My own child’s returns continued. One night after my evening walk, I settled in on the sofa with my laptop, checking the galleys for my first book. I added small parts and deleted others, getting ready for the final proofing for my publisher. I’d decided to re-read the book from the beginning with a fresh eye after having had some time away from it.
We’d just recently held our third-annual charity event in our son’s name. Seeing all his old friends was always great and the full day of skating, music, and competition—all of James’s favorite things—was fun. I didn’t like to dwell too much on the sad reason we held the event and focused more on the happy side: raising money and seeing old friends. It had been a particularly good year, and we had a much larger crowd who came to meet a famous skater we flew in to emcee. But as always, the letdown afterward was the hardest part. A lot of busywork led up to the event, and lots of hustle and bustle surrounded it—then suddenly it was over. It was so good to see James’s friends and to have a house full of young people again. I missed that, so each time, it was harder to say goodbye to them. I’d come
to realize that any losses, even temporary ones, are harder to take after losing a child.
After I brought up my book files on my laptop, I found one of my favorite movies on TV, The Exorcist, and I settled in to do the work on my book. Bo Bo was on the pillow to my left, and the remote was on the pillow to my right. William Friedkin was the famous director of The Exorcist. He’d also recently directed the Matthew McConaughey movie Killer Joe—which through the efforts of my LA music publisher used James’s song “On the Prowl” in the red band trailer. So I was particularly excited to watch The Exorcist again now.
I should’ve known I’d get overinvolved in the movie, and I did most of the proofreading of my book during the commercial breaks with the TV muted. I finally came to the chapter where James’s death took place. Somehow this time when I read it back, it hit me like a sledgehammer and I lost it. It was a major meltdown. I hadn’t cried so hard for a long time. I think the additional melancholy of James’s friends leaving must’ve fueled this.
With the TV still on mute, I cried and sobbed, wallowing in my misery and asking why. At one point, I begged James to come back, to give me a sign, some definitive answer—would I really see him again in the afterlife? Was it really as we’d always been taught, God and the whole nine yards? I must’ve needed the emotional release of a good cry, because I’d held it in a little too long this time. Finally, the waterworks subsided, and I got up to get a tissue. I leaned against the back of the couch, wiping my eyes, still talking to James.
“I’m sorry, James, but I still miss you so bad. I’m sorry. Be at peace, honey; don’t mind me.” I felt guilty now, and most of all, I didn’t want my sorrow to bring him back, to make him sad in any way if he was aware of it. I just couldn’t help myself sometimes. I sighed, walked around to the front of the couch, and sat back down between Bo Bo on one pillow and the remote on the other. After another minute of gathering myself, I reached to my right and pressed the button to unmute The Exorcist—but suddenly a new movie was starting! I was puzzled, because I knew The Exorcist wasn’t half over. I watched the new title come up. Batman Returns, so I checked the channel—and it had been changed! But I hadn’t touched it, I hadn’t even been near it! And then I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, James had just given me a sign. Because James was Batman when he was little …
My cousin Joyce had made James a meticulously re-created batman suit for Halloween when he was six.
He wore it almost every day until he finally outgrew it. He spent his days jumping off any tall prominence available, yelling “I’m Batman” at regular intervals—until we thought we’d go crazy! Like all kids do, when I tried to warn him about strangers, he’d say, “I’m Batman, I’ll karate chop them,” while going into a stance with one hand raised to do the chopping. Long after James outgrew the suit, he still loved to become characters at all times of
the year, especially Halloween.
