ATRD Ep. 149 - Chilling Past Life and Paranormal Stories
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Hey there, friends. I just wanted to pop in here and just start this podcast episode off by saying thank you. Thank you to all of the new listeners from this year. Thank you to all of you who've been listening to me since I started doing this podcast back in, I think, I started the podcast site in 2020. I started the channel in 2019, but I don't know when I started the podcast. Either way, a huge thank you to all of you.

Without you guys, I wouldn't be where I am today. And yeah, just wanted to show some appreciation. So one last time, thank you. For as long as I can remember, I've been plagued by a recurring dream. It always seemed to start the same. It seemed to be through my own perspective. I was walking down a gravel road surrounded by tall wheatgrass swaying in the wind. In the distance was an old farmhouse. It was a powder blue with white shutters.

There was a white swinging bench on the covered porch, with a large welcoming wreath on the door. The walk was always the same. I whistled as I walked all the way up to this house, climbed the worn wooden steps and opened the door. As I entered the home, I would get this sense of familiarity washing over me. I knew this place intimately and I felt safe in it. The inside was decorated in a style that I could only describe now as pioneer.

As a kid, I used to just describe it as old or grandma-like, even though my grandmother's home looked nothing like it. The furniture was all simple wood. The shelving, the tables and chairs, and even the base of the couch. There was an old and bulky cast iron stove in the kitchen and lots of metal cups all around. The couch and the bed all had what looked like homemade quilts draped over them, and it all just looked cozy.

The more I was in this house, the more the sense of home and pride grew. It was as if I built this place and I knew it inside and out. As mentioned, all of this I've pieced together through the dreams I've had. It wasn't until I was a bit older that I started seeing her. I would enter the house and after hanging up my coat, I would see her. Standing by the window, gazing out into the yard.

When she would turn and look at me, I got this feeling in my chest that made it hard to breathe. It was bittersweet. I had never met this person in real life, but I knew this woman. And I knew that I loved this woman with every fiber of my being, but when she smiled at me, I'd get this feeling of overwhelming sadness. I always want to approach her and hold her, but I've never seemed to get that far in my dream.

Every time I tried to, or tried to say something to her, I would wake up. I whistle, can explore the home and even look at her, but I can never touch her or talk to her. I had this dream countless times over the years. It started with just me walking along the gravel road. Over time, I would walk to the house, then go in the house, and then finally I got to see the woman in the house.

I told my parents about it in the past, but I never got into the details. I just told them I kept having a recurring dream about going to this house. They weren't necessarily dismissive about it, but just agreed that it was odd, and since it wasn't a nightmare or disturbing me, we left it alone. I myself thought it was definitely weird. I was also a kid and didn't quite have a grasp on dreams or what they meant.

But when I got a little older, like a young teen, I started to become more curious about them. I wanted to know why I had them so frequently, why I seemed to know that house and woman, even though I had never seen either of them. I tried looking into some books on dreams and even stuff online, but the internet and information available to us today wasn't quite the same as it was back in the early 2000s.

So more than anything, I just learned to live with it. But then something happened that gave me some answers. In 2008, my family on my dad's side was holding a family reunion. My great-grandmother was turning 99, so they decided to get everyone together as one of the last chances we might have to see everyone together. My parents, myself, and my younger brother were going to be driving to Texas, where the reunion was being held.

and where my great-grandmother lived, as well as some other relatives. We had gone to Texas for a small vacation when I was a kid, and met up with my aunt and uncle and cousins, but that was the only time I had been to Texas prior. I was indifferent at the time, being around a lot of people, people I didn't really know was not my thing, family or not. But I also liked my cousins, so I at least had someone there to hang out with.

Spoiler, the reunion was uneventful, but it wasn't bad. Lots of hugging and talking about myself, plus free food, so it worked out in the end. We were just going to be there for the weekend, so Saturday night we were driving around the area where my dad grew up, and he was pointing out places that he remembered or had stories about.

Then we hit more of a rural area, and while there wasn't much around, I got that sense of familiarity again. I started looking around, looking for something that would validate that feeling, but the only thing I saw was the gravel road we were on. Yet something was still nagging at me. I asked my parents if we were going to someone's house. My dad looked up at me from the mirror and confirmed yes.

saying that he wanted to show us his great, great grandfather's house. I took a shot and asked if it was powder blue in color with white shutters, and he kind of chuckled and said yeah, and then asked how I knew. I just shrugged and said that I didn't know. A few minutes later, we pulled up to the house from my dreams. There it is, sitting right in front of me.

It definitely wasn't in the best condition, like it was in my dreams, but I knew it was the same house. I recognized the road, the porch, and it even had the swinging seat on it still. We pulled into the driveway and I was just in awe. I've read that you can't create places and people in your sleep. Of course, I don't know if that's true or not, but it kind of makes sense, I think.

I felt like the place had to exist, but I knew that I had never seen this place before, and my parents' reaction confirmed that. So how could I have dreamt of this place? We sat in the car, and I listened as my dad explained that this house was built by his great-great-grandfather, and it still belonged to the family. When he paused, I started asking him about what the inside looked like.

and he said that we could go in if we wanted, so we all got out and walked up the steps. And my stomach started churning. At first I was really nervous, but as we walked into the house, I once again had that feeling of being home. It looked the exact same, minus some furniture and decorations. The house still had some personal items in it, but not much. No one was clearly living there, and it was obvious by the state of the place.

But as I stood in the living room, I started telling my parents about the house. I literally said, if I remember correctly, the kitchen was a peach color. I then described the old cast iron stove. I gave directions to the bedrooms and what they looked like. My dad looked completely puzzled, and my parents spoke to each other asking if I had seen pictures or something, but we all agreed that we didn't have any pictures of the place.

There was really no way that I would have known, and in such detail, what this place looked like, and what it looked like so long ago. I then told my parents that this was the house I saw in my dreams. That's how I knew about it.

