Spooks, Spectors, And Nonsense

     As the days grow colder, the nights much darker, it's easy to feel that holiday cheer warm your heart. Hot  Cocoa, warm fires, and the pleasing glow of a neighbor's obnoxious lawn decoration. But I'm not here to talk about that.
     Even with the season of giving upon us, my interests still fall into the category of creepy and eerie: the paranormal. A few posts ago, as well as the large discussion of why I write, seen on my blog, I mentioned my interests in ghosts. They're the unknown figures that stand in the hallway late at night; the watchful eye over your shoulder even later at night, or even the hand that grabs you during the day, and turning to look you find no one there (let's at least hope you find no one there. Society's full of creeps these days).
     But it's not the fear that draws me. It's the idea of a possible living, once-breathing creature still roaming Earth, unknown and unexplainable. While that does tie into the fear, it only draws me in further, and forces me to discuss the activities present with others. Of course, that's easier said than done--who wants to talk about ghosts other than that one guy?
     My interests started as a kid at my grandparent's home. It was on the edge of East Los Angeles, and each night there would be the occasional footstep, creak, or even shudder. Of course, our grandpa enjoyed staying up during the night, and he did drink, doing random stuff at random times, but most of the time it wasn't home--all the times I stayed up it wasn't him. Other than that, my time with the paranormal was restricted to television specials on Travel Channel, which, believe me, were far better than some bro's swearing at ghosts and laughing at each other.
     But then I got into acting, which allowed me to travel to well-known, and sometimes old, desolate places. We filmed a deleted-scene for Constantine in the pool of the KnickerBocker Hotel in Hollywood, California, which has reports of Marylin Manroe's spirit appearing all over the hotel in lobby mirrors and upstair rooms. On one cold night I was filmed at the Universal Backlot, and footsteps could be heard where no one else was walking. I was able to visit places I had only heard of being haunted, and it gave me a rush.
     After a few years, my family and I started to take trips to San Francisco, which is such a beautiful, regal city--but it's haunted, too. I've always wanted to go across the bay to the prison, Alcatraz Island, but they would have to pry me away from the island by my cold, dead hands. On the way home from the bay, we always stop by The Winchester Mystery House, a towering feat of architecture built by the blueprints of spirits.

The house was owned by Sarah Winchester, and, supposedly due to the spirits of her father's company, she was forced to build the house in odd, difficult pathways, confusing the spirits.

     Believe what you feel on its construction, the home itself has had many visitors arrive and encounter paranormal occurrences. During the one hour, above ground tour, we were at the part of the mansion that was destroyed during the San Francisco earthquake. Part of the house had crumbled, as well as had a fire, but eventually it had been rebuilt until Sarah Winchester's death--it still remains unfinished to this day. While in that wing of the manor, a fan, plugged into the wall, stopped suddenly, turning off. Nothing else was affected--lights, etc--and upon leaving that spot, the fan started to spin again. Another year, me and my mom took the behind-the-scenes tour, which forces you to wear hardhats and travel underneath the home. It was creepy, but upon reaching a certain room, where the sun should have beamed through the glass, warming us, we all were hit with a solid cold breeze out of nowhere, the room shivering. "Cold spots," as investigators title them, are a sign of spirits entering a room, or being present. The tour continued on, and that spot was never cold again when we came back--as it should, having no air vents or open windows.

     In my own home, I've experience walking in to find my dumbbell weights stacked vertically on my chair; I've woken up to find my bed sheets tugged away and at the other side of the room; I've walked outside my room, late at night, to feel someone sitting in the living room, staring at me, watching me in the darkness before sending me back to my room, still feeling followed. 

     Nothing has happened for the past two years, and I'm thankful for that--I like my ghosts, but not as much as I love my sleep. I've been looking into visiting The Queen Mary, a haunted cruise ship in Long Beach, California, and spending the night in one of their haunted hotel rooms. For now, however, my time with the paranormal is kept mostly to my stories, looking for ways to creep others out and to further understand them. Who knows, by writing more eerie, mind-racing horror stories, I might bring some spirits over to visit me. I just hope they know and follow my sleep schedule.