Paranormal Factor

Idlewild, Michigan is a very beautiful area with a rich past. Nestled within Lake County in  Michigan, it was a resort community for African Americans during the period of segregation; and  many famous and influential people spent their time there. Famous actresses of the likes of  Aretha Franklin performed there. I hear stories that when segregation ended, so did the high  period of Idlewild. They abandoned their resort homes in some cases. An area so steeped in  history surely has to have left a mark on those that were there. I now have cause to believe  that some of the Idlewilders never left.

My dad purchased a vacation home fixer upper in Idlewild, Michigan; within Cherry Valley  Township. We had quite a bit of work to do on the home, it was built in the thirties or forties.  It had been abandoned since around the seventies. There were some unusual things there. I found  old furniture, a pull out bed with a storage and several old, musty handmade quilts inside.  There were very old canned goods in the cupboards, layers of very old wallpaper; and rotted  walls and ceilings. I found literature on Dr. Martin Luther King circa the time period he was  speaking in. Next door were two other abandoned homes which were so broken down there were no  doors or windows. In one home there was cans of food in the cupboard even though the house was  falling apart around the cupboards. In another home there were forgotten photographs of those  that once spent time there. A forgotten lady in a dress, a little girl having a birthday party;  a mother and her son.

The house we bought was touched by tragedy. We had found out from a neighbor that the lady that  last lived there was wheelchair bound, and there was evidence of this in the front yard; where a  rotted wooden wheelchair ramp led the way to the door. We tore it down; it was of no use. We  also found out that she went fishing one day and drowned. We learned nothing more. As I looked  around at our new vacation property, I couldn’t help but see the old Idlewild in it. The piles  of fourties, fifties, and sixties glassware in the back yard told of the good times of Idlewild.  I imagined fresh paint on the houses, music and joy coming from the homes; but it was eclipsed  by a kind of sullen sadness. It was, afterall; forgotten.

I have to admit, when we began working on our project; I was very overwhelmed. I was also very  creeped out. It was very strange to be there. It felt like I didn’t belong. That was the  distinct feeling I got. One night, as I and my toddler daughters were in bed; I heard a thumping  noise that lead me to believe that my oldest daughter had gotten out of bed. I sat up to see a  black shape rushing out of the room It was about the height of my daughter. I heard footsteps  rushing away. I was so sure it was her, I began to move out of bed to run her down. That was  when I noticed that both of my daughters were still in bed. I was very alarmed, but not  surprised. I had received some strange vibes from the place.

I also had a chocalate lab by the name of Cocoa. When I stayed at the home by myself with my  children, I shut the door to my room. There was something about the doorway with a view to the  living room that I didn’t like. Many times, Cocoa would fall asleep on the couch in the living  room and I would let her stay there. The home was so far in the woods, I worried that someone  may break in. Many times I wondered why I stayed there alone with my two small children. I think  it was because the days were so wonderful. Every night that Cocoa stayed in the living room  alone, I would awaken to her barking. I could here her running in circles as she barked. Many  times, she was so frightened she had an accident.

One time, my fathers girlfriend was alone in my room while my father was hunting. It was night  and she had left the door open. I never did. I don’t know why but I always felt like something  was watching me. She heard footsteps, and thinking it was my father; she looked up to the  doorway. She then claimed that she seen a tall African American man standing in the doorway. He  was misty in appearance. He did not seem to notice her, and faded away. Another time when she  and my father were staying at the cabin, she seen a ghost walking towards the bathroom.

Recently, I have stayed at the cabin again with my daughters. One night around 3 a.m. as I lay  in bed, and suddenly felt that strange feeling again. I then felt cold all over. I then felt the  blankets lift off of my feet. I slept with the light on after that. Every time I stay there, I  here footsteps in the living room. Though very eerie, I have not felt threatened by the  presence, and I even apologize to it for the drastic changes in the home that may be confusing  my unseen friends.

Despite the strangeness of these experiences, I return to Idlewild and to the cabin often. What  a fascinating, historic place. Definitely worth visiting to see a ghost or two; even if Idlewild  is just a ghost of what it once was.

When I was a child, I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather listening to his stories. My parents and I lived with my grandparents for a time. He was a very wise man. Because of a lung ailment, he was bedridden most of the time that I knew him. In between the gasps and coughs, we would discuss everything. We would talk about books, movies, numbers and especially crosswords. Crosswords were his favorite thing.

