Supernatural Encounters – True Stories And A Guest Blog Post By Victoria Zigler @VictoriaZigler

I’m delighted to welcome Victoria (Tori) Zigler to my blog today.

After reading an interview with Victoria on the blog of Teri Pollen, I invited her to write a guest post about some of the encounters she has had with the supernatural.

Supernatural Encounters by Victoria Zigler

With it being Halloween week, Victoria’s post had me thinking about a ghostly encounter I once had. However, nothing as strange as the missing bath plug in one of Victoria’s stories.

Perhaps Victoria’s post will encourage you to share your true stories of supernatural encounters?


I see dead people.

Sorry.  I couldn’t resist.  I’ve wanted an excuse to use that line since I first saw “The Sixth Sense” many years ago.  But it is the truth, so I hope you’ll forgive me for indulging myself.

Anyway, it’s not just people.  It’s animals too.

Well, technically, these days I don’t ‘see’ them, because I lost my eyesight more than a decade ago to Congenital Glaucoma.  But I saw them when I still had vision, and I still hear and feel things.

👻 👻 👻 👻

I’ve lived in several places where unexplained shadows, cold spots, and footsteps, were frequent occurrences, and whispered words from unknown speakers could be heard at times.  Things you can dismiss as being other people in the house if you don’t live alone, but aren’t so easily dismissed when you’re home alone.

Like when you’re writing at 3:00am-  again – and realize that couldn’t have been your husband who just walked up behind  you, because you can hear his snoring coming from the bedroom, and it couldn’t have been the dog either, because the dog is that fluffy warm lump on your feet.

Or you’re taking advantage of everyone else still being asleep in the early morning to have a shower, and hear someone telling you to hurry up because the dog needs out.  So you rush to finish – wondering why they can’t take her – only to discover when you emerge from the bathroom that the only living being awake besides you is the dog in question, waiting impatiently by the door to go out.

Yeah.  Those kinds of things.

It would take too long to detail everything, and I doubt I could recall them all anyhow.  But, I’ve had some less subtle experiences, which I’m going to tell you about.

To clarify: the first three experiences that follow happened when I still had my eyesight.

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The first started when I was maybe ten years old, and we had moved in to the house we were in fairly recently.

I woke to find my bedroom colder than usual, and a little girl in red in the room.  She looked about six, with dark hair.  She walked around the room a little, as though examining my stuff, and then disappeared.  Moments later, the temperature in the room returned to normal.

I saw her several times during the years I lived in that house, and tried to talk to her, but – though I called her my friend, and thought of her as ‘Tabitha’ – she never so much as acknowledged me.

When I foolishly mentioned her to some children from my class, they teased me and said she was an imaginary friend.  They did it so much I started to think they were right.

Until I heard my Nan telling someone about the little dark haired girl in red she’d seen several times running through the living room and starting up the stairs before vanishing.  I’d never described the girl I called Tabitha to anyone, but Nan described her perfectly, and I knew it had to be the same little girl.  When I told my Nan, she agreed.

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The second was in the same house, happened a few years after my first ‘Tabitha’ visit, but only happened once.

I walked out of the bathroom one night, and standing in front of me was a little boy in a sailor suit.  He smiled, turned, and started walking away.  He’d only taken a couple of steps when he vanished.

I never saw him again, and to my knowledge nobody else saw him at all.

🧙‍♀️ 🧙‍♀️ 🧙‍♀️ 🧙‍♀️

The third happened in the flat I lived in when I first moved out of my parents’ house.

I put the plug in the bath, leaving the water running, before heading to the bedroom to fetch my pyjamas.  When I got back to the bathroom, the plug was gone.  It had literally disappeared.

The plughole was empty, it wasn’t attached to the chain that usually attaches them to the bath (not surprisingly, since the chain had snapped before this) and it wasn’t on the side of the bath near the tap (which is where I’d kept the plug since its chain snapped, so where it would have been if I hadn’t put it in after all).

After searching the bathroom for several minutes, I gave up and fetched the kitchen sink’s plug for my bath.  It didn’t fit right, so I had to hold it until the water was deep enough that water pressure would keep it there, and had to be careful not to knock it with my foot, but it allowed me to have my bath.

For the next several days I searched for that plug.  My Mam even came to help me look.  We searched the entire flat, but it was nowhere to be found.

Until three weeks later, when it was suddenly back in the bath.

I lived alone in the flat, and nobody could have gotten in without my knowledge.  Plus, why would someone break in to steal my plug? Especially since I had much better things to steal.

👹 👹 👹 👹

I’ve also had visits from two of the petkids I’ve lost – the two I was most closely bonded with when they were alive.

The first was my Oriental cat, Chance.  I felt him jump on my bed one night the Halloween two years after he died… Felt the weight of him beside me on the bed.  Heard his purr.  Felt his silky soft fur rub against my hand.  And then he was gone.

I had a similar visit from my Westie, Kero, two Halloweens after he died.

It’s like my boys wanted to say one final, “Goodbye,” to me before they moved on.


Bio – Victoria Zigler

Victoria Zigler is a blind vegan poet and children’s author who was born and raised in the Black Mountains of Wales, UK, and is now living on the South-East coast of England, UK, with her hubby, chinchilla, Westie, Cavapoo, and Hermann’s Tortoise.

Victoria – or Tori, if you prefer – has been writing since she knew how, and describes herself as a combination of Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood from the Harry Potter books: Hermione’s thirst for knowledge and love of books, combined with Luna’s wandering mind and alternative way of looking at the world. 

