spirit

Do Not Disturb

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes my husband and I have shared paranormal experiences.  This is a story about something that happened to us when we were in college together.  To read more about Father William, please see Dorming With Ghosts: The Many Spirits of Marillac Hall. 

In keeping with last week’s post, I wanted to share another event that occurred in Marillac Hall a few months after the séance.  Sometimes Marillac could get so quiet that you would feel like someone was watching you.  Whenever I was alone studying in my room or staying up late writing a paper in the small lounge downstairs, the silence would get eerie.

Marillac is situated at the bottom of Marillac Hill.  You get a marvelous view of the Hudson River right from the front door.  Removed from the majority of campus traffic, Marillac offers a place of solitude for both students and spirits alike.  Neither the dead, nor the living appreciate noisy neighbors.  If you wouldn’t want a ghost banging doors and stomping around to all hours of the night, then be assured that the spirits would like some peace too.

My roommate and I had a large room that had originally been a lounge.  In terms of size, it was one of the biggest dorm rooms on campus.  The suites surrounding us were smaller, single rooms that were connected by a short hallway that included a private bathroom.  I had to go up an additional set of stairs to get to my room on the fourth floor.  Being it was separated from the rest of the building, it was naturally quieter up there.

While the rest of the dorms are more modern in style, Marillac Hall was designed to look like a stone mansion complete with two separate wings.  On my side, there were two main ways to get to the first floor.  The most direct route was to go down a narrow hallway that passed by a room that was used as a storage closet.  In the previous post, I told you about Father William.  He is the spirit of a priest who used to teach mathematics at the college.  He supposedly haunts this room because he lived there when he was alive.  Since the séance, we had routinely said “Hi” to Father William whenever we passed by his door.

George, who was my boyfriend at the time, lived in another dorm on campus. Since he was not a resident, I had to escort him to the bathroom and take him downstairs when he was ready to sign out.  One night, I was walking him out when we heard a lot of commotion coming from the third floor.  Someone was having a party, but the music was too loud and there was screaming and shouting going on too.  It was already midnight and quiet hours were supposed to start at 10pm.

“I wonder why the RA hasn’t said anything about the noise level,” I said.

“Well, maybe the priest’s ghost will do something about it.”  George grinned mischievously as we approached the hallway to Father William’s door.  “Go get them, Father,” he said.

“That’s not funny, George.  Stop kidding around.”

Just then we heard a loud creak.  We stood petrified as the door to the hall’s storage closet slowly swung open on its own.

“Nice going,” I said to George.  “You summoned him.”  I made George turn around and go back so that we could use the other stairwell.  After that incident, I always took the side route through the dorm’s kitchen at night to avoid going by the haunted room.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send me an email to theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview.  I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

For more ghost stories, paranormal phenomena, and updates, follow Tara Theresa Hill on Facebook and on Twitter at @TaraTheresaHill.

Want to show off your passion for ghosts with a little fashion flair?  In celebration of The Ghost Post’s 1 Year Anniversary, I have launched a Café Press store featuring The Ghost Post’s official new mascot, Spook. 

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The Presence

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ 2 Comments

Thanks to Regina for this story!  To read Regina’s first story, please see A Medium’s Rite of Passage.

Most of the houses in Regina’s neighborhood in North Philadelphia were built during the early 19th century.  It was rumored that some had been constructed over an old cemetery, so there was no surprise that the town had a reputation for hauntings.  Regina was about eight when she started noticing strange things happening in her house.

The previous owner of Regina’s home was an alcoholic who died while living in the house.  Sometimes, Regina would see a male apparition.  One day, Regina came home and saw a man sleeping on the couch.  At first glance, she thought the man was her father.  Then she watched as the figure got up, walked through the closed door, and down the block before fading away.

The dining room was also known for strange activity.  Sometimes in the middle of the night, disembodied voices could be heard among the tinkling of the chandelier as it swayed back and forth.  The floor had a mysterious stain that couldn’t be removed.  Regina’s parents constantly tried to cover the dark mark, but it always managed to come through whatever carpet that they laid over it.