When he was older, James sometimes made plans without accounting for the harsher realities of life. He was a dreamer and an optimist, which we loved. With some of his more extreme plans, though, my husband and I would look at each other and say, “I’m Batman,” when hearing his latest scheme. He’d laugh along with us, knowing we loved and accepted him, but recognizing that maybe he’d need to rethink whatever he’d just explained, as it might be a little unrealistic. “I’m Batman” became one of our private family jokes. James had loved that movie, and somehow, I think he changed the channel in direct response to my plea to come back, just to let me know I’d see him again. To let me know we do go on. I get it, James. Thank you. Yeah. Batman Returns indeed …
The times that concern me most when James returns are those in which I worry he isn’t at peace. But one story made me smile and gave me no doubt that at least some of the time, he was doing just fine. I’d heard some rumors from James’s friends, about something that had happened to James’s former girlfriend, Regan. So I emailed her and she told me the story herself.
Regan and her sister had taken her sister’s little boy with them into the pizza shop where James had been assistant manager. Regan’s little nephew was three and was too young to remember James when he was alive. After they finished eating, Regan’s sister mentioned that she’d never been to the pizza shop before, adding that the pizza was really good. The child piped in with, “The dead guy likes it a lot.” Regan and her sister just stared at each other, knowing perfectly well that James, with his wry sense of humor, would’ve jokingly described himself just that way to the little boy. Was he standing there in the pizza shop, talking to the child? They both got goosebumps over it.
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14
Best Friends for Life—
and After
The loss of any young person’s life is cause for grief. I met a young woman who came to one of my haunted tea parties, and she told me the story of her best friend.
Emma had been a fun-loving teenage girl who’d never really dealt with losing a loved one. She had watched her friends lose parents and grandparents, seen their grief, and tried her best to comfort them. But she couldn’t imagine what that kind of pain felt like. Emma’s grandpa had died before she was born, and so had her great-grandparents. This all changed the summer before Emma’s freshman year, when she was fourteen.
Emma and her small group of friends were determined to make that summer a great one. They spent nearly every waking moment together, enjoying their lives as only fourteen-year-olds can. Emma and her friends were very close, almost like sisters. But one of her friends was truly special.
Haley was beautiful and smart, with a sense of humor that kept them all laughing. She never wanted to have regrets, which led to taking a few chances. Haley believed that every choice you made was exactly what you wanted to do at that moment. Emma and Haley had a blast that summer.
Emma broke some of her parents’ rules and ended up grounded in late August. She remembers Haley calling her to hang out, but Emma had to remind Haley that she was still grounded until the following day. So the best friends made plans to get together then. They talked on for a while and finally hung up, but not before telling each other, “I love you.”
Emma was awakened very early the next morning by the worst phone call of her life.
A friend’s voice asked her if she’d heard the news. Still half-asleep, Emma said she hadn’t heard anything.
“Haley was in a terrible car accident last night, and she didn’t make it.”
Emma screamed at her friend, telling her it was a sick joke to even say something like that, but her friend insisted it was true. Emma couldn’t breathe, and tears poured down her cheeks. Her beautiful friend was dead. And now she knew how all the others had felt when they’d lost someone. She was devastated.
Emma still has vague memories of the calling hours and the funeral service, but not of
what occurred there. She realizes now that she was probably still in shock at the time. All Emma’s mind could do was keep repeating every scene she had shared with Haley, every memory. She does remember how hard Haley’s father hugged her after the funeral, as though he were still hugging his precious daughter.
Emma’s mind began to clear when Haley’s father asked her and Haley’s other friends if they would like to stay at the house with him and Haley’s little brother for a week, so they wouldn’t be alone. Just so the transition to life without Haley would be a little easier for the family.
After the funeral, at Haley’s house, her dad let her friends go into her room and each pick something that would be special to them to keep their memory of Haley alive. Emma picked Haley’s favorite horseshoe necklace—she was surprised to find it there because Haley never took it off. Haley called it her good luck charm.
Later on that night, all her friends and Haley’s family were sitting in the living room, telling stories about her and how she’d impacted their lives. It was obvious what a great person she’d been. Haley’s little brother suddenly said he was hungry, and Emma went to the kitchen to make him something to eat. Haley’s house and kitchen were as familiar as her own, and Emma was comfortable taking on the task of fixing a snack.