Victoria has a wide variety of interests, designed to exercise both the creative and logical sides of her brain, and dabbles in them at random depending on what she feels like doing at any given time.

To date, Victoria has published nine poetry books and 46 children’s books, with more planned for the future.  She makes her books available in multiple eBook formats, as well as in both paperback and audio. She’s also contributed a story to the sci-fi and fantasy anthology Wyrd Worlds II, which is available in eBook only.

Additionally, Tori’s Hermann’s Tortoise, Artemis, was featured in both the Magnificent Pets Colouring Book For Children and the Magnificent Pets Mandala Colouring Book For Adults, which are available via Praise My Pet.

Author, writer and blogger, Victoria (Tori) Zigler

Connect with Victoria

Website

Blog

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Facebook

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Find Victoria’s books on…

Smashwords

Amazon

My thanks to Victoria for writing this guest post and sharing her true stories with us.

If you have any questions or comments for Victoria, please leave them in the comments section. She’d be delighted to hear from you.

Have you had any supernatural encounters? Get in touch with me if you’d like to share them by way of a guest post here on my blog.

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My Accident: A Life-Changing Experience – A True Story And Guest Blog Post By James M. Lane @jameslanepm

Please welcome writer and blogger James M. Lane to my blog.

James shares a true story about an accident that changed his life.

When I read his story, it made me stop and think about the accidents I’ve had and whether they changed my life.

Has an accident changed your life?

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Last Train To Aldwych – A Short Story For VE Day

Nobody noticed Grace Simmons.

She sat on her own in the second carriage of the London underground train which had just come to a halt at Aldwych station.

Further down the carriage, party goers got off the train and she could hear the sounds of their laughter fade as they exited from the station platform. The only evidence that they’d ever been there were the empty beer bottles and fast-food wrappers which littered the carriage floor.

Dressed in her blue, floral, hour-glass vintage dress from the nineteen forties, she waited patiently. It wouldn’t be long before the music started, and they could dance again.

She held on tightly to the jet-black leather handbag he had given to her one Christmas. Such a happy day, one full of laughter and happiness. It had only been the two of them that day – the best Christmas she’d ever had.

The lights flickered briefly on the station platform. He would be here soon. The station was quiet, and she wondered what he would think of her when he saw her again. He hadn’t aged at all, but the wrinkles on her face, along with a head of grey hair, had aged her so much.

However, she always took plenty of time preparing herself for the meeting she had with him on the same date every year.

Then, the faint sound of music came to her ears and her heart began to beat faster. She dared not move until he came to her and asked her if she would like to dance.

The lights flickered inside the train carriage as the music became a little louder. She recognised the tune: Glenn Miller’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’.

It was their tune, the one they had first danced to at this very station the first time they had met.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of footsteps. Were they his? She hoped so; it had been such a long time since they had last danced.

As her heart beat faster, Grace remembered their wedding day. Her mother had helped her make her dress and when he’d finally seen her in it, she knew she had taken his breath away.

“Your eyes shine like the brightest stars in the night sky,” he’d said. “You are my guiding light. I am the luckiest man alive.”

She dared not look up, just yet, in case the footsteps were not his.

Twice before, the footsteps had belonged to the station manager who had explained that this was the last train to Aldwych, and she needed to leave the station.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the shadow of a man and hoped with all her heart that it was Ernest. The shadow grew longer as it passed the open carriage doors. Then the footsteps were no more.

“Would you like to dance?”

Raising her head slowly, tears came to her eyes as she saw him again.

He looked so handsome in his army uniform. His wavy black hair had not lost its colour and his handsome boyish features looked the same as they had on their wedding day.

His deep blue eyes gazed at her as he held out his arms towards her. For a moment she could not move, but the music gradually released her and she moved towards him.

She tried to say his name, but the words would not come. He held a finger to her mouth. There was no need to say anything; they were together again.

He lowered his finger from her lips as she stepped out of the carriage. After placing her handbag on the platform floor, she looked up at him.

Holding out his arms, she took hold of his right hand and rested the other on the small of his back. They started to dance, never once taking their eyes away from each other. They dared not look away for fear that this was all a dream and that it would end quickly if either one of them awoke.

Sounds of laughter, singing and clapping came to them and, from above, the distant sounds of explosions. Nobody else was there to witness the love and happiness which had come to Aldwych station.

They could feel the love all around them as they danced together. For a few precious moments they were the happiest people in the world.

A slight breeze blew along the platform, its hot air circling at her legs. With it came the front of a discarded newspaper. She looked down as it came towards them and tried to kick it away, but it became stuck to one of the heels of her shoes. She dared not let him go and tears once again came to her as she looked into his eyes. He smiled back at her.

“I will always love you, Grace.”

She looked down again as the music began to fade.

Lowering her arms to her side, she did not want to look up to see if he was still there for she knew this would be the last time they would meet. The love and joy which had just been there with them had now turned to sadness and sorrow. She bent down and removed the newspaper. Her eyes took in the date.

Friday, 30th September 1994.

Underneath, the headline read –

Last Train to Aldwych.
Station To Finally Close Down For Good – Tonight.

That night, Grace Simmons took the ten-minute walk back to The Strand Palace Hotel and died peacefully in her sleep.

Some still say that when walking past the boarded-up building that was once the entrance to Aldwych underground station, they can hear the faint sounds of a nineteen-forties band playing Glenn Miller’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’. Others claim to have heard the rumble of an underground train as if it were pulling into the station.

For Grace and Ernest, their dance still goes on.


Story taken from the short story collection Glimpses – Available on Amazon.

#books

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