The eeriness permeated the rest of the house’s atmosphere, but only Regina and her sisters seemed to notice.  As a young child, Regina was afraid of going upstairs by herself, especially at night.  There were two chips in the paint that looked like gaping eye sockets.  Even with her back turned, she felt like they were watching her.

Her parents’ closet door would open on its own.  Outside their bedroom was a perpetual cold spot about five feet in diameter.  It didn’t matter what time of the year it was, the iciness was always there and light always left the hallway in shadow.

One Easter, there was a terrible fire next door that caused extensive smoke damage.  Regina’s family decided to move a few months later.  A suffocating, almost violent feeling hung in the air as they packed up their belongings.  Regina’s father went to drop some things off at the new house.  On his return trip, Regina decided to go with him.  Her mother, Rachel, and brother, Janiero, stayed behind.

After Regina left, the temperature in the house continued to drop until it was so cold that her mother and brother’s teeth were chattering.  Janiero had to use the bathroom.  They heard a creaking noise coming from upstairs.  Looking up, mother and son watched as Regina’s bedroom door slowly closed on its own.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

Follow Tara Theresa Hill on Facebook and Twitter at @TaraTheresaHill for more updates and paranormal phenomena!

 

My Haunted Vacation

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ 4 Comments

Dear Readers,

Happy Haunted Holidays from The Ghost Post!  Please be advised that this will be the last post for 2016 as next Sunday is Christmas.  The Ghost Post will resume posting new stories on January 2nd, 2017.  I have a lot of new things in the works for 2017, including a ghost story magazine.  Please stay tuned for more real ghost stories!

Best,

Tara Theresa Hill

For our five-year wedding anniversary, George and I decided to go to Washington, D.C.  We both love history and he wanted to see the space exhibits at the Smithsonian.  Since hotels outside of D.C. were cheaper, we stayed in a hotel in Virginia and drove into D.C. each day.  I can usually count on at least one ghostly encounter per trip.

One of the attractions that we did was called Monuments in the Moonlight.  This was a nighttime trolley tour of D.C.’s national monuments.  Some of the scheduled stops let you out to explore.  The tour included a drive through Arlington National Cemetery.  Since it was already dark, they didn’t let us get out of the trolley.  The trolley was an open-air one, so that you really got great views and pictures as they coasted by the monuments.

I was leaning with my fist on my chin, gazing out at the cemetery.  My reverie was broken by the appearance of a glowing figure.  At first, I took it to be a statue of a Civil War soldier that had been lit up somehow.  I saw the uniform with the buttons down the front and the cap.  I even noted that he had a handlebar mustache.

“That’s an amazingly detailed statue!” I thought to myself and shifted around in my seat to get a better look.  The figure was gone.  We had only just passed by it, so I should have been able to see it.  I turned to my husband.

“Did you see the glowing statue of the Civil War soldier?”

“No.  What statue?”

I pointed behind us.  “There in the woods.”

“Honey, statues don’t generally glow.”

Then it hit me.  I hadn’t seen a statue at all, but a full-blown apparition of a Civil War soldier on the eve of the 150th Anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg.

 

Black Socks

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ Leave a comment

Thank you to my mother, Lady Rhea, from Bronx, NY for this story!

Rhea was born and raised on Cruger Avenue in the Bronx.  After she got married, she moved into her first apartment in 1970.  Her parents lived in the same building directly across from her.  They could peer through their windows and tell that she was awake if they saw her lights on.

Rhea used to go downstairs to do her laundry at her mother’s because her parents had a washing machine in their apartment.  She would then carry the laundry back upstairs to hang to dry in her place.  Since her husband, David, had an office job in Manhattan, Rhea was always washing black dress socks.

A few months had passed since Rhea and David had moved into the apartment.  Rhea was doing the weekly laundry.  She had laid out six pairs of black socks on her white bedspread in two neat rows.  She grabbed three pairs to put them in the drawer and then turned back for the remaining three.

