Living with an Extreme Haunting

I lived with an extreme haunting from August 1994 to August 2000. The haunting occurred in my mother's home in Melbourne, Florida. The house was located in a nice neighborhood built during the early 1980s. The land prior to the housing was cattle land owned by one of the earlier ranchers who settled there in the early 1900s. My parents had bought the house in the late summer of 1984. From 1984 to 1994, there was no paranormal activity that my family or I could recall. When my father passed away from cancer in June 1994, soon after, the activity began. My mother and I continued to live there. We had no sign or incident to warn us about the extreme haunting that was about to take place.

Around the first week of August, in the early morning around 3am, I was awakened with a feeling that I was not alone in my bedroom. I slowly reached out towards the light on my headboard and to the 9mm pistol that was hidden nearby. Before I could reach them, I suddenly felt hands grabbing my ankles and being pulled towards the end of the bed. I kicked and fought, trying to break free. After several long seconds, I felt free from the grip. I crawled back up my bed quickly, reaching again for both my gun and the light — fearing for my life. Escaping, and not knowing that my attacker wasn't finished. I felt someone jump on top of me, pushing my head into my pillow, attempting to smother me. I tried to scream for help, but my voice was muffled. I attempted to move my arms, pushing myself up to break free from whoever was on top of me. I was finally able to break free, reaching for the light and grabbing my pistol. I turned fast to see who was there — and saw no one. My bedroom door was closed. Sitting up in my bed, heart racing, eyes searching every corner of the room, I found no one. I left the room and walked fast down the hall to my mother's bedroom to make sure she was safe.

I woke her from a deep sleep and told her in rushed words what had just occurred. She listened and felt I was having a nightmare or a PTSD flashback from the Persian Gulf War — three years prior, I had served in the Air Force Police in Desert Shield and Desert Storm. I knew what flashbacks and nightmares felt like. I explained that what had just happened seemed very real. My mother saw that I was frightened and in shock. She excused herself and splashed cold water on her face to be more alert. When she left the room, I heard and felt something coming towards her bedroom doorway. I expected to see my dog, Niki, coming to check on us. I looked towards the hall and saw nothing. Suddenly a force of energy struck me in the chest, pushing me backwards, hitting my back against the bedroom wall as if I had been tackled. My mom, just returning to the room, witnessed it happen. Her voice came out rushed: "Are you ok? What just happened to you?" I explained that I had just been attacked again. She asked if I was dizzy or had lost my balance. I blurted out, "No — I was physically pushed by something." A distance of about ten feet.

Soon after that, I felt the force grab me again. I tried to speak and tell her it was back, but no words could come from my mouth. She noticed the hair on my body was standing straight in the air with goosebumps appearing all over me. As soon as I was released from the unknown force, my hair would return to normal — then I would be grabbed again, multiple times, on and off. This lasted for almost thirty minutes. My mom tried to remain calm and thought perhaps I was having some kind of medical episode. Thinking quickly, she began taking my blood pressure and temperature during the attacks. Each time the readings were different. When I was being grabbed, my blood pressure was extremely high and my skin grew colder. When released, my hair and blood pressure would return to normal. She was experienced in taking blood pressure from years of caring for my father during his cancer treatment. She kept calm, got a notebook, and started recording the events. The attacks happened so many times she couldn't keep up writing, so she grabbed a mini tape recorder from her purse and recorded the last fifteen minutes. The attacks finally stopped after nearly thirty minutes.

During all of this, we both noticed that our dog Niki was nowhere to be found. We called out to her and got no response. We left the bedroom to look for her — and found her huddled under the dining room table, terrified. Niki was a 100-pound Akita, very protective of us. We wondered what had frightened her so badly. My mother and I stayed up for another hour talking about what we had just experienced, and went to bed with no answers.

