Can you guess who it is?

This man was born Ehrich Weiss March 24, 1874 in Budapest, Hungary. Ashamed of his birthplace, he later claimed to have been born in Appleton, Wisconsin.

His family was poor and at the age of eight, he went to work to help pay the bills. He sold newspapers and shined shoes until age12, when he left home and began performing magic, calling himself “Eric, the Great.”

He was a mere 5′5″ with a high-pitched voice, but was extremely athletic and charismatic

Soon he became famous worldwide when he astonished audiences with his incredible feats.

In 1926, a member of the audience asked if he could punch the magician in the stomach to test his tolerance for pain. A few single blows caused his appendix to rupture.  Despite the pain, he continued to perform several shows but after one final performance in Michigan, he collapsed and was rushed to a local hospital.

Both of his homes, in New York and Los Angeles are currently said to be haunted by his ghostly spirit, even though one of them burned down after his death.

Harry Houdini died October 31, 1926 of peritonitis.

“He’s standing there at the end of my bed, but he isn’t saying anything.”

When our beloved neighbor, Henry, and his son, Allen, were in a tragic automobile accident our entire neighborhood was devastated.

We are a close-knit community, have street fairs, barbecues, etc. and have made numerous friends over the years.  Henry died that day and his son was left in a coma for two weeks.  The doctors feared Allen would never wake up.

My husband and I would visit him just about every day, and while we were taking a break in the lounge, one of the nurses came rushing in and said come with me.  She led us into Allen’s room and we were astonished to see him awake.  His eyes were open and he was trying to speak but nothing was coming out.

The nurse gave him a sip of water, and he started to make audible sounds.  Then he looked at my husband and said, “Is my father OK?”

We didn’t know what to say.  Again he said, “Is my father OK?”

My husband looked at me and said, “Yes, he’s OK.”  Then Allen looked a bit puzzled and said, “Why isn’t he answering me?”  I asked what do you mean.  And he said, “He’s standing there at the end of my bed, but he isn’t saying anything.”

We looked but couldn’t see anything.  My husband sighed and took Allen’s hand.  “Allen,” he said, “I’m afraid your dad didn’t make it.”  Allen nodded but said nothing.

Well, Allen recovered.  It took a long time, but he made it.  His mother said he never mentioned it again that he saw his dead father at his bedside.

J. Cantor
Minneapolis, MN

“Her predictions were right on the nose.”

Margaret Mitchell (1900-1949) was born in Atlanta, Georgia which is the setting for her bestseller Gone With the Wind, a story of the Civil War.  The film starred Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh in 1939.

When Mitchell was writing the saga, she said the story was revealed to her in bits and pieces, often as if it were an out-of-body experience.  “Things would pop into mind that I had never considered, and it was as if I had a professional writer at my beck and call inside my head.”

Mitchell also recalled an incident in which an acquaintance who was known for her insight and intuition had foretold of the book’s success years before it was written.  According to Mitchell, this woman could pick your brain and tell you things you didn’t want to know about yourself.”

Mitchell described the woman as extremely bright and someone who could talk to the spirits.  “She told me things about myself I had told no one.  And I had never met anyone like her before or since.”

When the book became an instant success, Mitchell recounted that by this time her friend has passed away.  “But I’ll never forget her words of encouragement during the long, long months it took me to write it.  She would tell me things that would transpire once I achieved fame and glory, and her predictions were inevitably right on the nose.

“It was the most surreal, exciting, and scary thing he had ever witnessed.”

I ran into the house trying to get out of the torrential rain that was about to destroy my umbrella.  It was one of those nasty storms we get here in the Northwest.

After checking my voice mail, I turned on the computer and was taken aback by an email address I hadn’t seen in years.  It was from Susan, an old, old girlfriend of mine from back in my University of Washington days.

Susan was one of those people whom you never really knew how she ticked, and I’m not so sure she ever knew herself.

We had dated for a little over two years, and although she was a joy to be around – and I don’t want to tell you about some of the crazy things we did together – she could be quite trying at times because she would vacillate from happy to sad to happy again, in a wink.

Anyway, Susan said she was going to be in Seattle in a couple of weeks and wanted to get together.  Funny thing is she didn’t bother to ask if I were married; frankly, I don’t think she cared.  She was a free spirit, and that was always part of her appeal.

As it was, I am married, but my wife, Edie, is not the jealous type and she didn’t hesitate to give her blessings.

The evening Susan and I had our mini-reunion, I had to admit it was wonderful seeing her again.  After twenty-two years, she hadn’t really changed much.  She was still trim and energetic, and I thought she was sparkling.