The smell of Nyquil and candy was always in the air, and my grandfather had plenty of both. He called me his little scholar. He would utter his throaty cough and laugh at the things I said and did.

I understand he was not always the easiest man to have as a parent, but he was wonderful to me. I remember when he got so sick that they took him to the hospital. He always said, “If I go to the hospital I will never come back alive”. As the ambulance attendants carried him away on the stretch he looked at me with those blue eyes and smiled. I never seen him alive after that. He died of sepsis the following morning at the hospital.

A short time later, I was being babysat by my best friend’s mother while my family was away. I decided to go back into the house to get something I had forgotten. I went to the kitchen. For some unknown reason, fear gripped me. I did not want to turn to the right and into my grandparent’s room. I somehow knew I would see my grandfather there. I chose not to look. I don’t know what I was afraid of, surely the spirit of my grandfather wouldn’t hurt me. I heard a faint coughing sound.

As I did not turn to look, I felt safer. Surely I had been hearing things. I went to use the bathroom. I shut the door.

It was at that time I heard a shuffling noise. In life, my grandfather had walked very slow. I heard another faint cough. I froze, finishing up my business in fear. Before I could get up, the bathroom door slowly opened. It creaked in the exact manner it did when my grandfather was alive. He didn’t have much strength and so he couldn’t just throw open a door. At that point, I had no doubt that I was being visited by my grandfather. However, I was in no way ready.

I bolted out the door, arrived in the empty dining room and ran to the living room. Out the front door and onto the porch I flew. I soon was running down the street for my friend’s house. From that time until the old house was finally sold, I never looked to the right towards that bedroom. Not ever.

When I told this story to my father, he laughed at me and said, “Your grandfather wouldn’t have hurt you.” Tell that to a nervous twelve year old.

I remember, back when I was a teenager, how difficult it was to get most of my school friends to come to my house for any longer than just in and out.  Their trepidation stemmed from weird occurrences that were common to me but intently frightening to them.

This is one experience I recall when a friend I will call “C” had decided to forgo the strange within my house and actually spend the night.  My parents had gone out for the night leaving her and I in charge of my younger brother and several foster and adopted kids who lived with us at the time.  It was 11 pm and everyone but her and I were in bed fast asleep.  I remember we were sitting at the dining room table playing a game of Rummy, all of the lights were blazing; as I always insisted on them being, and the room was quiet except for our occasional banter about the game. 

Midnight chimed on the grandfather clock in the livingroom and just as the twelfth chime rang a picture of my older brother, who lived elsewhere, flew off the top shelf behind us and landed hard against the old phonograph/eight track cabinet across the room.  The picture had soared over our heads and we both were instantly startled as the radio in the cabinet began to play, switching stations with an eerie static. It was one of the kind that had to be switched from radio to eight track to phonograph with a toggle-like switch inside a heavy lid that concealed the players and radio within.  This was the first time something like this had happened, mostly it was just things disappearing or phantom shadows that only I laid witness to.

Both of us were severely frightened by this. Although I had encountered other strange happenings, my friend ‘C’ had no idea about the things that just seemed to go on in my house.  (And shame on me if I had purposefully withheld that information in the hopes that nothing would happen while she was there, I was only 13 at the time.) Of course, I had told the stories but she had dismissed them as my imagination.
I begged her not to call her dad to go home, and it took much finesse to calm her down.  Finally, she consented to stay the rest of the night and nothing else happened, thankfully.

The following morning my mother called us to breakfast and we overheard her talking to my father about the midnight arrest of my brother; the one whose picture sailed across the room and caused the radio to eerily play on its own.  My friend and I exchanged glances.  I decided to divulge the previous night’s happenings to my parents and I don’t really think they believed me.

I haven’t talked to ‘C’ in many, many years, and I wonder if she remembers this occurrence?  From that day on not one of my friends from school would come to my house except one, my friend Patti who lived across the alley. Patti was the only fearless friend I had, and still have today.  Seems like we have had more than enough of our share of hauntings over the span of our lives.  Maybe that is why our friendship has lasted all these years; because we share a link with some otherworldly realm that has reached out to us over and over as we grew up. 
              

