Polaris
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- Oct 13, 2009
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I have been wondering about this for quite some time now. A university friend of mine told me this story. My friend is in his early forties, is non-religious, and probably one of the most grounded and rational people I know.
My friend’s wife grew up on an old farm that has been in the family for at least one hundred years. She moved away from the farm when she was five, and the house has since deteriorated to the extent where no-one could live there anymore.
A couple of years ago, my friend’s wife wished to go back and visit the property. They went there together, and walked through all the different rooms in the house. At one point my friend entered a room alone. What he told me next sent shivers down my spine. He said as soon as he entered the room, he had a distinct feeling of someone or something being present. He felt icy cold and experienced this numbing, irrational fear. He had to force himself to move and get out of there as quickly as possible.
When his wife asked him why he was so pale and quiet, he told her what happened. She was baffled, and said she had never experienced anything of that kind. He told me he had had this feeling of something really evil being present.
We all discussed the event one evening, and she told me that the homestead had been a site of an Indigenous slaughter back in the colonial days. I have heard other stories of people who have experienced similar things in places of human horrors, such as Port Arthur in Tasmania, which was a convict prison, and also the site of the massacre in 1996:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Port_Arthur,_Tasmania
It made me think about something way back in my very early childhood. My mother didn’t have a drivers licence back in the days when I was around three or four. We lived quite far away from the nearest town, and sometimes my mother would put me on the child seat on the back of her old push bike, and we would cycle all the way to town or the beach on a hot summer day.
I used to enjoy these trips immensely and remember everything quite vividly, from looking down at my little white leather shoes firmly planted against the metal foot hold on my flimsy seat, the ground beneath moving swiftly away, to taking in all the sounds and colours of the landscape drifting past in the bright sunshine, my mother pedalling away to her heart’s content.
There was, however, one part of the trip that I didn’t enjoy. Part of the old dirt road went through this narrow passage between some massive granite boulders, and immediately after this passage, on the left, was a little white house slightly set back from the road, sort of pressing up against the granite rock behind it. It was obviously not occupied by anyone; the windows were dark, and the little orchard overgrown, as if no-one had been there for many years.
What I remember most vividly, though, was the inexplicable feeling of sheer terror that almost overwhelmed me every time we passed this house. I couldn’t even look at it. I felt icy cold and numb with this irrational fear. It was almost as if I was experiencing this in a sort of nightmare, colourless, soundless and, well....dead.
I have always considered myself to be someone who isn’t easily convinced by ‘supernatural’ tales. As a child, I didn’t even believe in Santa Claus (Although it took me a while to work out how my baby tooth mysteriously turned into money in my glass of water next to my bed....)
I do not consider myself to be particularly religious, and if anything, I am probably sceptical to the point where I sometimes clash with others. I am, however, not opposed to the idea that there are experiences that go beyond our five senses.
Have any of you had similar experiences? Something that goes beyond your rational explanation?
:smiley_emoticons_mr
My friend’s wife grew up on an old farm that has been in the family for at least one hundred years. She moved away from the farm when she was five, and the house has since deteriorated to the extent where no-one could live there anymore.
A couple of years ago, my friend’s wife wished to go back and visit the property. They went there together, and walked through all the different rooms in the house. At one point my friend entered a room alone. What he told me next sent shivers down my spine. He said as soon as he entered the room, he had a distinct feeling of someone or something being present. He felt icy cold and experienced this numbing, irrational fear. He had to force himself to move and get out of there as quickly as possible.
When his wife asked him why he was so pale and quiet, he told her what happened. She was baffled, and said she had never experienced anything of that kind. He told me he had had this feeling of something really evil being present.
We all discussed the event one evening, and she told me that the homestead had been a site of an Indigenous slaughter back in the colonial days. I have heard other stories of people who have experienced similar things in places of human horrors, such as Port Arthur in Tasmania, which was a convict prison, and also the site of the massacre in 1996:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Port_Arthur,_Tasmania
It made me think about something way back in my very early childhood. My mother didn’t have a drivers licence back in the days when I was around three or four. We lived quite far away from the nearest town, and sometimes my mother would put me on the child seat on the back of her old push bike, and we would cycle all the way to town or the beach on a hot summer day.
I used to enjoy these trips immensely and remember everything quite vividly, from looking down at my little white leather shoes firmly planted against the metal foot hold on my flimsy seat, the ground beneath moving swiftly away, to taking in all the sounds and colours of the landscape drifting past in the bright sunshine, my mother pedalling away to her heart’s content.
There was, however, one part of the trip that I didn’t enjoy. Part of the old dirt road went through this narrow passage between some massive granite boulders, and immediately after this passage, on the left, was a little white house slightly set back from the road, sort of pressing up against the granite rock behind it. It was obviously not occupied by anyone; the windows were dark, and the little orchard overgrown, as if no-one had been there for many years.
What I remember most vividly, though, was the inexplicable feeling of sheer terror that almost overwhelmed me every time we passed this house. I couldn’t even look at it. I felt icy cold and numb with this irrational fear. It was almost as if I was experiencing this in a sort of nightmare, colourless, soundless and, well....dead.
I have always considered myself to be someone who isn’t easily convinced by ‘supernatural’ tales. As a child, I didn’t even believe in Santa Claus (Although it took me a while to work out how my baby tooth mysteriously turned into money in my glass of water next to my bed....)
I do not consider myself to be particularly religious, and if anything, I am probably sceptical to the point where I sometimes clash with others. I am, however, not opposed to the idea that there are experiences that go beyond our five senses.
Have any of you had similar experiences? Something that goes beyond your rational explanation?
:smiley_emoticons_mr