My dad thought it was weird and didn't say much about it, but my mom seemed very intrigued by the idea that I had dreamt of this place. On our way home, my mom then asked me more about the dreams I had and if there was anything else I remembered about them. Of course there was, because I was still having them. So I told them everything. I explained how I walked down the path whistling, I explained how I saw the home, and I explained the woman that I often saw.

I was trying to gauge my dad's reaction because he wasn't normally an emotional man. His poker face never faltered, but he did answer some questions I had. He asked me if I ever heard of a specific song. I don't know what the song was, but I know it was a gospel song, to which I told him no. Our family wasn't really religious. We didn't go to church and it wasn't something talked about within our family, but they answered questions that we may have had the best way they could.

So basically, no. I had no knowledge of the songs, and I was surprised that my dad did. He started singing the song and color me surprised when I could whistle right along to it. He told me it was a song his great-great-grandfather used to sing. He never met him, but he said his grandparents and parents sang it all the time when he was growing up too. He said that he did remember the house as I explained it, because he was there as a kid.

It looked similar with minimal differences, but those details that were changed, there would be no way that I would have known. But one of the craziest parts of this to me was the woman in my dreams. When I explained what she looked like, my dad confirmed that that would have been his great-great-grandmother. He explained how she always wore her hair and it was just the same in my dream. Lastly, I explained to them how I always felt when I saw her,

Even with my brother teasing me, I told them that I always felt sad, and that she was never able to speak. That's when my dad told me something that was pretty heartbreaking. He said that she had died young, barely into her thirties, from a condition that baffled the doctors at the time. From what he described, and with my mom's confirmation, my mom was a school nurse, he

She had lupus. Something that's manageable today, but back then was practically a death sentence. It all made sense. I saw her and was stricken with sadness, and I wanted to protect her. It was because she was taken away too soon, leaving behind her husband and two very young children. It was all so surreal to me. Why was I having these dreams?

Why did it seem like I was my own great-great-great-grandfather? My dad definitely looked intrigued, whether he would admit it or not, and my mom was fully subscribed to this whole situation. She talked about how maybe I was given his memories and thoughts, kind of as a way of storytelling since he wasn't around anymore. But all I could think after that was maybe it was a past life.

Maybe that was once me, and I was given another chance to live a long, happy, and healthy lifetime. And that is what makes me not want to waste the time that I have now.

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"Hi Raven, I have quite a bit for you so you can use whichever you like. I'm a 32 year old female and you can call me Lola. First let me say that I was raised by my grandparents and it was a very religious household. They believed spirits and things like that. They had their own experiences. A lot of weird and creepy things happened in that home. Certain areas had very bad vibes.

This place is why I learned to trust any time I got the bad vibes. One thing that happened had actually happened to both me and my sister, we'll call her Tia, at different times, and we never told each other until we were much older. The house had a lot of people in it most of the time, so when we would get a moment alone and no one was watching the TV in the living room, we took advantage.

I had been at a youth group and had just gotten home. The house was quiet. My grandparents were at church and I didn't know where anyone else was. So I just turned the TV on and planned to enjoy it while I was alone. About ten or so minutes later, I heard my name being called from upstairs. I thought to myself that it was weird because I thought I was alone. I called back and asked what they wanted. They said, ''Come here, I need your help.'' ''Help with what?''

"Just come here and help me!" "No, I'm watching something!" "I really need your help!" At this point, I was grumbling and debating on if I was going to go help them. Then my uncle, who also lived there, came home and he headed upstairs right away. So, I asked him to see what they wanted upstairs. I don't even remember whose voice it was anymore, because it was so long ago. He called down after a moment and said that no one was upstairs.

I was confused. My sister said the same thing happened to her. There were three of us girls, Lena, Tia, and myself, and one boy that my mom had. My sister Lena had been off school for some reason. I don't remember, but she was around 12, so I was around 9. She'd been cleaning the room she shared with our mother and was walking by the bathroom and caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

She turned her head and saw a little girl in the bathroom with long blonde curly hair brushing her hair. The little girl must have felt eyes on her because she turned her head and looked right at my sister with bright red eyes. Lena dropped the broom she was carrying and ran down to my grandma. My uncle was very dependent on alcohol. He had friends who were just as bad off as he was.

I don't remember who told this particular friend, let's call him Matt, about the weird things that happened in the attic where my uncle's room was. Well, Matt was very intoxicated and decided he was going to taunt the entity in the attic and said that they weren't real. He didn't believe in that stuff and that there was nothing there. Well, he went to the steps about to leave and was saying his goodbyes to my uncle,

and ended up going down the steps, not of his own will. When my uncle asked Matt what happened, he said that as he was saying goodbyes, he felt hands press hard against his back, and he was shoved down the steps by the thing in the attic. I say thing because I always got a really bad feeling from it any time I went even just near the attic steps, and I had to a lot since my bedroom door was at the bottom of those steps.

When Lena was a baby, my mom stayed in the attic with her. One night, my mom woke up to my sister's toys going off. She got up to check on my sister, and Lena was fast asleep. The toy that was making the noise was not within her reach either. I experienced a lot of things in my bedroom. Many times, I woke up in the middle of the night to feel someone sitting on the edge of my bed.

This wasn't possible because I locked my bedroom at night, and it wasn't the type of lock you could break into without breaking the entire door. At one point, I had a cousin, female, sharing the room with me due to some home issues that she was having. It was another middle of the night, and I woke up to toss and turn for a while, and when I turned to do the main-

I heard a very distinct boy's voice say, "Hello?" I froze. I was the last one in the room at night. I was the last one to fall asleep. I knew the door was locked. I didn't know where the voice came from, and no, it couldn't have been my cousin talking in her sleep. I know her voice, and this voice was out of the range that her voice goes. I also had an Xbox 360 with a Kinect and Just Dance.