I once worked with adults who were mentally and physically disabled. Many of my shifts were at Garrett Home (name changed for confidentiality). Garrett home had once been the home of the Garrett family, and had been built in 1866. It was a large white victorian, it had a quaint cottage in the back, a barn and a screened in porch.

The house was right on the highway, not very isolated; but Garrett Home had a life all of it’s own seperate from the busy road it resided on. Many of the residents of Garrett Home were prone to fits of rages, which they did not display much of once they left Garrett Home to move into their own respective apartments or duplexes.

Garrett Home had an attic upstairs, one of those old fashioned ones with the tiny door. Often the attic light would come on for no reason. Sometimes when I left at 12:45 in the morning, I would look up to see the attic light on. I would let the other staff know, and they claimed they did not leave it on either.

The home had a wide spiral staircase. I can’t tell you how many times I dreaded walking down those stairs, it was as if someone were about to push me down the stairs. Sometimes I felt a touch on the small of my back, or felt and heard breathing on the back of my neck. This was quite upsetting.

Sometimes during the day, if I worked alone, I would turn the seventies style stereo on to listen to music as I worked. One morning I was in the office working on my documenting when I heard the tuner on the stereo. I went into the “ball room” and watched as the button on the tuner moved as if an unseen hand was trying to change the station. I quickly shut the stereo off.

It came on again, and with it the changing of the station. I unplugged it, and thankfully, that was that; although it was clear that there was an electrical charge a few seconds after I unplugged it.

Mornings after that, the stereo was often on because staff had turned it on. When staff left, the stereo antics began again; that is unless I remembered to leave it unplugged.

Garrett Home was closed a few years ago. The residents that had once raised hell within it’s wall now living in their own apartments or deceased. I still wonder how much Gorman Home had effected their lives. It was a spooky old house, but like many other houses of its ilk, attracted a new family. They refurbished the grand old home to its former glory. Hopefully it isn’t playing games with them like it did with me.

My childhood home belonged to my family for generations. Built in 1886 by my great-great granfather it had withstood many a depressive moment, and stands tall within its nestle even today, unchanged and seemingly ominous. Although it no longer is inhabited by family the great old Victorian always reminds me of a time in the early nineteen eighties when I began to believe in ghosts.

The memory of an eight year old is always spoken of as imaginative or full of fantasy and unsubstantiated fears, but I don’t totally agree with that theory. Sure, children love to dream of many things, like, being a ninja or a princess, having a real unicorn or a dragon, of being able to fly, and surely it was easier to believe in the monster that lived in the closet.

This is my story of the proverbial monster in the closet which visited me often over a span of five years. The house I grew up in was a veritable grab bag of spooky occurrences and phantom spectres. Many born within my family tree and some others found their demise within its walls; I believe each moment of despair and a part of each hapless soul who died within the house had been recorded and possess the place to this day. Most died of natural causes; still born babies, sickly children who died in early stages of life, old age as well as the many now curable illnesses and diseases.

It was a sweltering August night as I slept in my room at the top of the stairs. My younger brother slept in the room next to mine farthest from the stairway, and our parents shared the room downstairs below my brother’s room. My paternal great-great grandmother had just passed away a mere month before this night, within her room across from my parents. She found solace within death after spending her last few years locked in a time long ago.

I recall her before and after her dementia, she was stern but loving; an old woman who had weathered things that could break even the strongest reserve. The mother of fifteen children, two of which survived to have children of their own. She had outlived three husbands and both of her surviving children who both died horrible deaths, herself dying at the age of eighty-eight in mid-nineteen eighty.

I cannot be sure that I was visited by phantom ghosts of my family, I can be sure of the fact that what ever it was it was not friendly nor did it make me feel welcome in my own house. I never had problems sleeping in my own room before this night. I often coddled my younger brother during the darkest nights when he was afraid of sleeping alone. This one night though, he did not visit me with tears on his cheeks asking to sleep with me for the remainder of the night. I slept alone and unfettered for most of the night. That is until something brought me out of what I recall as a deep slumber. I remember that because when I woke it was like I had been shaken. I thought I would see my brother’s face before mine as he always did on previous nights, but where he should have been there was nothing, just me and the darkness. I called out to him thinking he had given up trying to wake me and had returned to his own room, but he didn’t reply. To this I was grateful since it really was uncomfortable sharing my twin bed, let alone with my squirming brother. I remember that at the time I was not afraid, for the mind rationalizes the unexplained and finds meaning for everything, even in an eight year old mind.