Now I remembered why I had put up with so much of her flakiness for so long in college.

The surprising thing, however, was a story she related to me.  She had come to Seattle to interview a doctor for a book she is writing.

The man is a well-known name in the medical industry and had just returned from a safari in Africa in which he saw a dead man come to life.  And he swears it’s true.  After checking out his sources, Susan believed him.

A local fisherman had been accidentally knocked unconscious and had fallen out of his small boat and drowned.  When his body was recovered a full three hours later, the doctor’s party happened to be there and he confirmed there were absolutely no signs of life in the man.

In fact, he said the man had been dead for quite a while.

However, a witch doctor put the dead man on a slab, began chanting, and dancing.  To the doctor’s amazement, the dead man started to regain color and started breathing.  He said it was the most surreal, exciting, and scary thing he had ever witnessed.

I had heard stories about these things because my hobby is paranormal activities, but I was always skeptical.  Not any more.

As for Susan, we renewed our friendship and the next time she’s in town, we’ll have her over for dinner.

B. Towne
Seattle, WA

“Arty was an old buddy from high school who had died years earlier.”

Arty and I used to hang out together.  We were the best of friends and he used to eat most of his meals with me and my family.

Arty was into motorcycles and tragically was killed when a passing car hit him head on.  He died instantly.

Everyone who knew him was devastated because he was the type of person who had no enemies.  He was likable, easygoing, and loyal to a fault.  It was this latter quality that may have caused his early demise.

You see, Arty sometimes hung out with the wrong crowd.  His cousin, Jamie, was not a particularly nice person, and, in fact, had more than one run in with the law.  But Arty felt that because he was related to Jamie, he owed him his loyalty and friendship.

I had warned him about getting too close to someone whose character was questionable, but Arty felt he could put Jamie on a straight path.  It turns out that the night Arty died, he was running an errand for his cousin, and they had been drinking earlier in the evening.

The autopsy showed Arty had a high level of alcohol in his blood, and the police report indicated that Arty’s motorcycle had possibly strayed into oncoming traffic.

Arty died a little over two years ago, but on more than one occasion, I have felt his presence, particularly late in the evening when I’m alone.

One night, I swear I saw the outline of his figure hovering over me when I was lying in bed.  Another time, I woke up to see the end of my mattress sink in as if someone was sitting on it.  And another time, the bedroom door slammed shut and I saw the outline of his figure again.  Yet the windows were closed and it couldn’t have been caused by a draft.

I miss Arty and somehow I feel his spirit feels it was done an injustice to which I heartily agree.

E. Passman
Erie, PA

“Maybe the spirits that infest that place had it in for only me.”

I want to relay a story that happened to me recently, and it was so strange I can hardly believe it myself.  So, if you are skeptical after you read this, well, I can’t really blame you.

My name is Martin and I am a contractor.  I build homes and I also refurbish homes as well.  I can take a fixer-upper and turn it around faster than almost anyone else in the business.  And it is this latter skill of mine that almost cost me my life a little over a month ago.

A young couple had contacted me, asking me to work on an old home they had recently purchased with the idea of fixing it up and selling it for a quick profit.  That being my specialty, I was happy to offer my services.

What I didn’t know was the place was haunted.

Well, I’ve never believed in that sort of thing, and when I was told that spirits inhabited the place and that a murder had occurred there a few decades earlier, I didn’t give it a thought.

When my crew started tearing down some walls and really getting into the thick of things, strange things started happening.

At first, the accidents were relatively harmless.  One of my workers tripped over a two by four and narrowly missed falling on a sharp piece of metal stuck in the ground.  An electrician got a pretty bad shock, but after a few moments he seemed to recover quickly.

It wasn’t until my ladder, for no reason whatsoever, seemed to be knocked from under me, leaving me literally hanging from the side of the roof.  It was then that I started to sense that forces beyond my comprehension were working against us.

I cautioned everyone to be extra careful and to work on the buddy system, to stay together and to be aware of any pitfalls.  But one afternoon when we were wrapping things up, I got the biggest scare of my life.

Without warning, the bathtub from the upstairs bathroom fell through the ceiling missing me by inches.

I can’t tell you how fast I got out of there, and I told the couple that I simply wouldn’t go back in the house.  I felt bad for them because it was a nice piece of property, but I’d bet my life it was haunted.

I’ve been told that they did have the work completed by another crew, and maybe the spirits that infest that place had it in for only me.  I’ll never know, and I don’t want to find out.

M. T. Gianetto
Orlando, FL