My much younger cousin always bugged me to play it, so for one of their birthdays, I gave in and I let them. There were four of us in my room. I was sat on the desk next to the TV, the oldest of the girls was sitting next to me on the daybed, and the other two were at the wall across from the desk playing the game. If you've never used a Kinect, then you should know that it shows your body as it signifies in a little box on the screen.

and your body is shown with a mix of yellow, orange, and red. Again, I remind you that only two girls were playing. They were giggling and doing the dances. My cousin that was sitting next to me and I looked over at the TV to check how they were doing and I just stopped everything. My eyes widened and I quickly glanced over to my cousin next to me. She had the exact same expression and was seeing what I was seeing.

There were not two people playing the game, but three. The random third body was taller than the other two, had short hair, and very jerky movements just slightly behind the girl's movements. We were confused and didn't mention it to the two playing until they were done. Finally, in this room, I woke up so many times with scratches all over me randomly, and various bruises.

Most of the places were areas that I could not have done that to myself. I also have a very good sense of smell. I associate certain people with certain smells. In 2015, we lost my grandfather, and this devastated me since he was more like a father to me. In 2017, I moved into my first apartment alone. I had lived in the apartment for a week already and was getting ready for bed.

I was walking into my bedroom and stopped dead in my tracks, and I instantly started to tear up. What made me stop was a very specific smell, the very specific cologne that my grandpa wore to church. No one else had been in my apartment for days since we fully moved in. No one else wore that cologne. I like to think that that was my grandpa telling me that he was keeping an eye on me. Last year was a terrible year.

I lost my grandmother, had to leave my old apartment after six years, and had to move in with someone who made living with them hell. I also lost my younger brother, and then I lost one of my uncles. One morning, I was having a conversation with the person I was living with. Let's call her Liz. Liz went over to the bathroom, but was still trying to talk to me.

"'so I could hear her better. "'I walked through the kitchen past the coffee maker "'and to the pantry door, which was right outside of the bathroom. "'I finished talking to Liz and turned around to go back to the living room "'and stopped in my tracks right in front of the coffee maker. "'No one had used it yet that morning. "'There was no coffee smell when I passed by it just a few minutes before, "'but standing there now, there was a very strong smell of coffee.'

Liz noticed that I stopped, and she asked me what was wrong, and I told her about the smell. She came over to where I was, and she didn't smell it, and then I no longer smelled it. My grandparents and my brother would drink coffee all day if you let them, so some part of my brain went to them. I had also heard some very heavy footsteps going from Liz's bedroom to the direction of the bathroom. It was very early, around 5 a.m.,

So I just thought that it was Liz going to the bathroom. Well, less than five minutes later, I heard the bedroom door open and Liz comes out to go to the bathroom. So what came out before she did? Final thing from living with Liz, I was home alone. I have a cat and he's a little bit who jumps on the counter and tables to be nosy. I left the bathroom door partially open because he hates it when I close the door on him.

I don't know why, but he's been like that ever since my old apartment. As I'm using the bathroom, I hear a very female voice saying, ''Shoo! Get off of me! Get out of here! Move!'' The voice sounded like she was doing a loud whisper trying to get heard. This confused me. I knew I was alone. The cat even seemed to respond to the voice like he jumped off of wherever he was. I looked forward to see if I saw anyone, and of course there was no one there.''

My grandpa had his own experiences. Ever since my mom was a little girl, he got used to sleeping in the living room. My mom took over his spot sleeping in the bed for a long time, and he just got used to it. One night, he woke up feeling an immense pressure on his chest. He said it felt like he was being suffocated. The only thing he could think to do is pray. Again, they were really religious."

Then he said that the pressure went away and he was able to breathe properly. Another experience he had was during a snowstorm. The kids were fairly young and wanted to sleep downstairs that night. It was really early in the morning. The sun had barely been up, and there was a knock at the door. He opened the door to see who it was, and it was a man trying to find refuge from the cold.

I should say that my grandparents often helped people out a lot. Their friends, my mom and uncle's friends, and even our friends. They became mom and pop, or gram and pop to so many people. The only reason my grandpa said he couldn't help the man is because the kids were right there in the living room sleeping, and he was very protective of us.

A moment after he closed the door, he felt very guilty, so he grabbed an extra blanket and went outside to give it to the man, but he had vanished. There was no more snow coming down, so he would have seen any footprints left from the man, but there were none. He even went to the alley to see if the man was there, and nothing. It was like the man was never even there.

I hope that you enjoyed my weird and creepy life happenings. I apologize in advance for the long story. I'll try my best to keep it short, but there are a lot of details and a lot that happened over a week-long period. This story takes place almost six years ago in 2018. Just to give a little backstory, I sometimes pet sit on the side to make a little extra cash, usually for people that I know.

This particular time was for a woman, we'll call her Lisa, who had a usual pet sitter, who we'll call Karen. I knew Karen because I had previously watched her cats a handful of times. Karen was unavailable and asked me to take her place. She told me a little about Lisa and her dog Max, and it sounded like a pretty easy gig. I met Lisa at her house to go over everything, and the house was beautiful. A literal mansion.

She told me the house was built in the early 1800s, and was actually the original mansion for a very prominent family, who pretty much founded the town back in the day. The house was furnished accordingly, with the only updated part of it being the kitchen. It had actual servants' quarters, separated staircases, and an original piano from the house. It gave off a very eerie feeling, but nothing that I thought I couldn't get over.

My first day at the house was nothing of note. It wasn't until the first night that I started to feel on edge. I was trying to sleep in one of the spare bedrooms when I could start to hear a creaking noise coming from the bedroom across the hall. It sounded like footsteps, like someone was pacing back and forth. I chalked it up to the house being so old that, obviously, it would have creaks and noises.

I continued to try to sleep, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I was honestly scared to open my eyes, as I thought I would see some figure looking back at me. The noises continued, but I ended up eventually falling asleep, and woke up the next morning feeling a little less on edge. I asked my girlfriend to come stay with me that night to see if it would put my mind at ease, but she didn't.

