I built my blacksmith shop on the site of an old stable. At night, when the buzzing florescents are turned off, you can hear the stamping of old horse's feet, the jingling of bits and harness, and the prrrrrrrr of expelled breath that horses do. I find it rather comfy actually. Nice to have company on a lonely evening. I occasionally sleep there, surrounded by the spirits of the gentle animals. I asked the old historian at the museum about it, and he told me that the stable had burned sometime in the 1920's and all the horses burned to death. Well, they stayed together even years later, still in their stalls, and happy (in a horsey sort of way) to see me when I come in to swing my hammers.
My house was built in 1867, and of course has had dozens of people die in it over that time. None of them ever stuck around though, because I would know if there was a malevalent spirit around. I go anywhere in this place alone, and into the shop, but I WON'T go into the "second" back yard after dark. I don't mind it so much when the sun is out, but I refuse to enter it after dark. And I am a guy who reads grave markers after midnight! There is something about that back yard which makes me feel totally creeped out. I am a little sorry I buried my little dog there when he died...he has to face this all on his own, with out his pack leader (me) to help him.
I am SOOOO superstitious. When my dad died, I left him his sword (over the objections of some of his Knights of Columbus mates) and a handful of silver. You can go anywhere with money and weapons!
Tomorrow is all saints day, and tonight is the time to tell you ghostly experiences. I hope some of the readers will leave a story or two.
6 comments:
Don't worry Bill...am sure your dog is in a safe place now. And how did the tradition of leaving coins and weapons come about in Canada? In S.E Asia, only the Chinese and certain tribes in Indonesia does this, as far as I know. It's really interesting how some beliefs, superstitions and cultural practise are shared in different parts of the world :)
Thanks for reading my blog. I am sure you deduced that I was so tickled with my comment on YOUR blog that I just had to re-post it and expand on it here!
I dunno. Its not very widespread even in Canada. But then, Death is not celebrated, but if possible, ignored, and handled by professionals. Morticians are more and more becoming grief councilors. You don't even see the body interned...the whole group goes off somewhere, and the casket is lowered and covered out of sight. This can be a bad thing because even though a death in the family is very traumatic and puts your life on hold, it IS part of living, and like all aspects of living, should be made a big deal. A large celebration should be called for, but that rarely happens. I for one would prefer a "wake" to a church service. I would hate to think that my birthday party was bigger than my funeral.....(insert wry smile here)
But my ancestors were vikings on my mother's side, and cossacks on my father's side, and weapons come from that. Plus he was a K of C, and it is THEIR tradition that he be buried in full honours. More a case of being buried in his best suit, as opposed to being armed.
The silver...well, with a rosary in his left hand and a handful of money in his right, he can get into anywhere. Why take chances.
(Please note that I differentiate between spirits and souls...a spirit is merely a reflection in a dark glass... but that is getting too profound for such a nice sunny day. TTFN)
The house I grew up in was built by my ancestors in 17-something. Until my father sold it in 1982, it had never been owned by anyone outside the family. So of course, many, many relatives were born and died in that house. My aunts, cousins, siblings, and I all have stories to tell. I am not one to believe in such things, normally. And yet thinking about my own experiences in that house gives me goose bumps even now. I’ll tell one story:
It was late at night and everyone was in bed, including me. It was dark except for the hall light outside my room. I remember clearly laying on my side, looking at the light streaming under the door. No one ever entered. But all of a sudden, I felt the very distinct impression of a person sitting down on the foot of my bed, and even heard the springs squeak! I clenched my eyes shut tight and held my breath, for what seemed like forever. Whoever it was didn’t move or speak, but just sat there. After what seemed like eons, I felt the weight being lifted, heard the springs squeak again, and they were gone.
I'm awed by your family history! Now that you mention it, you look like a Viking yourself, if you dont mind me saying so! :) No wonder you're gifted with weaponry, it's in your blood. And for the record I do agree that death should not be seen as something so negative; why can't we see it as a reminder to live more and to celebrate the passing of a someone who did so many great things in his or her lifetime? oh well...
Yikes! Just read Jennifer's story! Made my hair stand!!!
Bill
Sounds like some of Baba's ghost story telling has rubbed of on YOU!
No one could tell a story like her, however, you are getting close!
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