Only two pairs of socks were left on the bed.  Rhea paused.  “Where the heck did the third one go?  I know I had two rows of three,” she thought to herself.

After searching in vain for the missing pair, Rhea shrugged, and finished putting away the laundry.  She was home all alone.  She didn’t have a cat or dog that could have stolen the socks while she wasn’t looking and her husband was out on an errand.

Two weeks after this incident, Rhea came home to find the missing pair of black socks sitting on top of her bed.  She always made the bed before she left for work in the morning.  Freaking out, she ran downstairs to her mother’s apartment and told her what had happened.  She thought that perhaps her mother had found a pair of David’s socks in her apartment from the last time that she had done the wash down there and had returned them to her.

“Did you go into my apartment while I was out, Ma?”

“No, Dear.  I only go up there when you’re home.”

“Well, David is still at work and he left before me, so he couldn’t have done it.”

Her mother shrugged, ever the realist.  “Maybe you just forgot that the socks were there.”

“I would have remembered if I had left a pair of black socks in the center of my white bedspread.  No, they definitely weren’t there before I left this morning.  Someone or something put them there.”

Rhea already knew that her apartment was haunted.  Friends who came over would comment on seeing the shadow of an old woman sitting on her couch.  Rhea describes her as being mostly see through, like a photo negative, rather than a solid, full-blown apparition.  Some thought that this could have been the spirit of Rhea’s grandmother, Rose, who had also lived in the same apartment building until she died.

Rhea was right about the sock incident.  This wasn’t the last time that things would vanish on her only to show up months or even in some cases, years later.  But that’s another story!

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

Follow Tara Theresa Hill on Facebook and on Twitter at @TaraTheresaHill for more updates and paranormal phenomena!

The Ways of Ghosts

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ Leave a comment

Thanks to Don from New York for this story!

Don lived in the same house in Williamsburg, Brooklyn from 1980 until this past June.  The house is estimated to have been built no later than 1812.  It has three floors, a sub-basement, and is connected to a separate brick building.  Don’s landlord lived in the brick building.

Once when the landlord was away visiting family, Don heard footsteps coming up the stairs.  Thinking it was someone attempting to break in, he armed himself with a bat and went to investigate.  Creeping along, he finally reached the stairs only to find that no one was there.  After a few more repeats of this event, Don started saying hi to the invisible spirit whenever he heard the footsteps.

Don’s girlfriend, Alyssa, had a different encounter with the ghost.  Alyssa is the thirteenth generation of psychics in her family.  One day, she told Don that the ghost in the house had come to her and complained about what was going on in the sub-basement.  Don wasn’t aware of anything happening, but he decided to mention the incident to his landlord.  The landlord was astounded.  As it turned out, he had been setting off bug bombs in the basement and the ghost had not approved of it.

Three years after he had been buried, Alyssa’s uncle’s body had to be exhumed.  Noting that he looked better than he had when he was alive, Alyssa asked Don for a reading to see how her uncle was doing on the Other Side.  Everything went fine during the reading.

Later that night, Don was awakened by the presence of someone lying beside him.  Don jumped out of bed to find the spot next to him empty, except that the blankets seemed slightly raised.  Don and Alyssa mentioned the incident to Alyssa’s aunt who was then ninety-eight years old.

She laughed at them.  “Don’t you know better?  Doing readings about the dead draws them to you.”

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story!

Follow Tara Theresa Hill on Facebook and on Twitter at @TaraTheresaHill for more updates and paranormal phenomena!

If you enjoyed this article and would be interested in supporting my work, please check out my Patreon page. 

 

 

 

The Haunts of Lorain County

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ Leave a comment

Thanks to Michelle from Ohio for this story!

Michelle comes from a psychically gifted family that is of French, Native American, and Irish descent.  She lives in a house in the countryside in Lorain County, Ohio.  While the house is relatively new, she believes that the ground might be cursed because of the swirling energy vortex at the bottom of the house and the high levels of spirit activity in the area.  Older buildings and farmhouses surround Michelle’s home.  There is a cornfield and creek nearby the house, as well as an old church on the corner.