Something I forgot to mention earlier is that Lisa's husband had died that same year. I didn't know much about it, I just knew that he died. When my girlfriend and I were sitting in the sunroom that night, she was sitting in the lazy boy, and I was on the couch. She randomly said to me, What did you say her husband's name was? Jeff? And I said that I didn't know, she never told me.

We decided to look it up to see if we could find any information, and we did. We found the obituary based on the last name. Her husband's name was indeed Jeff, and we found that he died in the house. We were immediately weirded out by that. Neither of us had known his name, and she randomly said it.

At that point in my life, I was really getting into my spirituality and things that happened in my past which made me realize that I was sensitive to things that are beyond our understanding. So, although this was jarring, it wasn't necessarily surprising because my girlfriend was the same way. We moved on from it and continued our night. As we sat there, we started to hear what sounded like music.

We thought it was probably a car driving by or something outside. As it continued, we could hear that it was piano music accompanied by a faint chatter. This is where we started to really get freaked out. There wasn't much we could do at this point, so we just turned up the volume on the TV and ignored it until we went to bed.

We tried sleeping in the same bedroom as I had the night before, and I thought because she was with me, I would feel more comfortable. We soon started to hear the same noises I had heard the night before, the footsteps. They only happened as we were trying to lay down. We ended up sleeping in the sunroom, and that's where I slept the rest of my time at this house. For some reason, I felt more at ease there.

probably because three-fourths of the wall were completely windows, and it felt separated from the rest of the house. The footsteps and music continued nightly, and I continued to feel more uncomfortable, and could never shake the feeling of being watched. I soon would realize why I had that feeling. I had just gotten back from walking Max, and I had a smoothie in my hand. I walked into the dining room and went to set it on the table, but it fell.

I quickly bent down to pick it up and stood up to see a woman standing directly in front of me. I couldn't make out her face, but she was dressed in a long dress with a white, around-the-waist apron and wearing a bonnet. As fast as she appeared to me, she was gone. I stood there for a moment, just trying to grasp what I had seen. I tried reasoning with myself and saying that it was just in my head, but I know what I saw.

Clear as day. I can still picture her six years later. I figured the house was probably filled with spirit to the family and servants from all those years ago. Although nothing physically happened to me in that house, the feeling that I was left with is one that I think I will always remember. Hello. The story I'm about to tell you I haven't told anyone. Not even my husband.

Not because we're not close, but because nobody that I am close to would believe me. Or at least, that's my fear. Not to mention, this story is close to my heart, so... The thought of someone I love taking this for anything less than the truth... Is not something I'm willing to do. Anyways, here goes. I've always loved everything British.

I love the culture, I love learning everything there is to know about past royalty and fashion, music, films, their beautiful accent, everything. Even learning about servants and what it was like to be a commoner. It's been a dream of mine to visit there, a longing I've never put to rest. Now, putting that aside and on an unrelated note, I am a mother to four children.

They mean the world to me, and my life revolves around them. That is why when my second child, let's call him Calvin, was just a baby, my world seemed to cave in on itself. You see, from the time Calvin was just a baby, something felt wrong. I feared that I was going to lose him. He was healthy and smart and perfect. But for some reason, something I couldn't explain, I couldn't get over this fear.

I didn't fear losing my other kids, just Calvin, and I would stay up some nights and just cry feeling helpless. He was my perfect boy, so please, God, no. This went on for years and ate away at me, not knowing what to do, why I felt this way, or how to change this feeling in my bones. As he got older, it almost felt worse, because I had already had two years with him, and then three, and then four.

When would this feeling go away? Was I coming closer to the nightmare that I feared? I would take him to the doctor for a sniffle. I would worry if he wanted to ride his bike. I always hid my fear because it didn't make sense, but it was there, quietly whispering to me that Calvin was different. So I did what I could, everything that I could to secretly make him safe.

One day, when Calvin was nine, and for reasons unrelated to this, I had a past life regression. I had never had one before and was more curious than anything else. I just thought it would be cool. Well, it worked. I saw myself living in England, sometime in the late 1700s. I was a stout woman with light golden hair. I was not beautiful or rich. I was a poor woman and I washed clothes for others.

I had two small children, a boy and a girl. I loved them more than anything, and although we didn't have much, I felt happy. We lived in a small cottage by the sea. Not a pretty beach, and not a pretty cottage. A small, dark cottage by the sea, butting up to many other old shack-like cottages. I would hang clothes right outside the house, though the weather was never great, and the property was small.

but I kept it clean and it was enough for me. I loved my life because I was useful and I got to know people. It made me feel important in the community, even though I knew I wasn't. My place and my worth in the world was little, but I felt content. I felt happy being small. I have no memory of a spouse. I raised my kids with financial help from relatives. Washing clothes wasn't enough.

We would walk to the market, my children barefoot and holding a big basket for the meager food we would get, and I would take stew for them. My children grew, and we loved each other. Then, one night, my son died in a horrible horse accident. It was the worst day of my life. I was so alone, so distraught. It makes me tear up when I think about it because it's something I can remember clearly now. The son I lost was Calvin.

but in my previous life. He looked a little different than he does now, but I felt his spirit and knew exactly who he was. I felt the same familiar love that I have for him now. And in that instant of recognition, it all became clear to me. My fear of losing him was because I had lost him before. I feared for him because I didn't want to lose him again. I wept at that realization.

The pieces fell into place, and I knew that I could let that go. He was here again, and I wasn't going to lose him. That past life regression freed me. I never imagined that doing this would heal a wound so deep that it goes back to a different lifetime. I can now live my life in freedom, knowing that everything will be okay. And although there are pieces of my old life that I like to think back to with gratitude, I can now move forward in this one.

I was never really the type that believed in the paranormal or reincarnation. I have some friends and even family members that did, but we just agreed to disagree. I'm not even religious. It was just something that I couldn't wrap my head around, I guess. So I chose not to believe it. At least, that was before my nephew Cameron changed my mind. Cameron was my younger sister, Megan's son.

