Graphic by Isa Renée
I have always been a little sensitive to the paranormal world. It’s one of the coolest things about me. When I was little, I had a ton of “imaginary friends.” But whenever I described them, they were just humans with mundane names — not super colorful, zany creatures you’d expect from a creative, imaginative child such as myself. My mom says I had one friend named Martin. I used to talk about him all the time. Besides my moments with Martin, I remember riding the New York subways and having full-on conversations with other people and then my parents being like “who are you talking to?”
My earliest “documented” encounter with the paranormal is from when I was around five years old — and it just so happens to also be one of my earliest memories. I was stomping through a playground by my childhood home, and this other little girl and I decided that we were gonna be best friends (as you do when you’re five). I ran up to the girl’s mother and requested a playdate with her daughter. Her mother started hysterically crying, dropped to her knees. Her eyes full of tears, she leaned right into my little face, asking “You can see? You can see my baby?” to which I was very confused. My little Italian mother ran over ready to kill this lady because from the outside it looked like another mother was yelling at her kid — which in playground etiquette is a huge no-no. The lady kept asking me to tell her daughter that she loves her and that it’s OK, that mommy loves her and will never forget her. Five-year-old me was incredibly stressed out and confused, and started crying with the mother. I was just trying to make a new friend! My mother pulled me away from the woman and we walked away. She calmed me down, telling me that the lady was crazy and that I shouldn’t talk to strangers and all these other lessons while actively avoiding the fact that I had been playing with a girl that was not physically there. A few years later, I saw the woman again at the local supermarket, and the entire experience came rushing back to me. I questioned my mom about this memory, and she nonchalantly replied, “Oh yeah, I think you were playing with her dead daughter.” I was totally taken aback — oh shit, I can see dead people!
Following my ghosty friend on the playground, I had a few more spooky experiences here and there until I turned nine years old, when it slowed down. The next time I experienced a paranormal encounter, I was 15. At this point, I had been living in my current house for about six years, and never felt weird or experienced anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly, I started to notice things here and there that just weren’t adding up. I would come home and my blankets would be on the floor. I would exit my shower and my towels would be in my room, instead of on the hook in my bathroom I had placed them on. My deodorant would always not be where I put it, and my missing school uniform shoes would somehow make it underneath my bed. All this stuff is easily explainable — maybe I am just not remembering where I put my things, totally normal. But then things got creepier. I would always wake up around 3 a.m. and feel super cold — my blankets somehow ended up in a pile on the floor. I felt as if there was something in the room with me, but I just tried to force myself back to sleep. This all happened for three months straight, until one night I woke up and I saw a shadowy figure standing at the foot of my bed. It looked like the size of a kid. I grabbed my blankets, closed my eyes real tight and whispered to myself that the shadows were just my imagination and I was freaking out for no reason. I counted to three and opened my eyes — BUT IT WAS STILL THERE. So, I did what any badass motherfucker would do and threw my blanket over myself as a shield. While under the sheet I said, “Please stop, you’re scaring me and I don’t want to play.” I eventually fell back asleep, but when I woke up the next morning, I was very concerned. I thought that, just maybe, it had all been a dream. But I decided that in case it wasn’t a dream, and it happened again, I would actually do something about it. I didn’t feel like whatever it was would hurt me, but I was still terrified. A few nights later it happened again: I woke up at 3 a.m. to see a shadow figure standing over me. This time, I shot right up and said, “Please stop bothering me!” Then, the unexpected happened — it started to move toward me. I screamed, “LEAVE ME ALONE!” Just like that, the shadow figure flung itself into the mirror hanging on my closet door. As it disappeared into the glass, the mirror just cracked. One large, deep twisted cut right down the middle. The mirror fell off the door and clunked on the floor. Since that day, something has opened up inside me that I can’t control.
“I was totally taken aback — oh shit, I can see dead people!”
Another time, my friends and I broke into this abandoned hospital, which is never a good idea. One of my friends had been there before and knew where he was going, so the rest of us just followed. It was so dark we couldn’t see anything, the only light was coming from our phones. I started hearing whispers. They were faint, but I heard very distinct voices. Some shadows were moving here and there — nothing I’m not used to. Then, my hair started getting tugged. We would walk a few steps, tug. A little bit more, another tug. I whipped my phone around and shined it at whatever was directly behind me, only to see it was one of my friends. I asked him to stop tugging, as it was spooking the hell out of me. He said it wasn’t him. I asked him to stand in front of me to be sure (yay, trust issues). After a few more steps, just as we turned a corner, my hair got yanked. Not just a tug, but a neck-jerking grab. I screamed and turned around to see nothing there. Over my shoulder, I heard a deep laugh, almost like a growl. Whether it was a homeless person having fun messing with some kids or an actual evil presence, I told my friends I had to get out of there, and just took off for the exit. While I was running I kept feeling hands on my arms, my face, my body, just everywhere. My friends chased after me, some of them calling me a buzzkill. But at that moment I did not care, I just needed out. We got outside and I was hot, parts of my body were burning. I took off my jacket and all my friends just stared, shining their lights on me. I was covered in scratches. My neck, arms, shoulders, legs; it looked like I had gotten into a fight with a large house cat. It was the first moment in my life that I was truly terrified of the “other side.” That there could be that kind of evil and that kind of power existing in our world. My friends and I don’t really talk about this night as it scares us all, but if I ever talk about feeling something spiritual around, they never question me.
I have been called a liar and a “schizo” but I know what I see, hear and feel. I used to be frightened by this, but now I see it more as a gift. Yes, sometimes I will hear things and feel things I generally don’t like, but I have also helped people connect with loved ones they have lost. That part of it is beautiful. So yes, sometimes I can see dead people, but it’s not something I put on my resume. It just makes me a little bit spookier than the rest.
grain of salt 