Several days later, around 4:00 pm, my mother was on the phone with my grandmother sharing what had happened. I went to my bedroom to give them privacy. As I walked in, I felt something following me. I thought it was my dog — but before I could turn to look, all my hair stood on end. Suddenly I was grabbed into a strong invisible bear-hug hold, actually feeling arms holding me tight. I tried to break free but could not. I could barely walk back out to where my mom was still on the phone. Slowly moving toward her, still feeling the weight of something on me, I could hardly speak. She turned, heard me moan, and saw that I was paralyzed with fright. With the phone still in hand, she grabbed my arm and felt the electrical static coming from me. The hair on her arms began to rise. Then she yelled out, "LET GO OF HIM! LET HIM GO!!!" As soon as she yelled, I was released and the feeling of the negative presence was gone.

As days went by, my mother and I started having more experiences throughout the home. We shared them with friends and family. Some believed us; others thought we were under stress from the recent loss of my father. We both witnessed the track lighting in the living room flash on and off when we spoke about the attacks — sometimes in front of guests. My dog became frightened to enter my bedroom or even go near that area of the house. My mother and I were continually awakened between 2am and 4am. We would see shadow figures of a man — or persons — in our bedrooms or outside our doorways during those hours.

My bedroom was the most active. When I was away at work, my mom would hear voices talking in my room and assume I had left the television on. She would investigate to find the TV off and the room ice cold — so cold you could see your breath in the air.

Having watched documentaries and movies on the paranormal, we knew we needed to seek help. We told our neighbor, a minister, what was happening and hoped he could bless the house. He was skeptical but offered to bless the home with two of his church associates. They conducted prayer for us. After they left, the house did not feel the same — it actually felt more negative. The muscles in my body became tense and ached. I went to bed that night and was soon awakened by my blankets moving. I sat up to see them moving, and then was grabbed by my shoulders and pushed back into my headboard by an unknown force. Suddenly it let me go and the negative presence left the room.

I told my mom the next day: "This is getting worse. We need to know what this is and why. Maybe we should call a psychic and have them do a reading of the house." By pure chance, a few weeks after my father's death — before any of the paranormal activity had started — we had stumbled upon a psychic fair while out for a drive. My mother had never been to one and wanted to stop. I was very skeptical of psychics at the time. When I entered, I asked who the best reader there was. I was told there was a woman who worked with state and local law enforcement to find missing persons. That impressed me. I chose her booth and told her I was skeptical, that I would not speak during the reading, and that I wanted a little of my past, present, and future. She took my hand and began telling me things about my past — things so accurate and specific, things only I would know. She gave exact ages when specific events had happened in my life. I spoke not a word. When she was done, I was a believer.

I suggested we call her to do a reading of our house. Several days later she came over in the early evening. As she entered, she said right away that she could feel a negative presence. She walked into the living room and pulled a very large white candle from her bag, placing it on a silk scarf on the coffee table. When she lit it, the candle cracked and snapped, spitting wax into the air. She had never seen that happen before. The candle finally settled and burned with a high flame. She asked us to light any white candles we had. My mom placed six tea candles on the fireplace mantle and lit them. The psychic then walked through each room, telling us what she was feeling.

She said she felt the presence of three male individuals who were very angry — men who had known my father in the Vietnam War. She said they had been haunting my father since their deaths. My father had not agreed with these men and had decided not to go with them because it didn't feel right. She asked if my father had violent nightmares. We replied yes — very often. We had assumed it was PTSD from the war. She told us my father had crossed over into the light, and that these spirits were furious because they could no longer haunt him. So they had decided to haunt me instead.

She entered my bedroom and felt that was where the spirits went most. She told us to make white paper crosses to place around the room and to bring in a Bible — to place it open on the bed and read from whatever page it opened to. My skeptical self thought: "Sure, lady." My mom placed the Bible in the center of the bed and opened it in the middle. As she stepped back, the pages suddenly started to move and flip like a fan was blowing on them. Then the Bible slammed shut. The psychic told us to reopen it. Everything repeated.