He was born a healthy baby, and from what she's told us, she rarely had any issues with him. In fact, he slept so well throughout the night that she would have to go check on him and wake him up. Cameron was her second born too, so she knew what to expect after her first son, so Cam really threw her off. As a baby, he was already very unique. I've seen the normal, curious baby look.

When they look around the room and things and people, trying to figure out if they approved or not, if they liked what they saw, and if they wanted to cry or scream for help. But Cam always seemed more perceptive. He would stare at items for long periods of time. There would be little babbles from him and he would turn his head to the sides, but he honestly looked like he was trying to figure out what he was looking at.

The coffee maker, the wind-up dog that bounced around on the floor, the fridge, anything that moved on its own, he seemed particularly interested in. But when he started to speak, it was clear that he was different. By age three, he was already speaking in full sentences, and asking questions that kids typically wouldn't ask. Like the coffee maker. He asked how it worked, how it got hot, etc.

But it wasn't just his intelligence that set Cam apart. Sometimes when he thought no one was looking, I would catch an almost mournful expression on his face that no toddler would have any reason to be wearing. One of the first real inklings we had that something different was going on with Cam was for his fifth birthday. There's this place near us called Science City, and they were having a special showing all about ancient Egypt.

Because of how curious and smart he was, Megan wanted to have a small party there so he could explore. I thought it was a great idea because I remember it being a lot of fun as a kid myself. The party was great. Cam seemed to really enjoy the treats and gifts, but he was ready to explore. In fact, he seemed very distracted by all the posters and things about Egypt that were hanging around, but then I got to witness it firsthand.

We all started walking through the exhibit, and the way that Cam just studied everything so intently and gently touched things was unlike what you would see a normal child do. He walked around the items, almost as if he was inspecting them. Sometimes he looked at pieces with confusion and would shake his head, until we then came across a replica of a pharaoh's throne.

Cameron hard stopped right in front of it, and was intensely staring at it. It was almost unsettling. I'd been walking with him during the trip, as he liked to cling to me a bit, so when he stopped, I asked him if he liked it, and if he thought it was neat looking. I was not expecting the response that I got from him. "'I remember this,' he said to me curiously."

but it wasn't shiny. The gold was really old, and the seat was red, not blue. I laughed at first, thinking maybe he had something similar at home, like a toy, or maybe he saw it on something he watched. But as we all moved through the exhibit, his commentary started to become more specific and more insistent on everything he saw. He had these wild stories about certain pieces that he saw, and how certain tools were used,

Always using "we" or "I" specifically. Not "them" or "they". He even gave a detailed description of the mummification process. There was something creepy about hearing a small child explain that, by the way. He really became animated when we came across some hieroglyphs. They had some slabs that had some of them on them, as well as pictures of others, and Cam pointed them out, and basically translated them like it was English.

Sure, at first I thought he was just making it up, seeing the pictures and explaining it like a picture book, but his translations made sense. Reading the plaques, they matched. He was still struggling with reading, so I know that he didn't read those. So, again, how on earth could he have known any of this? Megan, his mom, was with us at this point, and she gave me a weird look too. Like she didn't have any answers either.

One of the last things we saw at the exhibit was towards the end. It was a display about Tutankhamen, and when we approached the tomb replica, he looked overwhelmingly sad. He took his bottle of water he'd been carrying and slowly poured some of it on the ground by its feet. Megan immediately grabbed the bottle from Cam and slightly scolded him, telling him that he couldn't do that in there. She tried asking why he did it in the first place, but he said,

and in his continuous melancholy tone he said, to show that I loved him. He was my best friend. He wasn't supposed to die so young. We did our best to cheer him up after that, which thankfully didn't take long. We went through a small play area after the exhibit, where he seemed to lighten up a bit too. So the party was back to the light-hearted fun we were all hoping for. But a few days after the party...

I was talking to Megan and she told me that, ever since the party, Cameron seemed to be obsessed with Egypt and everything about it. She said at first some of the details on how he would play were creepy, doing things a child wouldn't do, such as mummifying his toys, but that's what he was doing. So I started my own research and looked up some things I was curious about.

I read up on ancient Egypt, pharaohs, some of their rituals, and I was shocked by what I found. Everything Cam told us about through his little words matched up, even down to him spilling the water. Apparently it's a ritual they did to honor and pay their respect to loved ones and ancestors that passed. They would pour water on the ground, and Cam did that at the King Tut replica.

There's no way that he would have known, not only how to do that, but what a libation even was. Megan later told me and others that she strongly believed Cameron was remembering a past life, and she wanted to do anything she could to support him. I, of course, was skeptical at first, but it was so bizarre, and I honestly couldn't provide any other explanation.

"'Megan got him books, shows, whatever she could find about Egypt in hopes of not only getting answers and confirmation, "'but hopefully giving Cam some much-needed closure, until one day, "'Megan called me and explained that when she put him to bed one night, "'Cam explained to her how his bed was a lot more comfortable than his last bed, which is why he slept so well.'

She claims he told her that he remembered being surrounded by people he cared for, and knew he was going to die, but that he wasn't scared, because he knew he'd be coming back. I couldn't deny it anymore. It had to be true, based solely on the amount of details that he had. After that night, Cameron slowly stopped talking about Egypt and his past life. It was as if learning more and finally talking about his death

gave him that closure so he could move on. He remained very curious and always wanting to learn, but he also no longer appeared to have that deep sadness in him. He was a cheery and happy kid, always trying to lift others up with him, and while he may not have those memories anymore, I will never forget such a mind-opening experience.

So, a few months back, before I came to this trade school for culinary arts, I did work readiness classes to see what trades I would like to learn and such. Anyways, about three weeks in of a six-week program, one day I was taking a nap after the school day, and I heard my bathroom door, my dorm room door, and my closet door all shake, and then I hear, "...get the F out."

