In-laws are not always terrible!) My husband was a late-life baby, and his oldest sister was sixteen years older than he.
Elaine had four children, two of whom went into the Air Force. The kids were geniuses, truly. They did not do very well in high school in terms of grades because they were, frankly, bored, like a lot of teenagers in our schools. They spent most of their time reading on their own, enjoying particularly the Lord of the Ring trilogy. Their father, a retired Green Beret, had put together the entire central computer system for the old John Hancock insurance company. Their sons took the intelligence test for the Air Force, and the Air Force saw potential where the high school did not. :)
I’m telling this story out of order: Unfortunately, the Green Beret dad did not get along very well with his two sons. So the kids lived with my husband and me for two summers while they were in high school. My husband owned a garden center and landscaping business, and the kids worked for him by day and hung out with me around the kitchen table by night. :) I was home with our two little preschool daughters at the time, so it worked out well. It gave the family a break from the arguing that was going on. The upshot was that I was close to the kids.
When they joined the Air Force, the older brother, Lee, was sent off to NATO headquarters in Belgium, and his work there was top secret. He basically disappeared. His mother, Elaine, was frantic with worry. She contacted the Red Cross, and they tried to get word to him, but that is a very slow process for some military personnel. The worry dragged on for four weeks. The entire family was growing hysterical. Even his brother, also in Europe in the Air Force, did not know where Lee was. Lee was very young at the time–nineteen or twenty years old. He had been in the Air Force only a year or two. He didn’t think that the entire family might be frantic. He was at that age of tasting his freedom for the first time.
My husband quipped that when kids reach a certain age, they should have tattooed across their forehead, “Call home” backward, so every time they go to the bathroom, the message shows up in the mirror. :)
About this time, I suddenly woke up out of a sound sleep. I sat up and saw Lee standing at the foot of my bed. He looked right at me and said, “Tell my mom I’m okay.” He finally called her two days later. It was the strangest experience I’ve ever had. I didn’t tell his mom until much later because I was afraid it would scare her that he was dead.
This was an inexplicable, Twilight Zone moment.
I’m not certain exactly what my father did in Germany when he was in the army, but I know he was in a locked cage in a locked building while doing it. It may have been some form of cryptology or communications-related thing. Nothing quite like being young and smart and doing something secret.
Hmmn, Lee wasn’t doing remote viewing, was he?