This month's topic: Paranormal themes run rampant through fiction across many genres.
Are you a believer in the paranormal or a skeptic? Have you ever experienced (or known someone who had) a paranormal experience?
Funny she should ask, because I have. Although I haven't really crossed into the genre, per se, I have a couple of time-travels that hints at things paranormal. Now that I think of it, both of my novels play with people from the old west era who get caught in some type of time-travel warp that brings them to the modern day and all the wonders we take for granted.
In my first time-travel, "Time Tantrums," my pioneer wife exchanges places with a modern-day attorney (female) who is just as stunned to find herself without all her appliances and make-up, and can't fathom why the man who believes her to be his wife doesn't understand simple terms like "Lexus, Cell Phone, taxi, and mascara."
Although I haven't been swept into a different time period, I have had a few experiences I can't explain. After my grandmother passed, I was staying with my Mom and went from upstairs to down and walked through a cloud of Bengay, which was Granny's favorite cologne. *smile*. I called up to my mother and asked her what she was putting the pain cream on and she didn't understand what the heck I meant. I decided sharing the "cloud"was Granny's way of letting us know she was still with us and was okay.
After my father passed away in the home he and my mother shared, my mother eventually sold the home and moved. The woman who purchased the home knew in great detail despite never being told in which room Dad passed, where he sat and ate breakfast, even which side of the bed he slept on in the bedroom. She claimed he was still in the house and the places she sensed him were always ice cold. She was always accurate. I just can't believe after so many years of being married to my mom that Dad would live with another woman. I'm not sure how long he stayed, but it would be just
like him to be stubborn enough to remain in a home he warned my mom never to sell.
My sister has recently been in touch with a 'medium' and through her, my sis learned that Dad is no longer with Wanda, the homeowner, and now he seems to keep a good eye on what's happening in my sister's life. He sure has been a busy guy since he left us.
Taylor’s head pounded with pain. Trying to focus, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times, then propped herself up on her elbows. Everything looked foreign. The room was bright and cheery, but things appeared very old fashioned. She fingered the patchwork quilt covering the bed, and puzzled over the antique mirror hanging above an old-time washbowl and pitcher across the room. An incessant ache throbbed in her temple.
Where was she? What’d happened to her? A zillion questions raced through her mind.
“David!” Her call for her husband resonated pain in her head. “Where are you?”
She slid off the bed. Her legs wavered beneath her, and she clung to the bedpost for a time. After regaining her equilibrium, she weaved across the room and peered into the mirror. A massive bandage covered the top her head; black circles ringed her swollen eyes. She didn’t recognize herself.
“Boy, I look like hell,” she muttered.
As she raised her hand to touch the bandage, the door behind her opened, and she spied the reflection of an unknown man.
“Mariah, sweetheart. You’re finally awake.” He crossed the room with open arms.
Taylor spun and faced him. Feeling disoriented, she shook her head. “You have the wrong room, sir.”
His brows arched. “Mariah, what are you talking about? What wrong room?”
“Look fella, I’m not Mariah. Evidently you’re in the wrong place if you are looking for someone by that name.”
The stranger rushed over and took her in his arms. “Oh my sweet angel, the bump on your head is worse than Doc Samuels thought.”
Taylor shoved him away. “Take your hands off me. Who is Doc Samuels, and who in the hell are you?”
Suddenly, the room spun. Her stomach turned queasy. Needing to sit, she staggered back to the bed, her gaze still assessing the stranger.
“I’m Frank… your husband.” He followed her, his head cocked, his eyes clouded in confusion.
She swallowed. “Excuse me? My husband’s name is David... David Morgan. I don’t know who you are, mister, but you must be the one who bumped your head if you think I’m your wife.”
“Well, if you aren’t, then just who might you be?”
“Taylor Morgan. I live in Denver. Can you please tell me where I am?”
“You’re in Colorado, about two hours from Denver City. Don’t you remember?”
“Two hours? How in the hell did I get here?”
Frank’s eyes widened. “When did you start cussin'?”
“Don’t worry about it, just answer me. How did I get here?” Her last nerve frayed, and he plucked at it.
“Don’t you recall? We were going to town in the wagon—”
“Wagon? What the hell would I be doing in a station wagon?”
Frank took a deep breath. “I ain't got a clue 'bout no station wagon, but we were going to town, and Jacob needed to pee. I think he disturbed some rattlesnakes and they spooked the horses... Sound familiar?”
Taylor’s mind raced. Who was this loony? “Who is Jacob? Wagon? What horses? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Frank... is it? Look, Frank, I have an idea. Why don’t you just call me a cab and I’ll get out of your way.”
She looked down at the tacky nightgown she wore and wondered who had removed her clothing.
Tugging at the sack-like shift, she let out an exasperated huff. “If you’ll just retrieve my things, I’ll get dressed and be ready to go when the taxi gets here.”
For your next stop...hop on over to Beverley Bateman's blog and see what she has to say about the paranormal experience.