And I had the sweet all to myself. No roommates nor suitemates. And the thing is, this trade school was a military hospital during World War II. And something even more spooky had happened before that. A few months prior to that, I did a behind-the-wheel class to get my license. And halfway through the program, I'm taking a nap.

and then woke to see a student and staff faces that I met before, but something was off and odd about them. They were the faces of students and staff, people that I've met on campus like I said, but they had a glow around them, and they were wearing a different timeline's kind of clothing. One was a nurse, and one was a soldier with blood. I said, ''What the hell? How'd y'all get in my room? I'm sleeping, get out!''

Then one of the students turned around to look at me, and then turned his head and walked into my dorm room's sinks mirror and vanished. I woke up shaken and made sure my door was locked. Now, when I did see the faces, I couldn't seem to move until they were gone. Anyways, fast forward to this point, I wake up randomly at night feeling watched. Even though I changed dorms, this school is definitely haunted.

I feel like it's a mix of evil spirits and good ones. To that, I'd mean that they don't mean any harm. Yeah, that's all I have to share, and thank you for reading my story. Although I'm a person who believes in the paranormal, I'm also the kind of person who tries to rule out every logical explanation before ruling something as paranormal.

Because oftentimes, 8 out of 10, there is something logical when it comes to a lot of people's paranormal experiences. This experience I had, I found no logical explanation for. It traumatized me so bad as a kid, and I remember it in full detail nearly 20 years later. Also, after this experience, I refused to step foot in my dad's house, if I can help it.

It's been six years since I've been to my dad's house. I'm never going back there again. So you'll need a small backstory for this. My parents are divorced, let's leave it as. My dad has done some bad things that the court ruled that I wasn't allowed to be alone with him when having visitation, or at any given time. I got visitation with him once to twice a month for 24 hours.

The only rule was that my mom had to be there in the room with us at all times. So, a lot of the times we would go to his place and I would visit with him. He lived in a trailer that was once a single-wide that was turned into a double-wide, and he lived on a 10-acre ranch. Used to be 24, but he sold some of the land.

The layout of the place was, the moment you enter into the front door, you're faced with the bathroom straight ahead. And to your right is my dad's room. Then to your left is the living room area, and that had a large window by the front door that looked onto the patio, that would let a lot of natural light in. Then there was a counter divider that brought you to the kitchen. There was a hallway with windows that looked into another hallway, which was the added on part.

The first hallway, as you go down to your left, you'll see a bathroom and laundry room. Then straight down at the end was my stepsister's room. Then, to the right of that, there is the opening to the other hallway, which was called the lobby room. As you enter the lobby room, to your left, there's another room, and then when you make a right, you will be met with a ton of clutter.

shelves of antique model cars, piles upon piles of paper, old newspapers, old board games, art supplies, a couple of guitars, etc. Then, as you go down the walkway to the very end, there is another bedroom. On the wall to the right, there's a three large two-panel window that sees into the living room and kitchen, and one that is in front of the bathroom and laundry room. This is all very important to the story.

Well, this all takes place back when I was around seven years old. I remember we were visiting at my dad's house this visitation. It was a bright sunny day in the beginning of summer, so we just decided to stay indoors to avoid the heat. Oftentimes, I would go into the lobby room and go through the board games, especially when I got bored.

My dad put on the original Lost in Space show, and my mom, stepdad, and dad were all sitting on the couch in the living room, talking as the show played in the background. So, I got up and headed to the lobby room to see what I could play with. I was standing in front of one of the windows, and it was open, so I could hear everything going on.

I started rummaging through the large stack of games, and I remember I felt the temperature drop in the room significantly. I thought it was weird, but I paid no mind to it because I was too focused on going through the games. I remember that I suddenly got this feeling that I was in danger and needed to run for my life. I thought it was weird, and I didn't understand why I was feeling this, but I ignored it thinking that I was being paranoid for no reason.

I remember I found this game with magnets in it, and I thought it looked pretty cool, so I looked up into the living room to ask my dad if I could play with it. Well, I remember as I looked in, all the sound was gone. The TV was quiet. My parents' talking had stopped. I don't know how to explain it, but the light in the room seemed dimmer. The colors seemed paler.

And my parents, all three of them, were staring straight ahead, not moving or talking. I was so focused on playing with the magnets that it didn't register that this wasn't right. So I just looked at my dad who was sitting on the couch and said, "Hey dad, can I play with this?" I watched him stiffly, almost robotically, get up off the couch and start walking down the first hallway.

So I kept following as I would see him through the windows and kept asking, "Dad, can I play with this?" "Dad, hey, Dad." I would then watch my dad walk down the hall, stiff and robotic, with zero emotion on his face. That feeling of needing to run for my life only got stronger, but I didn't understand why. It was just my dad. So I ignored it and kept going.

By the time we both reached the end where the two hallways meet, my dad was gone. I was puzzled, but I thought maybe he was checking on the clothes in the bathroom. So I went to listen in to see if I heard him in there, and suddenly I felt the temperature get back to normal. The color and the light came back into the room, and then I heard my dad say, "'What for the millionth time?' I looked to where I heard his voice and he was sitting on the couch."

I was confused, because it was impossible for him to reach the end of the hallway and get back to the living room, and then back to the couch, without me hearing and seeing him. I just stood there and said, ''Hey, how'd you get back to the couch so fast?'' He responded, ''I didn't leave the couch. I've been sitting here talking to your mom and stepdad this whole time.''

I nervously laughed and said, ''You're funny. I saw you get up off the couch and walk down the hallway.'' My mom and stepdad then irritatedly replied, ''No, he's been on the couch talking to us. He didn't get up at any moment.'' At this point, I could tell by the tone of their voice that they were not pulling a joke on me and that they were being serious. I then started to freak out and had a full-blown panic attack.

and started sobbing hysterically to the point that one of my sisters had to take me outside to calm me down. To this day, I have zero explanation as to what happened to me that day, and this wasn't the only paranormal encounter I've had at my dad's house. It was the last one that made me never want to go back to his house again, though. The other stories, on the other hand, are stories for another time, if anyone wants to hear them.