I tried to fall back to sleep, and had almost reached that point when I felt a light breath upon my face. My eyes snapped open instantly, ready to scold my brother for waking me once again. I opened my mouth to tell him to just get in bed with me and stop breathing in my face (I hated it when he breathed on me). But he wasn’t there. I got up to check on him and found him fast asleep, his mouth open and his face cherubic in the moonlight. I debated going downstairs and climbing in bed with my parents, something I hadn’t done since the last time I was really sick. I decided against it and returned to my own room, dispelling the breath on my face with that rational thinking I spoke of earlier. My bedroom window was open and the curtains fluttered in the light breeze; of course it was just the wind, it was the only plausable thing. So, I returned to my bed and snuggled against the wall as far as I could in case my brother came to me for real in the night.

I found that no matter how hard I tried I was not going to fall back to sleep any time soon. So, I lay there staring at the ceiling, my eyes already adjusted to the dark as I counted the flaws in the plaster and pictured cartoon characters in the lines and cracks. This was a little game I played to help me fall asleep. It began to work its magic and I felt my eyelids become heavy. Once more I was asleep, for how long I do not know. I recall a dream I was having, of being in the park with my dog playing fetch with a stick. Then as clear as day I heard a woman’s voice speak my name within my room. It was spoken as whisper in my ear and again I felt the puff of breath against my skin.

This time I was afraid. I did not recognize the voice, it was not my mother, nor was it any of my older sisters for they had homes and families of their own and wouldn’t be in my room in the middle of the night playing tricks on me. I feared to open my eyes, feared for what would be looking me in the face. I pretended to still be asleep. Ghosts must know faking because I heard the voice once again, this time louder and not quite so close as before. With courage I didn’t know I had I allowed my eyelids to open a crack. My heart hammered in my chest and my ears rang with my fear. Yet, my room was empty once again. By now my mind had forgotten to rationalize and every deep seated fear I had was made real as I lay there. Eyes open wide now, I stared out my bedroom door into the hall. I wanted to get up and flee to the safety of my parents room but found that I could not move. Lifting my head and limbs was our of my control, not one part of my body responded to the need to get up and out of bed. It was like I was being held down, restrained in my own bed. I could not cry out either, my voice had been silenced no matter how I tried to scream.

The next moment I found myself looking at a dark mass as it floated outside of my room in front of my door. The smoke-like thing was so dark it blocked out the railing and stairwell behind it. What strikes me as the most scary point of the moment was the fact that I could see above and below the dark cloud. I could see the top of the window that shone down upon the stairwell and I could see the light teal carpet in the hallway at the top of the stairs. The dark thing seemed to billow and churn fading around the edges as it hovered in my doorway for what seemed like an eternity.

Still, I could not move. My terror was so intense I felt my heart would burst from fear. Soon, it began to move away from my doorway toward my brother’s room. This frightened me even more and I fought with all my might to move, to call out to my parents for help. As soon as it passed out of sight of my doorway I found I could move and almost threw myself out of bed in the instantaneous return of my motor skills. I waited, listening for any sound, for the phantom voice again. I found my courage and leapt from bed and ran down the stairs to my parents room. I was hysterical and blubbering and it took a few minutes to be able to speak coherently and explain what had happened. I begged them to check on my brother, for surely it was still in his room. The did and found nothing. This reinforced the notion that I had just had a bad dream. Both my parents tried to convince me it was nothing more than my over active imagination. They wouldn’t listen no matter how I pleaded with them about what I saw.

My mother patted me on the head, led me back to my room with kisses, tucked me back into the one place I dreaded to be, my bed. This happened to me frequently, the same way, with the voice and the dark shadow outside my room. From the first night though, I never allowed my brother to sleep alone in his own room. I was just as afraid for myself as I was for him and we spent many nights huddled together in my small bed.

