2 Frightful Tales of Paranormal Encounter

*~ Ghost on the Mountain ~*

The most real horror encounters are those that alter the sound of your voice such as what happened on a breezy cloudy afternoon back in August of 1973 to a group of campers from Chicago who were hiking a remote trail at Mount Denali in Alaska.

The leader of the group suddenly and totally without explanation stopped in an abrupt halt in the middle of the rugged trail that followed the dangerous edge of a stony ridge that fell dramatically away into a precipitous drop of over a thousand feet straight down into the cold shadows of a rock-strewn gully. The athletic young man was struck dumb by a mysterious unseen force.

He stood rigidly motionless for a few seconds then turned to those behind him with a ghoulish blank stare in his watery gray eyes whence he began chanting in the melancholy voice of a dead little girl from Bulgaria named Violeta Fidahnka who had been horrifically slain in the unspeakable carnage that befell the unsuspecting innocent victims when an enemy bomb exploded, utterly obliterating the village she lived in, during World War II. The disembodied voice of the sad tragically murdered little girl spoke through the afflicted man's throat, warning the intrepid campers not to hike any further along the perilous trail they were on.

The eerie abnormal behavior of their fearless leader was so bizarre that just to be on the safe side, the campers altered their route to follow a different hiking trail. Nobody knew exactly what was going on, but one thing was certain - they all had a bad feeling about that wilderness excursion.

A few days later when they returned to the resort at the base of the legendary mountain, they heard the ominous news that, on the very day of their disturbing paranormal encounter, a massive avalanche had thundered down the ridge along which the ill-fated trail they had been warned away from meandered. If they had ignored the dead little girl's ghostly dire warning, they would have all been buried alive, crushed to a bloody pulp beneath the unimaginable suffocating weight of millions of tons of merciless freezing snow.

*~ Vixen in the Elevator ~*

My most interesting story of meeting someone in an elevator happened late one stormy night when I was coming down from my top-floor penthouse apartment alone in the elevator with a hideously bizarre young lady whom I had never laid eyes on before. Scantily clad in streetwalker costume of bikini top, mini skirt, and spike heels, her navel was bulging huge because she was obviously in her third trimester of pregnancy. She had '666' tattooed on her forehead. On the inside of her right thigh in blood red ink was 'Sign of the Beast'.

Needless to say, I was terrified of her. I was extremely anxious to reach the lobby and get out of the elevator and as far away as possible from that dangerous-looking girl. I made up my mind to inquire at the front security desk how such a luridly threatening vagabond could have entered the building.

She seemed to know what I was thinking, because with a sadistic grin on her cherubic face she asked if I wanted to hear her baby sing.

"What?" I replied, not believing my ears any more than my half-shut eyes, which I cast askance in an effort to avoid her devious gaze.

"Do you want to hear my baby sing? She's got a beautifully harmonic voice. It calls mystically from a place of shadow and fear - elegant confusion and exquisite pain reaching out to your very soul with the strong hand of the Prince of Darkness. Her name is Lilith."

I was dumbfounded. My tongue refused its office and I was perforce silent. From a backpack slung over her seductively exposed shoulder, the foreboding young woman yanked out a stethoscope. Placing the diaphragm on her bloated pregnant belly, she jabbed the eartips into my canals. I was shocked and sickened to hear a faint squeaky voice prattling incessantly. I could actually understand what the eerie little mutterings were crooning. A haunting song, a ghoulish ballad, a brooding lament that flowed forth from the womb exactly like this -

"I don't want to go to Palermo, I don't want to see Sicily, my heart has been stolen away by a girl from across the sea, her Messina eyes that hypnotize make me dream of love from heaven above, so many years gone by at night her cry in moon quill fronds of waving date palms lost on the sulking shore of the moaning sea where in sinking sand I grasped her hand yet under she went my heart full rent those negotiators of ages in wheat field graces wait at the cross roads where the suicide buried face down with the witch howls elixir alone in the picture in the tomb of the slain where the ghost remains seeking with watching eyes the hollow wind sighs and remembers the face stalking the traveler that calls her soul as in nights of old when the gambols of the crypt skeleton plant the secret of the changeling under your bed and in your closet you won't have to wait long now the time of her destiny is at hand, the old house is falling down amid her tears, she's nothing but a memory of the years."

At that moment, the elevator abruptly halted its rapid descent, dinged its pert tone, and the doors opened. The grim girl violently snatched the stethoscope out of my ears then slapped me hard right across my face. The sudden sharp sound cracked like a pistol shot. My ears were ringing, my right cheek was swelling puffy red inflamed fire hot. The coppery taste of raw blood filled my gaping mouth. The vixen leaned forward and leered threateningly up into my dismayed wide staring eyes, "If you ever do that again, you sicko pervert, I'll report you to security!"

The terrifying young lady then stepped briskly out of the elevator, marched in a huff across the smoothly polished lobby floor, and out through the glass doors into the howling wind, crashing thunderbolts, and pouring rain of the violently stormy night. The memory of that horrid nightmare experience causes me no end of grief and anguish. I fear I may never know the meaning of that unholy mystery. An unseen element is stalking my life.

This is the morbid encounter that compelled me to write the paranormal occult novel Cloak of the Devil.