My dad's entire land has a lot of spiritual activity, but then again, a lot of negative stuff has happened on that land, and it's been in my family for three generations. My dad's side of the family is very abusive, and the abuse goes back generations. Also, to just throw in, my dad never turned the AC on unless he had to. It was only 80 degrees Fahrenheit that day, and he didn't really need it.

So the temperature drop was not the AC turning on, because it was never on that day. Hi Raven. This will be my fourth story I've submitted. This has been a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, as I always thought something was wrong with me, but hearing your other stories has made me realize that I'm not alone. I'm interested if you, Raven, have had any experiences in the categories you've read. I'd be interested to listen."

I had one that was a glitch story that I put in a video a while back. I actually mentioned that it was by me, and for some reason a lot of people decided to, uh, tell me it wasn't a glitch. And tear it down, so... Nothing else. No other experiences, though, so... You said you had a lot of shadow people stories lately. Well, I'd like to share my first encounter with a shadow person. But in this case, this also includes an angel encounter. This might get graphics, so beware listeners.

When I was five, I had my tonsils removed, and while I was recovering at home, I remember being sent to bed by my mom. My mom left to watch TV with her boyfriend at the time in the living room near my bedroom. I laid in bed, and I couldn't fall asleep. Something was wrong with my nose. I had blown my nose, and I had not known that I had blood in the Kleenex. I put the Kleenex in the garbage near my bed.

I immediately began talking to someone right beside my bed, near my head. I was five and was happy to see this figure. I even called her sister. But it was not my sister. I remember seeing a light figure. My height, but she had no legs. A body, a head with long hair and wings. I was talking to an angel. She was talking to me in my head.

Her lips moved, but no sound came out, and I heard her thoughts in my mind. She was telling me to stop blowing my nose. I looked at her white-slash-blue-hued figure facing sideways from me, and I told her I needed to just one more time. I proceeded to blow my nose in another Kleenex. The angel seemed to bow her head in disappointment and suddenly vanished.

Unfortunately, I broke a stitch even more from my tonsils being removed that day from the hospital. I began to feel nauseous. Blood stopped coming from my nose and began draining into my stomach. I remember getting up to the washroom and I coughed up blood. I got scared for my health and immediately told my mom that I was coughing up blood. My mom was sitting on the sofa watching TV and she instantly sprang up.

I told her I felt sick, and then turned to cough up more blood in the sink. I felt better, but my mom grabbed a fuzzy teal blue blanket and scooped me up with it. I remember my mom screaming for her boyfriend to drive them to the hospital. I don't think my older sister was taken with us, but I understand that I was dying and my mom needed to get me to the hospital. I remember being held by my mom in her arms as they drove.

She was strong, but obviously upset. I didn't want to worry her further, and I told her, "I feel better. We could just go home." My mom said that they would get me to the hospital, and I gave up trying to convince her that I was alright. I didn't know that I was still internally bleeding. My mom's boyfriend zoomed up to the hospital, and I don't remember much other than the nurses surrounding me on a hospital bed, and needle after needle.

I'm still afraid of needles today, but I understand you can't blame the nursing staff. They were trying to save my life. I was crying scared of so many nurses talking frantically and moving fast around me. I remember lying on a hospital bed, content, sleepy, and at peace. My mom was crying beside me on a chair. I looked at my mom and said at five years old, "'Don't worry, Mom. I'll be okay,' and sleepily smiled."

Suddenly, I would feel scared again and wanted my mom to pick me up. She did, but immediately I felt nausea and needed to cough up more blood. I ended up needing to get a blood transfusion. The tonsil stitches had gone undone, or something, and I was slowly bleeding to death. The next memory I have is waking up with nurses and a doctor in the room with me again, but I was lying on the hospital bed looking at a shadow man.

wearing a trench coat and a square hat from the 40s. He looked to be from a detective show, but he was painted in shadow in a room that was fully lit, blacker than black itself. He towered over everyone else, perhaps 6'8 in height, no features and completely in shadow. The doctor and nurses scrambled around me in a fuss trying to save my life and did not notice this huge shadow man.

I remember at five years old feeling completely at peace and not afraid that I was dying. I was staring at the black figure standing in the doorway of the curtains around me, just watching me. I wasn't afraid, and I even smiled at him. No one seemed to notice him but me. The hospital area was in bright lights all around us. There were no shadows for him to hide in. He stood in the light, just completely black.

I was getting really tired from what the hospital staff gave me for the operation, and I never saw the Shadow Man again. Hey Raven, I've got a story to share, and it's one of those moments that just sticks with you. You know, sometimes kids say things that completely throw you off guard. Well, this one really shook me. It happened with my daughter, Lily, when she was about six. It was one of those innocent moments that turned into something I'll never forget.

It was a normal afternoon, and Lily was sitting on the couch with a book in her lap. She's always been bright, you know. She was reading so well for her age, and I was just bursting with pride. So I sat down next to her and said, Lily, you're so smart, and I'm so proud of you. She looked up at me with those big eyes of hers and gave me a little smile. And then completely out of nowhere, she says-

"I died in a fire last time. But I wasn't a witch, mummy. I was just smart. I froze. I wasn't sure that I'd heard her right at first. I mean, what kind of six-year-old says something like that?" I laughed a little nervously and asked, "What did you say, honey?" She didn't even hesitate. "I wasn't a witch. People thought that I was because I knew things, but I was just smart. They didn't like that."

It was the way that she said it. So calm, so matter-of-fact, like she was telling me what she had for breakfast or something. My heart started pounding in my chest, but I tried to keep my voice steady. "'What do you mean, sweetheart? Where did you hear that?' She looked up at me, her face in a serious way that didn't match her six-year-old self, and said, "'I remember. I lived in a little house with a garden and I could read, just like now.'

but people didn't like that I knew things. They thought I was doing magic. I just stared at her completely speechless. She wasn't making this up, and there was no hesitation in her voice. No signs of imagination running wild. It felt real. Too real. I swallowed hard and asked, What happened then, Lily? She looked down at the book in her lap, like she was thinking about it, and then said, They burned me.