Odd things have happened in Michelle’s house.  Her phone continuously malfunctions for brief periods of time.  She has had the phone inspected, but has not been able to find a reason for the strange reoccurrence.  At times, a growling can be heard coming from under the family table when there is no dog or other animal present.

Two apparitions have also been seen.  The first one is of a little blonde-haired boy from the early 1900s.  Locals believe that he is the ghost of a young boy who died mysteriously somewhere on the property.  There is also the figure of a woman wearing a dress from the 1920s who first appears to be waving, but then a look of shock comes upon her face.  Some think that these two ghosts share a connection of some sort, although the exact story is unknown.

Within a mile of the family’s house is an intersection of highways that are the cause of many accidents.  People have seen various ghosts and entities along this road.  There have been reports of Native American spirits, shadow people the color of translucent smoke, orbs, and gremlin-like creatures.  This strip of highway is thought to be a portal that spirits use to cross over into our world.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

If you enjoyed this article and would be interested in supporting my work, please check out my Patreon page. 

 

“Told you that we have a ghost.”

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ 1 Comment

Soon after we got married, George and I moved to Yonkers, New York.  The apartment was a large studio with a walk-through kitchen and a wide hallway that led to the bathroom.  The hallway was so big that we turned it into a mini-library and storage area for some of George’s Star Trek models.

Having grown up in Yonkers until I was about eleven years old, I was happy to be back in my old neighborhood.  The building was from the 1920s, although the city itself dates back to the mid-1600s.  There was even an old Jewish cemetery located a few blocks from our apartment building that was usually kept locked.  The earliest gravestones had dates from the 1950s.

One night, about two weeks after we had settled in and unpacked everything, I was walking by the bookshelf when one of George’s toy Star Trek phasers went off by itself.  To say I nearly jumped out of my skin is an understatement.  I ran out of that hallway so fast that I’m sure the ghost must have been in a fit of hysterics.  This happened a few more times, including a couple in front of George.

Our second year there, George and I decided to throw a Halloween party.  A few of our friends came over and we all dressed in costume and played some board games.  We also gave out candy to the trick-or-treaters.  I had told my friends about the events in the house.  I had by this time taken George’s electronic toys and stuffed them in the closet so that I couldn’t hear them if they decided to go off on their own.  Some of my friends were skeptics, some believed me, but we were all in for a surprise later that night.

Everyone was standing around, saying their goodbyes, and getting ready to go home.  I had just finished telling them that I was in the middle of writing a ghost story that was quickly turning into my first novel.  Then inexplicably, our TV turned itself on.  No one was near the remote or standing by the TV.  This was one of those older television sets with a built-in DVD player from the early 2000s.  You had to press the power button firmly to get it to turn on.  Everyone looked at me.

“Told you that we have a ghost.”

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

If you enjoyed this article and would be interested in supporting my work, please check out my Patreon page. 

The Fighting Spirit

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ Leave a comment

Thanks to Dan from Minnesota for this story!

Our friend, Dan, came to visit from Minnesota recently.  He and my husband, George, grew up together in New Jersey.  A fellow writer, we were talking about our current writing projects when I asked him my favorite question: Do you have any good ghost stories?

Dan used to be a Loyalist Revolutionary War reenactor.  One time, his unit was set up in Mount Holly, New Jersey to reenact the Battle of Iron Works Hill.  This was a battle fought during the Revolutionary War that included the Loyalists, Hessian soldiers, and the American Revolutionaries.

Sometime before the performance, the Loyal American Regiment and some of the Hessians had a falling out.  This resulted with the Hessian Jaeger reenactors not being present for this battle because the Loyal American Regiment was the unit hosting the event.  While a part of the infantry during the Revolutionary War, Hessian Jaegers specialized in being scouts and snipers.

