Might as well start with the tiny house stuff, since that's what this blog is supposed to be about. Ms. Kochanski finished the wood burning for me, and holy shit does it look amazing.
I've never felt prouder to be a part of Varn. Yes, even prouder than the whole "pony rape" fiasco. I can't wait to hang this from my porch, letting all those who come visit me that they're now in The Varnhold.
This concludes the Tiny House portion of the blog.
Yes, I know. This is supposed to be about me building a tiny house. And I swear that once I actually start building it will be. Can't build when the ground is frozen, though. Can't dig out a foundation in those conditions. So until the ground thaws, we pad these entries with other fun and interesting things.
In that regard, thank God for this fucking ghost.
After my initial encounter I went back with a camera to see what I could capture. I sat there and provoked and snapped away, but sadly I got nothing. Not even a fucking dust particle that I could pass off as an orb or anything like that. I didn't let that discourage me, though. I still provoke every time I go up there, and I'm actually taking my full allotted break time up there in hopes that something happens.
And happen something did.
Just like last time, I was in the bathroom. I was just finishing up business when there were 2 quick knocks on the door. Since I was done, I flushed and opened the door, but no one was there. There wasn't anyone in the hallway either, nor did I hear anyone leaving the scene. Now, you have to understand the layout of the upstairs here, specifically the hallway with the bathroom in it. The bathroom sits smack dab in the middle of this hallway. When looking out of the bathroom, to the right about 50 feet down is a dead end. To the left is about a 50 foot walk to the other hallway. So, if this was someone playing a joke on me, someone would have had to move over 50 feet in about 5 seconds, and do so silently.
Again, rather than being creeped out, I'm finding this shit cool as all hell. Still, I'm kind of disappointed. So few people actually get a visual when they experience a haunting, and here I am and my first encounter with this ghost is to see something out of the corner of my eye. Not to sound like a child, but I want more than that. I want to see this thing full on. I know I must sort of sound like a spoiled brat, but I want more, dammit!
I'm hoping we have another midnight release soon. Maybe for Deadpool. Fuck, I hope for Deadpool, cause that's real close. Then I can have a real late night there and just sit up there and really investigate. I mean, we'll have two projectors running. Three tops. That will significantly decrease the noise up there. Maybe enough for an EVP session. Not only that, but with the real late night, maybe things will follow the old cliche and it'll be more active. I can only hope.
This seems as good a time as any to tell those that don't know it of my family's ghost story. I've been telling it a lot lately it seems, spurned on by the activity at work. If you haven't heard it, I hope you enjoy it. If you have heard it before, well, sorry for having to sit through it again.
I want to preface this tale with this: You should know none of this has happened to me. All details that I am going to be telling you happened to members of my family, though, and I heard it from them. So these are first hand accounts.
If you're interested in the paranormal, I'm willing to wager you're familiar with the Bell Witch Haunting. Shit had a major Hollywood movie released about it with an all star cast, and Asylum rip off, and even an A&E reality show that aired this past Halloween. As you know, or if you didn't, what makes the Bell Witch Haunting so infamous is that it's said to be the only haunting where supposedly a ghost killed one of the people it was haunting. Well, I'm here to tell you that's not true. See, if you ask anyone on my father's side of the family who was a part of the events I'm going to regale you with, they will all tell you that a ghost killed my grandpa.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though. That was just to hook you. Let's start at the beginning.
Surprise, surprise. My last name isn't actually Buttons. I won't give it to you here, but you should know it's a Hispanic name, actually. I'm half Cuban. When my father's family decided to settle here, being typical spics they crammed a whole bunch of themselves into one tiny home in Newark.
No, not that type of tiny home, despite what this blog is supposed to be about. I mean a home designed for five, six at the most, holding twelve. Now from what I was told, for awhile things seemed normal,m but there was always an off feeling about the place. Nothing major. No bad juju or anything like that. Just something felt "off". Eventually the typical little shit started happening. You know how it is in these types of things. Something missing found where it wasn't left. An odd noise here and there. Nothing that would raise any alarms, though. Just stuff that could be attributed to absent mindedness or an old house.
If only it had stayed that peaceful.
Not only did shit actually start to intensify (shit actually breaking, loud noises), but things seemed to focus on my one aunt, Rosa. A specific example I can remember is her brushing her hair and jewelry case flying off her dresser, smashing into the bureau mirror she was using. That wasn't the worst that happened to poor Rosa, oh no.
