A Spooky (and True) Story by C.J. Burright

Since Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, I wanted to share a spooky and totally true personal story. If some of you have already read it in a post of yore, my apologies, but it still creeps me out and I haven't shared it at Paranormal Romantics before. So onto my story... Why is Halloween one of my favorite holidays? It might be the change in season, the falling leaves and crisp winds whispering of things to come. It could be the perfectly valid opportunity to dress up and scare kids and eat all that leftover candy. Or maybe it’s just the pumpkins, skeletons, and ghosties and goblins on every corner.

Personally, I think it has more to do with my Celtic roots, Samhain, and the thinning veil between the living and spirit worlds. There are just too many spooky stories surrounding Samhain to completely discount the possibility of visiting phantoms, and I have a few family tales, too weird to be explained away. Want to hear one? I thought you might. :) It was a dark and stormy night. Kidding. It was night, and it was dark, but I don’t remember any storm happening. A quick C.J. history lesson—I grew up in the boonies. Miles from town, boxed in on two sides by endless acres of government-owned forestland, the closest neighbor a run-across-the-field away. On a good day, we got two television channels, and HBO wasn’t one of them. We lived in a double-wide mobile home with an attached garage, and the long driveway led straight into the garage. Any headlights shone right into the living room windows, so when visitors showed up, you knew it. This particular night was the parental units’ romantic Saturday evening (aka bowling league) and my older sister was at a friend’s house, so it was just me and my younger sister, Cathy. We were hanging in the living room, watching whatever questionable television show our antennae would pick up, Hee-Haw, I think…did I mention this was long, long ago? Headlights reflected in the windows, and as it was about time for mom and dad’s return, we didn’t think much of it. The motor’s rumble echoed from the garage and cut out. The back door leading from garage to house clicked open and shut softly. But no one came into the living room. It took a couple minutes for my curiosity to kick in. What was taking mom and dad so long to come into the living room and why was it so quiet? Dad loved to prank us, and even though mom never played along, I suspected foul play. I strolled from the living room to the kitchen, fully prepared to foil his plans. No one was there. I peeked through the kitchen window into the garage. No car. Prickles ran down my arms as I tried to connect the empty garage with what my senses told me only minutes ago. A car had come up the driveway. Someone had come in. Crap. Not willing to turn my back on the kitchen or the garage, I backed into the dining room. The large windows looking out into the night didn’t help the cold racing through my veins. The dining room and living room were connected, and Cathy was lounging in a recliner, still watching television. I said, “Mom and dad aren’t here. You saw the headlights, right? Didn’t you hear the car, the door open and shut?” Thankfully, her disbelieving expression told me if I was going crazy, then so was she. Clinging to each other, we crept back into the kitchen. Nothing had changed, no car, no parents. We agreed we had to check the house because someone had come in. Someone was in our house with us, and there were three bedrooms and two bathrooms they could be hiding in. No way would we sit around, waiting.

Like so many horror movie victims before us, we armed ourselves with kitchen knives and inched down the hallway. My sister’s room was dark, the door open. Shaking, our knives gripped tight, we flipped on the light. The room was empty. The closet held the usual clothes and shoes, no ax-wielding ghost clowns. But we had more rooms to go. The bathroom was easy, nowhere to hide other than the shower. We slid further down the hall, to the room we shared. I made Cathy turn on the light, my knife raised right behind her, ready to slash, stab and gouge. Nothing hid behind my bookcase or beneath our bunkbed. My heart roared, a stampede in my ears.  We looked at each other. Only our parents’ room remained. This was it. The showdown. I could hardly breathe and my fingers ached from holding the knife so tight. Together, we opened the door and hit the light switch.

The bed was made, no red eyes peering from beneath. The bathroom was empty. We both turned to the closed closet door. Final spot. Cathy flung open the door as I yelled and flicked the switch. Nothing. Nothing in the hanging clothes. Nothing crouched behind shoes boxes. Nothing clinging to the ceiling. What the hell? As relieved as I was to not confront some horror that my brain could never erase, it made no sense. We’d both seen the headlights. We’d both heard the car. We’d both acknowledged the door opening and shutting.

My parents came home some time later and didn’t seem to notice the way we huddled together on the couch, every light in the house on. Neither one of us mentioned anything. What could we possibly say? Now, I can’t blame that weird incident on the thinning of the veil on Samhain, but it was during the autumn season, when life is dying and settling in for winter. Whatever the cause, I have never forgotten it. HAPPY HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE! Do you have any family ghost stories?

Into the Woods by C.J. Burright

So I was hit by some unexpected time off a few weeks ago. The boss decided to ditch town and said I could too, and no way was I going to turn down time off. As I was unprepared to go anywhere, hubster and I decided we’d stay close to home. The only problem? I’ve pretty much seen everything in Oregon…so I thought. I surfed the internet for fun things to do and came up with the usual stuff: the zoo, all the coastal attractions, the mountains, the waterfalls, the forests, the Goonies house. Yawn. Not that I don’t love those things—I totally do! But I wanted to do something different, and different is tough to find when you’re a native. Hubster suggested Powells City of Books…and I was tempted (because Powells is the most amazing bookstore ever). Some girls go gaga over shoes or purses. For me it’s books and music. But I digress.

I resisted Powells (after one look at my overstuffed TBR bookshelf), and then I found it: The Witch’s Castle. 

All my supernatural senses immediately perked up, of course. How could I have not heard about this? The scoop is back in the 1800’s, a dude by the name of Danford Balch bought some land around where Portland is now. He needed help, so he hired another dude named Mortimer Stump. Clearly, anyone with a name like that is going to be trouble. Ol’ Morty lived with the Balch family and managed to charm his way into the affections of Anna Balch, their 15 year old daughter. Let’s just say Daddy-o Balch was none too pleased about this arrangement, and even though Mortimer wanted to be all proper-like and marry Anna, his proposal was refused. The couple threatened to elope, and old man Balch warned Mortimer that he’d kill him if they did.

They eloped, of course. And then it gets even more interesting. The final, fateful meeting between Balch and Mortimer a few weeks later is claimed to be a result of a bewitching. While there are different stories about how the meeting occurred—some sources say Morty and Anna returned to the cabin, others say Balch found Mortimer in town—Balch stayed true to his word and shot Mortimer in the head. When he was arrested, he claimed his wife bewitched him into committing murder. What a man. He then escaped prison, was recaptured, and was the first legal execution in Oregon. Mrs. Mary Jane Balch, the suspected witch of the story, remained living on the property.

While I didn’t catch any strange vibes or see anything out of the ordinary, others claim to have photographed plasma orbs. Others claim they’ve spotted the ghosts of the Balchs and Mortimer. Still others visit for a different sort of, ahem, spirits. Such as teenagers with bottles at midnight. While it was disappointing that this isn’t the actual ruins of the Balch home, but rather an abandoned ranger station built on the same site, it was still a beautiful hike down to it, and the creepy artwork in the lower section was quite creative. Maybe this is the only building left for the spirits of hopeless lovers, a murderer, and a witch to haunt. If they were hanging around, they didn’t pop out to say hi. They’re probably saving up their energy to scare those naughty teenagers.

I'm sure there are other supposed haunted places around Oregon I haven't checked out yet--I'll have to save them for my next unexpected vacation.  Are there any haunted places near you? Or have you been to Oregon and visited my personal heaven/hell, Powells book store?