Dan’s group, the 4th New Jersey Volunteers, became a flanking unit to make up for the other soldiers’ absence.  As he was going down the side streets, Dan caught a glimpse of Hessian Jaegers marching behind him in the rearview mirror of a car.  Hessian Jaegers wore green coats with red facings on the cuffs and a red trim on the sides of the jacket.  When he looked back, he saw that they were not there.

“Must have imagined it,” said Dan to himself and continued with the battle.

The atmosphere was so intense that day, that even some townspeople started joining the Revolutionary reenactors shouting, “The British are coming!  God save the King!”  After the fight was over and the American Revolutionaries were defeated, Dan and the other Loyalists cried out, “Huzzah!  God save the King!”  Out of the corner of his eye, Dan caught the distinctive red and green marks of the Hessian Jaegers again.  Turning around, he saw a whole group of them cheering on the British.

Dan leaned over to a friend of his, “I thought the Hessian Jaegers weren’t coming today.”

“What are you talking about, Dan?  They’re not here.  They never showed up.”

When he went to point them out to his friend, the Hessian Jaegers had disappeared.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

If you enjoyed this article and would be interested in supporting my work, please check out my Patreon page. 

 

 

 

The Banishing

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ Leave a comment

While this story is my own, I have changed the names of those involved to protect their privacy.

Growing up with Wiccan high priestess, Lady Rhea, for a mother made for an interesting time.  Aside from glittering Enchanted Candles, crafting perfumes, and giving clients psychic advice, my mother occasionally performed banishing rituals to remove negative energies from close friends’ houses.  This was much different from the spiritual cleansings that she did to purify a space.  These spells involved deeper, older magick.  For those of you who don’t know, Wiccans and Pagans often spell magick with a “k” to differentiate from the stage “magic” that magicians use as entertainment.

When I was a teenager, a close family friend of ours, started experiencing a lot of problems.  Anne had a big house with several people living there.  Over a few months, her family experienced a slew of bad luck with illnesses, financial setbacks, and a rise in heated arguments.  While various circumstances could lead to this happening, Anne felt that something in the house was “off,” so she asked for my mother to give her a reading to see what was going on.

Mom shuffled her cards and turned them over.  Taking a final drag of her cigarette, she shook her head.  “Oh, no…This is not good.”

“What is it?” asked Anne.

Mom turned over more cards.  “What I’m going to say might sound ridiculous, but I need you to listen to me.”  Anne nodded.  My mom paused before continuing, “The cards indicate that there is something inside of the house that is causing the problem.  It’s a negative entity of some sort.”

Anne’s adult son, Peter, who was also seated at the table turned his head at this news.  He said that he had recently woke up and saw an apparition of a bat-like creature with a human face hovering over his bed.  He hadn’t mentioned it before because he thought it was just a nightmare.  Mom looked back at the card reading.  She turned to Anne’s son.

“Can I see your room?”

He nodded.  Even I tagged along upstairs.  After hearing Peter’s story, I didn’t want to be left alone.  Mom entered the room.  After a minute or two, she nodded.  “Yes.  Whatever it is, it’s upstairs and it generally stays in this room.”

We went back downstairs.

“What can we do?” asked Anne as she made more coffee.

“You can light some white candles and incense to help cleanse the space, but ultimately, I’ll have to do a banishing spell for you,” said my mother.

I almost choked on my soda.  Mom always prescribed candles, prayers, incense, that sort of thing.  She only spoke about conducting rituals for serious problems.

“Great,” said Peter.  “I’m staying downstairs on the couch until this thing is gone.”

After Peter went to hang out with some friends, Mom asked Anne about the history of the house.  A large, three-story, white, Victorian house, it was the kind that you see iced with snow on picturesque Christmas cards.  The house had been remodeled in the years following an older relative’s death.  Mom asked if there were any strange events that had happened in the house.  Anne said that there was one.