As Emma opened the freezer and grabbed a bag of pizza rolls, which also happened to be Haley’s favorite food, she heard a familiar laugh behind her. It was unmistakable. Haley had the kind of laugh you could never forget.
Emma spun around to find Haley standing beside the sink with an ear-to-ear grin on her face. And as fast as Haley had appeared, she was suddenly gone. Emma, in shock, stood there crying in disbelief that Haley had appeared to her. She hadn’t even realized she was crying when a few moments later, Haley’s dad came in the kitchen. Haley’s dad asked if she was okay. Emma told him what had just happened, and tears began to stream down his face too. There was not an ounce of disbelief in him. He believed his daughter had returned, and he was grateful.
In those few moments that Haley stood there smiling at her best friend, Emma got the closure she needed. Emma knew Haley was okay. She stayed at Haley’s house for a week, thinking that maybe she would come back again, that maybe if she stayed there, Haley wouldn’t leave.
Finally, she realized Haley was truly gone. But Emma also realized the specialness of Haley having returned from beyond to show her she was happy in her new place. Emma knew she was fortunate to experience Haley’s return. Emma only wishes she would have spoken. She wishes she would’ve told Haley she loved her and that she’d see her again. But Emma thinks Haley already knows this.
“Have you heard from Goo anymore?” I asked my cousin Joyce the next time I saw her. Joyce had called me not long after they lost their lovable old pet terrier. The small dog finally had to be put down at sixteen years of age. They’d grown very close to the little canine family member. Joyce and her husband had inherited the dog after the death of her mother-in-law. The small terrier had become overweight and inactive living with an elderly woman. But when Goo moved to Joyce’s house, she lost weight, became active again, and was a huge part of their family for nearly a decade. It was obvious to everyone that Goo loved her new life with Joyce. And the dog’s death was hard on them all.
Joyce’s family mourned the loss of their little canine member the first weekend after she died. But by the beginning of the following week, something strange began to happen. Still unused to Goo being gone, Joyce was working in her art studio downstairs when she heard Goo get up from her bed just above her and begin shaking her fur. Then came the sound of her toenails moving across the tile floor. This sound had been so common for so many years, and considered so normal in Joyce’s everyday routine, that at first, it didn’t register. When it did, Joyce stopped what she was doing and listened. Then the toenails stopped.
Joyce’s husband, Murphy, a total skeptic most of the time but an avid watcher of the ghost-investigation shows just in case, was still waiting to be convinced of the paranormal. Joyce mentioned what she’d heard to him later that night.
“Oh, I’m sure it was just the tiles creaking or something,” he said. And then he heard it for himself! The next day they were both standing downstairs in Joyce’s studio while Joyce was busy with doll construction. Joyce’s husband gazed out at the backyard and thought about mowing. Suddenly the sound of toenails and a very familiar snort came from upstairs. Murphy looked over at Joyce. “Did you hear that?” Joyce just nodded. They discussed the noises of Goo quietly, noises they couldn’t possibly be hearing. Yet they were. They heard Goo’s tiny spirit for several more months until the sounds grew fainter and fainter, and further apart. And now Joyce’s husband is a bit more of a believer.
Joyce also discovered they weren’t the only ones to experience this. A mutual friend of ours would often see her dog after it passed away. The dog was always spotted in his favorite place behind the chair. The pet also had a way of shaking his head, due to his ear problems, and you could hear his ears flap when he did this. His death didn’t stop this sound. Our friend heard this distinctive sound a lot in the year or so after her dog died.
While interviewing another friend, Teri, at her house, one of her cats jumped up into my lap, and I commented on her pets. Two more felines were winding themselves around my legs and basking in my attention. Teri told me she had a couple cats that were still there, years after they’d died! One of Teri’s ghost cats sits outside the door to her room upstairs, and another she had for almost nineteen years still jumps up on her bed. Teri and her husband feel the cat do this all the time. One night not long ago, Teri’s husband was already in bed with the light off, and she was in the bathroom. Teri’s living cats had followed her, as they usually do, into the bathroom. When she came into the bedroom, her husband asked which cat was in there with him. Teri answered that none of them were—that they’d all been with her in the bathroom.
