Living Ghosts

I’m Home! The Ghost of my Living Mother.

14 July 2017 | Audible Activity, Living Ghosts, Your Stories, Your True Encounters

Having only recently issued a new Kindle short called Ghosts of the Living, I am always on the look out for a certain kind of experience story these days that fits into this category. I just found this one on Reddit. What do you think? This happened YEARS ago. ~10ish years. I was probably 11 or 12, and my sister was a year younger. We were in elementary school, and would take the bus home and let ourselves in. My mom would show up 10 minutes later when she get out of work. And we would know she had gotten home because every day she would open the door and say “I’m hooome!”. She did this every single day. One week though, there were 3 days that she needed to

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My Doppelganger?

09 May 2017 | Living Ghosts, Your Stories, Your True Encounters

Just last week, I was on Reddit asking people for Poltergeist experiences and came across this strange story. To me this is a classic, doppelganger or bilocation just like those I discuss in my last book Ghosts of the Living….. This happened a few hours ago, still scared to go downstairs. I’ll preface this by saying I have been hearing faint voices and seeing things out of the corner of my eye, although I kind of assumed this was from lack of sleep (I’m a student with a load of homework, I can’t afford the luxury of sleep…). Nothing else has happened in our house. My brother (10, we’ll call him Mark) and I were home alone for a few hours late at night. Basically, our house has two down

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A Voice in the Night

27 January 2017 | Living Ghosts, Your Stories, Your True Encounters

Recently, I wrote about my interest in ‘living ghosts’ in our newsletter. One of our subscribers kindly responded with this strange but touching story of a voice in the night…. My mother, grandmother and little brother had come to visit me in Paris. It was one of those hit-and-run weekenders, where they arrived late one Saturday morning and left early on Sunday afternoon. There was no time for them to come out to the village where I lived and worked, a short train journey outside Paris, so we celebrated my twenty-first birthday in Montmartre. It was a tearful leave-taking; it had been wonderful to see my family for the first time in a year. My mother and I had always been very close; so close, in fact, that more often

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