Recently married, her husband would be woken up by her screaming in her sleep. After waking her, she'd tell him the same thing each and every time it happened: She dreamed she was being raped by a headless man. She would cry and go on and on how it felt so real and how terrified she was. Her husband would dismiss this as just nightmares, yet it persisted. In a bizarre coincidence, my aunt soon found herself pregnant. Joyous occasion, right? Well, joy soon turned to tragedy when early into it she found herself in the middle of a miscarriage. Even more tragic, and frightening, was that when the fetus came out, it was without a head.
If you've been drinking while reading this, I'll let you take a shot now. Lord knows I've gone through more cigarettes than usual getting through this.
...............................
You good?
Well, from Aunt Rosa to everyone else, now everyone was seeing shit get flung around the house. One of my relatives started saying the spirit was speaking with her. Now this little old lady is probably about 5 foot max, and at most she's 100 pounds soaking yet. She tiny. That detail comes into play later. Anyway, she would say how the spirit was mad they were in his house and he was going to make them all continue to pay for being there.
My father was having none of this shit, however. I've alluded to my father already in an earlier blog, and that our relationship is strained. Part of that is because my father is a very hard man. He once nailed his hand to a wall, and when he couldn't get the nail out, he cut out the section of wall that his hand was nailed to and drove to the hospital like that. When he arrived, he asked the nurse if they could just start it so he could finish pulling the nail out. Another time he was on a plane, and for some reason there was a problem and the plane was thought to be crashing. As others around him screamed, cried, and prayed, my father sat there and yelled at the people to just shut the fuck up and accept their fate. Again, my father is a very hard man, and as you can see, NOTHING phases him.
Well, almost nothing.
On the night in question, I was 3, and my sister had just turned 1. And before you ask, no, I do not remember this, Again, everything told here has been told to me by those involved. My mother was home with us, when her phone rang. It was my Aunt Jackie (yes, another Aunt). She was frantic, asking if my Dad was there and if he was OK. Something bad had happened at the house involving my father and the ghost it seems, and he sped out of there on his motorcycle like a bat out of hell. My mother waited anxiously at the window for him to come home, and soon enough he pulled up to the house. But he didn't come right in. Instead he went across the street to a neighbor's house. Now this neighbor was extremely religious, and that's apparently why my father went there first. See, when he finally did enter the house, he had a bunch of crucifixes with him. He started putting them up all over the house. While doing this, he instructed my mother that she was not to sleep tonight, and she was to watch him while he slept in case something happened. Being a good wife, she did just that. She watched him as he slept, during which time he wet the bed. When my mother had to get up to take care of my sister, he got up as well, followed her, and slept at her feet. My mother tried getting out of him what happened but he wouldn't say. You should know that, to this very day, he still won't talk about it. When asked, he just says "Nothing happened," and refuses to say anything else. My mother ended up getting the details from those that were there in the house that night, though.
That night in question my father had gone over to play dominoes with his family and some friends (again, lolspics). You should also know that at this time, they were trying to sell the house but not having much luck. Remember that little old relative? Well, that night, she said the spirit was coming again. This naturally made everyone there uneasy. Everyone, that is, but my father. He had enough of this bullshit, and was going to put a stop to it once and for all. He went up to her, grabbed her by her shoulders, and told her to knock the shit off because he was tired of her upsetting everyone and make everyone think this shit was going on when it was all in their heads. That little old lady, she looked up at my father, and in a man's voice said, "Get your fucking hands off me," and threw my father across the room. As my father laid there shocked, he/she proceeded to go on about how this was his house, and they had no right being in there and ruining it. Since they ruined it, he was going to make sure that they never ever leave. He wouldn't let them, and he was going to get at least one of them. Now at this point everyone is panicking and freaking. Even my father. He tried running out the door, but it wouldn't open. He eventually got out by throwing a chair through a window and climbing out.
He never went back to the house after that.
The house finally sold for a good deal under market value, and my family, again being typical spics, all went down to Miami.
Less than a month after the move, my grandfather, who was in perfect health and only 53, had a stroke out of nowhere and died.
You can say that those things happen. You can say that sudden strokes kill people all the time. But if you ask anyone in my father's family, they'll all tell you, it was the ghost that did it, and he killed my grandpa.
A little post script to this tale. Years later for the holidays a bunch of the family came up from Miami. They decided to go hang out in the old neighborhood and hit up a bar they used to go to to reminisce. While there, this one guy was staring a hole into one of my uncles the whole time they were there. Eventually this lookieloo got enough liquid courage in him to approach my uncle and sucker punch him in the face. As his friends were pulling him away and out of the bar, this guy screamed at my uncle "You knew about the house and you sold it anyway you son of a bitch!"
If you need to sleep with the hall light on tonight, don't worry. I'll understand, and I won't tell a soul.
TTFN
