posted on Sep, 19 2007 @ 03:19 PM
Me and my father, we see them. FREQUENTLY.
My father doesn't like to talk about it. Every time he sees one, he freezes. My mom usually asks him "What? You've seen one" and he just nods in
approval and keeps doing whatever he was doing. "It's gone now.". Once, he came to me and asked me if I also saw those things (we never talked
about it before.) and I said yes, and rather frequently. He said that "it's not of the big ones that I'm afraid of, but of the little ones. The
little ones are just freaky."
What scared me is that me too, I see big and little ones. They play around the house, peeking behind doors, getting really close and then
disappearing. I am not as afraid of the little ones as I am of the big ones. The little ones seem not innocent, just inoffensive, but the big ones are
tall and massive and scare the crap out of me. You see them blurred (but you see them) with the corner of the eyes, or sometimes head on, but they
don't stay in sight when you see them. They run away. Some stay until you change your position. Sometimes I think I've seen my dog under a table.
Then I get distracted and it is gone, only for me to go looking for it and finding out that he was locked on his cage for a long time.
I went to spiritual advisers that categorized me as a medium (whatever, I;m not really convinced of what I see. There is a scientific explanation for
everything), and explained to me that I may see them only if I want to. So I live in denial of that fact. I keep it away from myself, or I'll just go
crazy. It usually happens at night and not always around dark spots, and when I don't see them, I just know that they're there. I feel it through my
spine. And I just start to sing to scare away the fear.
When I was about 5, we had a house on a mountain zone in Brazil. I had just woken up, and since I was a tad small, I could only see people from the
waist down. And there she was, right on my face, my mom wearing a white sleepwear. She went to the kitchen, and I followed her calling for her. Then
she disappeared. I cried. When I got back to my room, my mom was there all the time, my real mom, in the restroom. My father was just staring at me
baffled by whatever just happened. I remember saying "mom, but you where in the kitchen" or something like this... That story is told and retold by
my family, the only one that doesn't remember of it is my sister, who was 3 at the time.