posted on Aug, 6 2009 @ 12:18 PM
I was 14 when I had, what I consider to be one of my more significant paranormal experiences. My parents went out of town for vacation, and my
brother and I hosted a party. We drank hard liquor, which was usually Crème De Menthe or Amaretto, or whatever we could steal from our parents’
liquor cabinet, without them noticing. To the best of my recollection, we drank some off brand of whiskey called, “Fighting Cock”, which, by the
way became the catch phrase for this event. The drinking ended early in the morning. I remember very little about the night, except that I huddled
up on the living room floor near the fireplace, to fall asleep, only to awaken with vivid memories of a dream about a fire. When I sat up, I looked
around the room, littered with partygoers, all of whom were asleep. I turned towards the fireplace and saw an image in the flames that was both
peaceful and terrifying. I remember screaming and crying, but in my memory, I was dreaming that this was happening, and that everyone around me was
still asleep. It seemed like it only lasted for a split second.
In actuality, it went on for like 10 minutes, apparently I was chanting and screaming, incoherently. I kept saying “crash” and “fire” and
lots of bizarre things that were really out of character. Elle, was a year older and one of my brother’s good friends, consoled me, and we became
very good friends after this party. She told me more about that evening than anyone else, because she didn’t really drink much. “My” episode
was talked about a lot, especially at parties, where people would joke and ask me if I was going to flip out and start “speaking in tongues”.
Four years later, I was a senior in high school. I was getting ready to leave for co-op work duty, when I heard our town’s emergency siren that
would alert volunteer responders, in the small town where we lived. They were responding to the call for my friend, Elle, she was killed in a head on
collision, just a few miles out of town. She and another single car driver were killed instantly in the crash, her vehicle, was completely
incinerated by fire.
Two weeks before the crash, Elle visited me at school, without warning. I skipped out of my accounting class and we walked around the school. There
were these inspirational, news, public service announcement posters lining the corridors. This particular monthly edition focused on drug and alcohol
addiction, with a focus on 60’s musicians, all Elle’s favorite’s; Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, and Jimmy Hendricks, all who died, according to
her “way too young”. I remember she commented on each and every poster, and after spending nearly an hour reading and discussing the posters and
life, and how short life is, she left. I was at peace, but filed with an incredible feeling of loss. That was the last time I saw her, alive.