They thought I was making their corn die, but I wasn't. I was trying to help. The fire was really big and I could hear them shouting, but it didn't hurt for too long. I floated away before it did. I felt this chill run down my spine. I didn't know what to say, and honestly, I didn't want to ask any more questions. It was like I'd opened a door that I wasn't ready to walk through.

I hugged her tight, kissing the top of her head, and held back tears that were trying to escape. Lily went back to reading completely unbothered while I just sat there, replaying her words over and over in my head. I tried to tell myself that it was just her imagination, or maybe something she'd overheard somewhere, but it felt different, like she was telling me something from another life. I didn't know what to make of it.

Later that night, as I was tucking her into bed, I asked her again, Lily, where did you hear that story? I was curious on one hand and wanted to protect her innocence from whatever or whoever was telling my little girl these things. She's much too young to be introduced to those horrible historical times yet. She looked at me with a small smile and said, I didn't hear it, I remembered it. But don't worry, mommy, this time I won't tell anyone what I know.

It's safer that way. I kissed her goodnight, but I couldn't sleep after that. I kept thinking about what she said. How could a six-year-old come up with something like that? How could she know about something so vivid? So... specific? It's been a while since that day, but I still think about it sometimes. Hi, Raven. I was twelve or thirteen when this happened. I was sleeping, and it was the middle of the night.

I woke up to a door in our house slamming repeatedly. I knew exactly which door it was, and thought it was my oldest brother. He had a temper, and it was not out of his normal behavior. I listened a while longer, waiting for it to stop, until I got so frustrated that I stormed out of my room. When I got to the living room, I saw the door that I knew was slamming wide open, and there were no lights on. It was obvious nobody was awake.

Just as I looked around, my dad came down the stairs muttering something about the damn door slamming. I froze. I asked him if he heard it. He said something along the lines of how could he have missed it, and the radio in the adjoining room started to blare. We made eye contact. We were both terrified. I ran and turned it off and came back to my dad. We stood there waiting for something else to happen, but...

"'And after a minute or so, he looked at me and said, "'Go back to bed, and don't tell your mom or sister about this. "'The weird thing is, we had dogs and they did not stir. "'It was like it never happened. "'I asked him about it once years later and he said that he doesn't remember, "'but I don't believe him. "'I closed that door every night before bed for years, "'and it never happened again.'

I don't know that this is a story, but I'm sure that it is a past life remembered. It happened 30ish years ago, when I was aged 42 or 43, so not a child. I was visiting a friend and his TV was on a history channel. The program was about the American Civil War, and neither of us were paying much attention to it. A photo was shown of Richmond, Virginia.

I said instinctively that the photo was wrong. The commentary then said that the photo was some years later, and that it looked different than the time they were talking about. My friend asked me how I knew, and my reply was that I had penciled at the battle they were talking about. I have never wanted to visit the States. One boss that I worked for asked me to fly to Seattle to analyze a client's problem, all paid,

but I refused, telling him to get photos instead so I could see from them. I brushed off my comments to my friend as a joke. He knew that I had no plans of going to the States. Looking back, it was as if I was afraid to go there. The door was opened, and I started dreaming about my life as a soldier in the Army of America, wearing a dirty grey uniform, and my death. I remember being shot,

The pain, and wanting to die. I wasn't afraid to die, and I'm not in this life. The dreams are different to normal dreams. In my normal dreams, I'm more of a spectator. In my special dreams, I am more present. Experiencing the emotions in the dreams. I'm now 70 years old, and I'm sure that when I leave this life, I will be going home.

And then later, I'll be coming back to Earth for some reason or another. I'm British, and served in the British Army in B.A.O.R., and the Troubles in Northern Ireland. During action, I was never afraid. It was as if I knew that I was not going to die there. Does any of this make sense? I think I may know what shadow figures are.

For some background on who I am, I'm around 30, and I have Asperger's if that matters. For a long time, I've had night terrors on and off randomly, often seeing shadow figures but not really remembering much about them. My night terrors always happened when I was falling asleep or only an hour or two in to sleep. I no longer have or have way less night terrors, and have not seen a shadow figure in a long time.

So what changed? I now sleep with an eye mask. Now, I'm not going to say that shadow figures are just sleep hallucinations. It's possible, but not what I believe. What if shadow figures are beings that exist only in the dream, but they need eyesight to manifest? Think like if a fire elemental were to be real, it would need a constant fuel source to stay alive.

Maybe this is crazy, but who knows, since so little is known about sleep and dreams. Hey there, friends. I hope that you enjoyed this collection of scary stories on this episode of the As The Raven Dreams podcast.

If the platform you're on has the option to follow podcast and you enjoyed my work, please do consider doing so. Also, leaving ratings and reviews are super important for the algorithm to support the growth of the podcast. I'm just one guy doing this. I don't have a team. It's literally just me doing everything. So any support like that is greatly appreciated. Never expected, though. So if you go above and beyond with that, I do appreciate it.

Some platforms also allow you to leave comments, and if you feel inclined to do so, please do. I would appreciate that. I do have a Patreon and a merch store that you can also check out if you want to support a little further. The Patreon side of things gets you early access to all of my content. It is formatted differently as it goes in line with what my YouTube channel is, but it is the same stories, just different collections.

There is also a website, astheravendreams.com, where you can check out pretty much everything about me, my social media platforms, fiction stories I've written if you want to read those, as well as submitting your own stories, which there's a big button on the front page you click to do so. And those stories basically keep the podcast alive, to be honest with you. So, yeah.

All that said, friends, I do hope that I see you again here very soon. Until then, remember that you are loved, that you are valid, that you are important. You're the best you that you can be. Don't forget it. And until next time, much love, and sleep well.