The psychic left my bedroom suddenly, looking frightened. "I need to leave. I'm sorry, but I can't stay in this house any more. I recommend you find a priest to bless this home." She went to the living room to collect her large candle — and gasped to find it had completely melted onto the silk scarf. The tea candles on the fireplace mantle had flames reaching six to twelve inches in height. She swept up her scarf and the hot melted wax into her bag and rushed for the front door. As she was leaving, the track lighting in the living room began blinking on and off. My mom and I, still in shock, asked what we should do. She said what we had, she could not help — we needed clergy. She would not return to the house, but would help us from afar if needed. My mom and I stood speechless in the front yard as she drove away.

Just then our friend yelled from inside: "Mike, get in here — in your room, NOW!" I ran to my bedroom where she was standing at the door. "Mike, look at the Bible on your bed." The room was ice cold. You could see your breath in the air. The pages of the Bible were flipping again. Then the book started to move — and lifted off the bed into the air, slamming shut. When the book closed, so did my bedroom door, slamming hard in our faces. This was not a small book. It was a large family Bible weighing close to ten pounds. To see it lift into the air and close by itself gave us quite a scare. We left the house to calm ourselves. Our friend stayed with us for several hours until the house returned to normal. That night I slept on the couch. I was not going back into that bedroom.

As months went by, the activity continued. Some days were more active than others. I continued to be attacked in my bed and in other areas of the house — pushed into walls, pushed out of bed, pushed into my headboard. We continued to see shadow figures in our rooms. We bought tea candles by the case, using them as an early warning system. We witnessed the flames reaching twelve inches in height — not one candle, but several at once — just before I would be attacked or we would witness some form of paranormal activity.

My mom once witnessed a cloud of smoke come out of the fireplace and float across the room, then disappear into a nearby wall. There was no active fire in the fireplace at the time. One night she called me at work and asked me to come home as soon as I could. She was very frightened. She said: "I just watched your dog staring at the wall and growling — and then she was lifted off the floor and tossed into the wall. She ran and hid after that."

The extreme haunting lasted for almost a full year. The lack of sleep and constant stress were affecting us both at work. My mom, a school teacher, had shared some of the experiences with her fellow teachers. Her supervisor required her to have a psychiatric evaluation. Fortunately, the psychiatrist believed her story, and she kept her job.

After almost a year, with several different religious leaders coming to bless our house, there seemed to be no end to the haunting. My mom was finally able to find someone who helped us greatly. She had a student who was Native American, and she had heard his father was a medicine man. She contacted his father and explained what was happening in our home. He said he would do his best to help us. He came over with his son and spent eight-plus hours in our home conducting a Native American cleansing ceremony. The ceremony involved burning large amounts of sage, filling the house thick with smoke, and leading us in prayer. He also told me that I needed to stand up to these spirits — to let them know I was no longer afraid of them. After he finished and left, the whole home felt lighter and peaceful. A feeling we hadn't felt in a long time.

Over a year went by with no more attacks and no paranormal activity. Life seemed to be back to normal. Then my mom was invited by our neighbor to join her on a trip to Georgia for the weekend. This left me alone in the house. That Saturday at 3am, I was awakened by my dog jumping onto my bed, terrified, huddled close to me and shaking. I started to tingle all over and felt the presence of the spirits again in the bedroom. Just then all the doors in the house started opening and closing fast and hard. Frightened at first — then I remembered what the medicine man had told me: "Don't be afraid. Stand up to it." I screamed out: "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! LEAVE ME ALONE!! I'M NO LONGER SCARED OF YOU!!" The doors suddenly stopped slamming. The whole room felt lighter again.

From 1996 to 2000, the house continued to have some activity, but it was no longer violent. Electrical items would turn on and off — some not even plugged in. Picture frames moved on the walls. A shadow figure appeared from time to time. But the violent attacks had come to a stop.

I was married in the year 2000 and moved out of the house. The house was sold several years later. People often asked us, "Why didn't you move?" Our reply: "Move where? How, on a fixed income?" And besides — we loved the house and the neighborhood.