A Knock in the Attic , livre ebook

Outskirts Press - John Russell

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

78 pages

English

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

A Knock in the Attic: True Ghost Stories & Other Spine-chilling Paranormal Adventures by John Russell is an engrossing, at times, disturbing nonfiction book in which the author narrates his supernatural experiences. At the tender age of five, John had his first encounter with a black ghost. The image of the old black man's face peering around one of the doorways from down the hall will always stay with him, and he refers to it as "the harbinger of the beginning" of his psychic, mediumistic, paranormal life, a life lived at the edge of the Veil which separates the seen and unseen worlds. This book is composed of stories that detail paranormal occurrences and experiences involving those who have passed on to another life. John has had run-ins with spirits, developed healing powers, and been saved by angels. His incredible experiences with the otherworldly creatures are recounted in this book, and they are stunning. This is a book that is filled with adventure and mind-blowing experiences, and the author provides ample proof that there is life beyond death, that those who have died still have the power to influence us, that the universe is a mystery that is bigger than our physical world. John Russell might have had and still has extraordinary experiences, but he also has the gift of storytelling which allows him to communicate his adventures in prose that is crisp and in a voice that is irresistible. A Knock in the Attic: True Ghost Stories & Other Spine-chilling Paranormal Adventures is a book that will entertain fans of the paranormal, but more importantly, it is one that will make any reader question existence and change what they think they know about life beyond the tomb. I was mesmerized by the writing and enamored by the experiences the author shares in this book. Reviewed By Grace Masso for Readers' Favorite

Sujets

Spirituality

Supernatural

Informations

Publié par	Outskirts Press
Date de parution	15 février 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781977240408
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A Knock in the Attic True Ghost Stories & Other Spine-chilling Paranormal Adventures All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2021 John Russell v2.0
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc. http://www.outskirtspress.com
ISBN: 978-1-9772-4040-8
Cover Photo © 2021 www.gettyimages.com . All rights reserved - used with permission.
Outskirts Press and the "OP" logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Disclaimer
Some names, identifying details and locations have been changed.
Where dialogue appears, the intention was to re-create the essence of conversations rather than verbatim quotes.
Also by the author:
Riding with Ghosts, Angels, and the Spirits of the Dead Publisher: Outskirts Press (September 8, 2020) Available online wherever books are sold.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Foreword
1. A Nocturnal Visit from an Old Black Ghost
2. Phantom’s Footsteps
3. A Russian Bomb?
4. Strange Days, Indeed
5. Growing Up
6. Go Your Own Way
7. Paying My Dues
8. My Dad Died
9. Losing My Religion
10. Back to the Egg
11. A Belated Christmas Miracle
12. A Major Friend
13. New York, New York
14. On the Trail of the Assassin
15. Salem
16. Cornwall/The Haunted Camera
17. A Knock in the Attic
18. Uri Geller
19. Signs
20. A Very Unstable Stable
21. Florida
22. Keep a Good Sense of Humor
23. Farewell for Now
Dedication
I Dedicate A KNOCK IN THE ATTIC to:
The old black ghost. Thank you for opening up the portal that has allowed me to experience, so far, over 800 wonderful supernatural events in my life.

I would also like to acknowledge:
Spirit, for the inspiration; Marjorie, for her love; Eric, for being a son and a friend; and Melissa, for the freedom.

