I was almost fourteen, it was early 1987. My mom and I had just moved outside of Chico California. I decided I didn’t want a bed in my room because it was tiny. Just a two bedroom cabin under a tall cliff with three crosses perched on it. I had lived there about three weeks, sleeping in the hammock I had installed above my desk and dresser. My older sister had gone to Mexico on a cruise with her husband and they left their Chow dog, “Teddy Bear” for me to take care of while they were gone. I decided I was going to sleep down on the ground with “Ted” since I was tired of my hammock and I didn’t wanna leave him alone on the floor.
I had just laid my sleeping bag and pillow out, at an angle with my feet towards my window and my head a couple feet from my bedroom door. as I wiggled my way down into my sleeping bag, I remember looking over my right shoulder at Teddy Bear, laying on the floor with his eyes blinking slowly. My room was low lit by my stereo. The power was on but no music was playing. I had just laid all the way down and pulled the cover up to my chin.
Not more than three minutes had passed when, as if someone was standing under my floor with a sixteen pound sledge hammer in hand, swung it and hit just under my feet. without a sound, but with the sudden thrust of a man swinging it with all his strength, my feet were slammed off the floor. My legs stayed straight, hinging at my waist they flew about eight inches or so off the floor... Now... It was so sudden and so unexpected, I didn’t really react. I only recall taking a quick breath in as I stared at the ceiling. Instantaneously, as I gasped air into my lungs, a sudden burst of power came from underneath my shoulder blades. It felt like someone was laying directly under me and shoved me out of rage. The whole top half of my body flew off the floor about five or six inches and, as I slammed back to the ground I couldn’t do anything but try to take in another breath. I remember looking at Ted as he laid there, eyes closed, peaceful and still. I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and prayed that God wouldn’t let the devil drag me into hell. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I could only pray. I didn’t cry, I think I was too scared to cry. I just laid there, head covered, and waited to be grabbed by whatever force had just shoved me off the ground twice in ten seconds. When I woke up the next morning, my reasonable mind began to think of all the logical reasons for the experience. The problem was there was no logical reason. I got up and went outside to look under my bedroom floor through the vent under my window. As I shined the flashlight through the rusty wire mesh, all I could see the was dirt ending about eight inches below the floor joists and sub flooring where my carpet laid on the other side. Impossible for the kris crossed boards to be moved, I... to this day.... can’t explain it. I lived there for three more years, never once having another experience. Not a single strange sound, nothing came up missing, or moved. I left that house with that one single mystery. To this day I can’t explain it. I grew up on Cemetery Hill in quincy and have a hand full of strange stories of doors slamming, weird sounds, faucets turning on, footsteps and phones ringing with no one on the other side... but nothing I can really explain. I believe whatever you perceive to be real is real to you. The problem is, sometimes our perception can be distorted and skewed. This leaves me just wondering. I wonder if it was real? I wonder if I remember things truly the way they happened? I wonder why kids seem to have more of these experiences than adults?
I have always been intrigued by "ghost stories" though I'm skeptical of real ghosts. Even though I have had a few happenings, and even the one I just told you, a physical, real experience... yet I am still skeptical.
I am looking for your stories. I don't want your opinion. I don't want your beliefs. I don't want an explanation. I want actual, real happenings, things that happened to you, not your friend, mom or anyone else you know. I am looking to compile real, first hand ghost stories. Please send your stories, unembellished to my email: Paintings@gogueart.com
If your story is real, and intriguing enough I will contact you for publishing rights to be used in a book of ghost stories and art.
Thank you for your time and consideration for this project. Please keep it real friends.
Jeff Gogue