“I felt a cat jump on the bed, and its tail brushed my back!” Teri’s husband insisted. Teri said her husband sleeps facing the door, and he can often see the shape of a cat sitting there waiting for his wife. But the moment Teri touches the doorknob to come to bed, the cat disappears. She believes this is her old cat Ditsy, and Teri still has a picture of that room, with this cat in it—taken four years after the cat died.
Apparently even our dogs and cats can stick around for a while, according to these and other stories I’ve heard. It leaves you in wonder over the possibilities. Animals do not know about heaven or hell, and yet even their spirits stay with us. It certainly gives food for thought, or maybe re-thought, would be the better word. Rethinking all the religious stuff we’ve been taught from childhood is something I’ve been doing my entire life—because of ghosts!
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15
Playing Hangman
Many paranormal investigators begin their interest in the paranormal as children, and in that regard, Brian Fain of Massillon Ghost Hunters Society is no different. But what makes Brian’s lifelong interest in spirits from the tender age of five so unique is that his grandpa drew him a picture from the grave! Brian’s memory of one particular summer day forms the basis for what happened a few months later.
Brian was sitting at the table on his grandpa’s knee, with his mom and dad seated across from them. The adults were all talking, and Brian’s grandpa doodled as he talked. Brian’s grandpa had always had a habit of doodling, and he only doodled one specific thing—stick figures. Anytime his grandfather was talking, he was drawing these figures; it was just his thing. Brian recalls playing with something on the table in front of him while he listened to the adults conversing. He also remembers a small notepad in front of his grandpa, and it was covered with the stick figures.
In October of that year, Brian’s grandpa passed away in his sleep of a heart attack. Brian, being so young, didn’t really understand the nature of death, but of course his parents did, and they griev
ed. Two months later, it was Christmas, and Santa brought little Brian one of those children’s double-sided easels. A pair of small chairs came with the easel, and you could sit and draw with chalk on either side. Brian the five-year-old was ecstatic. He watched as his dad assembled it, putting together the easel itself, and then each little chair. The last thing his father did was tear open the plastic bag of chalk and lay the pieces in the concave tray at the bottom of the easel. Brian wanted to draw on the easel right away, but as soon as he moved toward it, his dad spoke.
“No, no, Brian, we have to go to your other grandparents’ house and see what presents Santa left for you there! As soon as we get back, though, you can come try this out.” With a frown and a backward glance at the untouched chalkboard, Brian, with the typical impatience of a five-year-old, was led grumpily away by one small hand.
After a full day of opening presents at the home of his mother’s parents, eating dinner, and then visiting with his cousins and relatives, Brian’s parents finally brought him home that evening. As tired as he was, the Christmas present his dad had assembled that morning was uppermost in his mind. Brian immediately ran downstairs to his basement playroom to draw on the untouched chalkboard—he really wanted to be the first one to do so.
Moments later, Brian’s parents heard him yelling and screaming at the top of his young lungs. They came on the run, thinking he had hurt himself, and his dad rounded the corner first.
“Brian, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” asked his dad.
“You drew on the chalkboard!” Brian yelled, stomping one foot angrily. “I wanted to be the first one!”
“No, Brian, I didn’t draw on it, remember? I just put it together, and then we all left for your other grandma’s.”
Puzzled, Brian’s father came closer, just as Brian’s mom entered the room. Both parents could see that something was drawn on the board. Brian’s father stared, shocked at what he saw. A large stick figure, at least five inches tall and five inches wide, was drawn on the chalkboard. It was exactly like the stick figures his recently deceased father always drew.
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