I learned not to dread the occurrances, but found ways to convince myself it was nothing. But that nothing ended up morphing into more and more occurrances as time went by. I will leave this story off here, for the other happenings are for another day. I just wonder, since I haven’t lived in that house since I was seventeen, almost twenty years ago, if the new tennants witness those same hauntings? Is there another child that sleeps in my old room who is awakened by that voice and immobilization and phantom cloud? Does that child’s parents disbelieve and dispel the fear with false reassurances? I surely hope not, I hope whatever inhabits that house has found the path to heaven or hell, whichever realm it belongs in.

Idlewild, Michigan is a very beautiful area with a rich past. Nestled within Lake County in Michigan, it was a resort community for African Americans during the period of segregation; and many famous and influential people spent their time there. Famous actresses of the likes of Aretha Franklin performed there. I hear stories that when segregation ended, so did the high period of Idlewild. They abandoned their resort homes in some cases. An area so steeped in history surely has to have left a mark on those that were there. I now have cause to believe that some of the Idlewilders never left.

My dad purchased a vacation home fixer upper in Idlewild, Michigan; within Cherry Valley Township. We had quite a bit of work to do on the home, it was built in the thirties or forties. It had been abandoned since around the seventies. There were some unusual things there. I found old furniture, a pull out bed with a storage and several old, musty handmade quilts inside. There were very old canned goods in the cupboards, layers of very old wallpaper; and rotted walls and ceilings. I found literature on Dr. Martin Luther King circa the time period he was speaking in. Next door were two other abandoned homes which were so broken down there were no doors or windows. In one home there was cans of food in the cupboard even though the house was falling apart around the cupboards. In another home there were forgotten photographs of those that once spent time there. A forgotten lady in a dress, a little girl having a birthday party; a mother and her son.

The house we bought was touched by tragedy. We had found out from a neighbor that the lady that last lived there was wheelchair bound, and there was evidence of this in the front yard; where a rotted wooden wheelchair ramp led the way to the door. We tore it down; it was of no use. We also found out that she went fishing one day and drowned. We learned nothing more. As I looked around at our new vacation property, I couldn’t help but see the old Idlewild in it. The piles of fourties, fifties, and sixties glassware in the back yard told of the good times of Idlewild. I imagined fresh paint on the houses, music and joy coming from the homes; but it was eclipsed by a kind of sullen sadness. It was, afterall; forgotten.

I have to admit, when we began working on our project; I was very overwhelmed. I was also very creeped out. It was very strange to be there. It felt like I didn’t belong. That was the distinct feeling I got. One night, as I and my toddler daughters were in bed; I heard a thumping noise that lead me to believe that my oldest daughter had gotten out of bed. I sat up to see a black shape rushing out of the room It was about the height of my daughter. I heard footsteps rushing away. I was so sure it was her, I began to move out of bed to run her down. That was when I noticed that both of my daughters were still in bed. I was very alarmed, but not surprised. I had received some strange vibes from the place.

I also had a chocalate lab by the name of Cocoa. When I stayed at the home by myself with my children, I shut the door to my room. There was something about the doorway with a view to the living room that I didn’t like. Many times, Cocoa would fall asleep on the couch in the living room and I would let her stay there. The home was so far in the woods, I worried that someone may break in. Many times I wondered why I stayed there alone with my two small children. I think it was because the days were so wonderful. Every night that Cocoa stayed in the living room alone, I would awaken to her barking. I could here her running in circles as she barked. Many times, she was so frightened she had an accident.

One time, my fathers girlfriend was alone in my room while my father was hunting. It was night and she had left the door open. I never did. I don’t know why but I always felt like something was watching me. She heard footsteps, and thinking it was my father; she looked up to the doorway. She then claimed that she seen a tall African American man standing in the doorway. He was misty in appearance. He did not seem to notice her, and faded away. Another time when she and my father were staying at the cabin, she seen a ghost walking towards the bathroom.

Recently, I have stayed at the cabin again with my daughters. One night around 3 a.m. as I lay in bed, and suddenly felt that strange feeling again. I then felt cold all over. I then felt the blankets lift off of my feet. I slept with the light on after that. Every time I stay there, I here footsteps in the living room. Though very eerie, I have not felt threatened by the presence, and I even apologize to it for the drastic changes in the home that may be confusing my unseen friends.

Despite the strangeness of these experiences, I return to Idlewild and to the cabin often. What a fascinating, historic place. Definitely worth visiting to see a ghost or two; even if Idlewild is just a ghost of what it once was.