Impacting Journey

“Mom, are ghosts real?” my six year old daughter asked me two nights ago as I helped her change into her pajamas.

“No honey; you have nothing to worry about,” I sort of lied. I do believe that spirits roam this earth – call me crazy if you wish – but I didn’t want to divulge this belief to an incomprehensible kindergartner just before bed time.

Why do I believe in spirits? Because I’ve seen them at work. Here’s a true and truly spooky story for you. Happy Halloween!

When I was eighteen I spent nine months in a Christ-centered drug rehabilitation center in Nashville. Just before I was ready to graduate from the program a new woman was admitted into the home under what we were told were “emergency circumstances”. My roommate had recently left the program and after some verbal preparation from the staff members, the new girl, whom I will refer to as “Reagan” from the Exorcist, was given the spare bed in my room.

Reagan was thirty two years old, much older than all of the other girls in the home. She was tall and slender with skin reminiscent of rice paper and fiery red hair that needed a generous dose of conditioner and good brush. From the first glimpse I caught of her, her crystal blue eyes were wide with terror as if she were stuck in the climax scene from a Wes Craven horror flick. Her left leg was secured in a walking cast and her hands were rigid and clenched in a way that I was sure her nails drew blood from her palms.

“I threw myself down some stairs,” she whispered to me, nodding to her broken leg as we sat on our opposing beds the first night of her stay.

“Really?” I asked watching her clasp a hand around her elbow and rock slightly.

“I was supposed to break my neck,” she added. “I was supposed to break my neck.”

Despite my apprehension, when it was time for lights out, I fell asleep peacefully knowing securely in my faith that no harm could come to me. Around two a.m. I was awakened by a strange sound. I sat up in my bed and by the moonlight I could see that Reagan’s bed was empty. A quiet tearing noise was coming from somewhere unseen in the dimly lit room. I rose up out of bed and slowly padded across the room toward the sound. In the corner between her bed and the wall, Reagan was curled into the fetal position not facing me. The tearing noise was coming from her ripping her red hair out with her hands.

Reagan spent the next day with a team of counselors and psychologists. As we prepared for a second night in our shared room, she confided in me that before “everything started happening” she was some kind of social worker with juvenile sex offenders. I can only imagine what kind of evil she had been exposed to.

Once again, I fell asleep easily only to be awakened in the early hours of the morning. Through the darkness I saw Reagan walking toward the door to the hallway. “Where are you going?” I asked startling her.

She whirled around in her white flowing nightgown (which was eerie all by itself). “What did he say to you?!” she screamed at me. “He’s here! He’s here!”

Oh. My. God.

At this point I started quoting every freaking Bible verse I could think of. She was hysterical and shaking uncontrollably. Thankfully, the night staff was right next door to us since Reagan was positioned between me and the door. They rushed and in and took her out of my room.

The next day Reagan left in the back of a patrol car. She was too much of a threat to herself and to the rest of the residents to stay in the house. I imagine that she was properly escorted to a padded room somewhere and rightfully so. I don’t know whatever became of her.

Looking in her eyes, I knew that what I was seeing was NOT schizophrenia in action – it was someone very evil staring back at me. It made me wonder how many people locked away on psych floors will never been fixed by modern medicine.

Now I’m going to have to try and go to sleep.

Do you have a spooky story that has happened to you???

Happy Halloween friends!