The last owner of the house had met a tragic end.  Two hours before his daughter’s wedding, he had excused himself saying that he would be right back.  While everyone was in the house getting ready, he left the car engine running and sealed himself inside the vehicle with the windows shut.  Without any warning to his friends or family, he had committed suicide on the day that his daughter was to be married.

“Why’d you even buy the house?” I asked, after Anne was done telling the story.  I was about fifteen then.

“TARA!” Mom glared at me.

Anne laughed.  “It’s okay, Rhea,” she said.  “We didn’t find out until years after we bought the house.  Some neighbors told us.”

Later on, I shivered as we got into the car.  Even though I had been over Anne’s house hundreds of times, I was afraid that the ghost of the dead man was going to jump out at us in the driveway.

“Could Anne’s neighbors have made up that story?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” said Mom, “But I don’t think so.  That negative spirit has caused trouble before.”

“What are we going to do?”

“It’s okay,” said Mom.  “We’re going to get rid of it.”

“How?”

“You’ll see.”

The first thing Mom did was call our coven members.  She told them that she needed their help doing a special favor for a dear friend of hers.  They all knew about Anne and were happy to help.  I had already been initiated and since we needed as many people as possible, Mom decided to bring me along.

A few days later, our coven met at Anne’s house.  We went upstairs to the second floor where all of the bedrooms were located.  My mother turned off the lights and then lit some candles.  She and her partner cast circle to help protect us during the ritual.  Then we all started running clockwise to create a cone of power while chanting a Wiccan banishing spell that is sacred to my mother’s coven.  As we did this, we were running past the bedroom doors which were all standing wide open.

At one point as I was running past Peter’s room, I saw a pale face glaring back at us from the dark.  The apparition was about three or four feet off of the floor.  The face glowed white and had three dark spaces where the eyes and mouth should be.  I didn’t dare break the chain and by the time that I had come around again, the thing was gone.  After the ritual was done, I mentioned the incident to my mother.  One of my older friends who was also in the coven turned to me.

“You saw it too?”

In addition to the banishing spell, we also said prayers that night to help the previous owner’s spirit move on to the light.  After the ritual, everyone was much more at peace in the house and Anne’s family life returned to normal.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

If you enjoyed this article and would be interested in supporting my work, please check out my Patreon page. 

A Grave Message

~ Tara Theresa Hill ~ 1 Comment

Thanks to Linda from New Jersey for this story!

As mentioned in an earlier Ghost Post, Her Daughter’s Guardian Angel, Linda has psychic abilities.  This often results in prophetic dreams, which frequently spook her family.  This particular incident happened when Linda was in her late twenties.

In St. Raymond’s Cemetery in Bronx, NY, there is a mausoleum that holds several generations of Linda’s family.  Linda’s great-grandfather, Carmine, set this up so that the family would always stay together.  Great-grandfather Carmine’s son, called Papa Nick, was deeply fond of his daughter-in-law, Vera.  Vera is Linda’s mother.  Even after her mother and father divorced, Papa Nick stayed close with Vera.

One night, Linda had a dream where she heard Papa Nick call out.

“Vera, help me!  I’m drowning!”

This dream occurred two times in a row.  When she mentioned the incident to her mother, Vera said that Papa Nick must be trying to tell them something important.  The most confusing part was that while Linda was the one having the dream, Papa Nick kept calling for her mother.

After the second dream, Linda called her father to ask how Papa Nick had died.  Was it at sea or on a boat?  He answered that her grandfather had died of a stroke.  When he asked her what had brought this question up, Linda told her father about the strange recurring dream.

“Maybe you’d better go visit Papa Nick in the cemetery and see if everything is okay.”

Her father promised that he would go check.  The next day he called and explained what had happened.  He had gone to the cemetery to find that a sewer pipe had backed up and flooded the mausoleum floor.  One of the coffins floating in the water was Papa Nick’s.  Thankfully, they found out in time and none of the coffins were damaged.  It just goes to show you that when spirits want to make contact, they will find a way.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

If you enjoyed this article and would be interested in supporting my work, please check out my Patreon page.