Special thanks to:
Bill Henderson, who, that night at Taste of Italy, encouraged me to write again.
Martha Lawrence for her friendship and mentorship over the years.
Carolyn Schurr Levin, Attorney at Law, for her legal guidance in vetting my book manuscript.
Jim Mullen for his insightful pre-editing skills.
Davina Zarnighian for being a great friend and beta reader who made excellent suggestions along the way.
Alexander Shagivaleyev for the many years of friendship and encouragement.
Rex Burke for the friendship across the years and miles, and the chess games.
To all of the radio and podcast hosts who have invited me to appear on their shows.
To my publisher, Outskirts Press; what a great publishing team to have behind me.
And I owe much gratitude to all of those both on this side and the Other Side who have helped to make my life the fascinating adventure it has been.
Foreword
JOHN RUSSELL IS an unusual man. He used to deliver office supplies for some years, and I got to know him when, on a delivery, he happened to notice a particular Van Gogh poster in my office. He said something piquant about it, we began to talk, and not long afterward I was looking at his portfolio of abstract expressionism and other assorted works. I asked him to do a painting for me, using the colors of Texas birds and wildflowers, which were somewhat softer than his own taste. He did. I now have a brilliant acrylic that I value to this day.
So I first knew Russell as an artist. I came to know him better as an insightful talker. For a number of years, he would just stop by and rescue me from computer screens giving headaches and keyboards promising carpal tunnel syndrome. For fifteen to thirty minutes we would talk about something, usually art, or politics, or philosophy. He knew quite a lot about many subjects. He argued well and for years my impression was that he was pretty much a thoroughgoing rationalist who liked to paint. I could live pretty easily with that.
Then later Russell loaned me a copy of Carl Sagan’s last work on science and the paranormal. Which I read. It seemed pretty straightforward to me: there was no scientific basis for Para-normality, so one could infer that there was not anything to it, which is what I thought anyway. That Russell loaned me the book seemed to reconfirm his rationalism to me. But when I returned the book, I got a surprise: he asked me if I’d ever had a paranormal experience. Said he’d had many. Said most people he knew well had had at least one. My thoughts stopped short. But I was polite, jocular, and said I’d have to think back to remember. I did not know what to say and eventually changed the subject. But eventually the subject got changed back.
From that point on Russell began to tell me about his experiences. I remember his telling me about the gas leaks at his home, when they occurred. He did not put the emphasis on the paranormal when he discussed them at the time, except that he used the term "guardian angel," I thought, metaphorically, for his good luck. For that was a situation that could possibly be explained by simply, extraordinarily good luck. But there are other things that Russell says that defy explanation, at least any kind of explanation that makes sense to me, such that I am compelled intellectually to hold my tongue.
Russell knows this is the way I am. It does not seem to have discouraged him from telling me his experiences nor of telling others with his book. He knows I am profoundly skeptical of accounts like his, yet he did ask me to write this foreword. I do not know what to make of the apparitions he has seen, or the rocking chair that rocked on its own, or the curious sack of cans, or the object that floated across his yard, or his sighting of the UFO in downtown San Angelo, or…
What I have come to find by knowing Russell is that when it comes to a book like his, there are for the most part two kinds of readers. The first rejects the book out of hand; it makes no sense to them; it offers accounts of events that are so bizarre they dismiss it. The second believes it, swallows it whole and fits it into some kind of personal metaphysics, which to me is as bizarre, if not more so, than the very events Russell describes in his book.
I do neither. I accept the book as sincere, for John Russell is sincere, if he is anything. I wonder about the accounts in it; some are odd, some troubling, some amusing, and all mystifying in some way. Moreover, John has told me things about myself that he would have had no way of knowing, things about my family history that I’d even forgotten. I accept that without explanation as well. It makes more sense to me to do that than to invent a theory that makes no sense.
Thus, generally, I just listen to Russell. I enjoy his conversation; usually it is full of insight. And I enjoy his book. I hope you do the same.
James Cogan, San Angelo, Texas.
CHAPTER 1
A Nocturnal Visit from an Old Black Ghost
NO NOISE WOKE me. I was just suddenly wide-awake for no apparent reason, and I was also without any post-sleep grogginess: My mind was as clear as a bell; my senses were on full alert. I didn’t hear, or at first see, anything unusual. But then, as I rose up on my elbows in my bed so that I could look around, through my open bedroom doorway I saw an old black man’s face peering around one of the doorways from down the hall. He was clearly visible in the night-light’s glow as he gazed down the short hallway into my bedroom. He was looking right at me, staring me straight in my eyes. I was just five years old, and I screamed bloody murder at the top of my lungs, for my family was white and we didn’t have anyone black living with us, so I fearfully assumed an intruder had entered our home.
To compound my fright the old black man responded to my scream of distress by venturing a few steps into the hallway. He stood facing me, and the glow from the night-light illuminated him clearly as he stood with his feet slightly apart and his arms hanging by his sides. He wore a red plaid shirt, khaki pants with a black belt, and black dress shoes. As I stared in disbelief he maintained his steady gaze, his eyes never once leaving mine. Feelings of terror overwhelmed me as my heart thumped in my chest, and my mouth was so bone dry I’m surprised I could still scream, but scream I did, a blood-curdling howl even louder than my first, and still the old black man stood staring at me.
He was not smiling. But neither was his look menacing. His close-cropped white hair gave him an almost regal appearance as he stared at me with a benign, slightly bemused expression as if he were intrigued by this strange white child who was howling like a banshee.
By now I was sitting straight up in bed, the tears streaming copiously down my face, and as I screamed again he began to disappear. Starting with his feet he began to vanish a bit at a time: his lower legs disappeared, and then his thighs, and then his arms and torso until all that was left of him was his handsome face, that face now floating in the air without a body to sustain it, and his face was still wearing that benign, slightly bemused expression until, at last, his face was gone, too.
As my parents came running I began screaming at the top of my lungs that there was someone in the house (even though I’d just seen him disappear), and I begged them to turn on the lights and look for the old black man, who I described to them in a sobbing voice. So powerful was the sense of reality and urgency I conveyed that while mom held my shaking body close and tried to comfort me my dad turned on every light in the house, and he looked through every room and even in every close