I have always been fond of cemeteries. When I was old enough to take walks by myself, I would start to take walks to different cemeteries in my area. As I got older and received a license, I would travel to cemeteries in different towns around me.
These places are like parks to me. I would sit down and read before long I would start taking photographs and started to write. This is when things got a little weird. I’ve always been one that believes in the spirit world as you have read by other posts on my blog, (and if you’re a first time creeper, well now you know), my first experience with the strange is when I was still in high school. I went for my usual walk to a local cemetery notebook in hand. My attention was immediately drawn to this a particular grave. It was a grave of a young woman who died in 1920s. I sat upon the grave and started to write. It was like instant inspiration. I looked over the story and saw that it was about a woman in the 1920s who met her demise by falling out of a building and into the river below. I didn’t take this so seriously. When I write, I usually write and go with it. Not thinking twice about it. When I took it to school, I had my friends take a look at it. They looked at me quite funny after reading it and said that it sounded like something from the news. I thought they were picking on me because I told them I was hanging around the cemetery and they would never do as such.
What I did was go to the library and searched the young woman’s name and the situation that was in my story. It turns out the young woman who I was “sitting” with actually did die the same way that was written in my story! I went back to the cemetery and felt a pull to a different grave site. This one was of a man who had died of natural causes but regretted not seeing his wife one last time before his demise. I went to my friends with the story. One of them started to tear up and tell me how that was their grandfather and that he didn’t get to see his wife again because she died the same night while away.
It wasn’t just cemeteries that would have this connection with me. Abandoned places as well. I started to take a notebook everywhere. Lyrics/poetry would come out. I took it as nothing more than these places inspiring me. Whether I have the gift of being a medium or not, I honestly don’t know. But the writings matching with up with events of the people that had perished were too perfect.
I know that there are spirits in my home besides my visit from grandpa. I hear a tiny girl in my bedroom, her name is Lisa. The land of which my house sits used to belong to her family in the 1700s. I started researching my own property and found out that my writings have told the stories of those passed. It first alerted me when I was writing about things I didn’t have a great knowledge about, speaking in old mannerisms, and feeling like I was taken back to the place this all happened. Could this be the spirits trying to share their life with me? Or perhaps wanting a few last words before crossing over? Do they just want me to listen? Questions that will never be answered I suppose.
= Mercy Desdemona