With Halloween less than one week away, decorations abound in the storefronts. Skeletons with flaming eyes, ghostly apparitions, and wart covered hags with pointed hats beckon consumers to buy Halloween tricks and treats from every corner. Each year their presence reminds me of all the ghost stories that I grew up with. My father worked for the government, and we lived overseas for many years. I was fortunate enough to be able to travel across Europe with my family, and in doing so, learned much about the rich history connected to ancient people and places from long ago.
My father was a great storyteller, and one of his favorite things to do was to gather together my sisters and I, as well as other neighborhood children brave enough to join in, for a night of fantastic ghost stories. I heard them all--The Doll, The Monkey's Paw, The Black Cat, the one about the dead man buried in the wall with still beating heart, as well as stories about spooks and creatures that haunted the various castles and moors that we had traveled to. These stories excited and thrilled me, although I must admit, they caused many a sleepless night, as well as some lingering neurosis such as my fear of dolls.
But I also had my share of real life ghost stories, anomalous events that I experienced that remain unexplained. There was the floating ball of light that my sister saw hovering above my bunk bed, repeatedly calling out my name. There was the glowing figure sitting on the bench, that my father, sisters, and I saw one night out front of the barracks during one of our ghost story strolls. We were not the sole witnesses. Several neighborhood children had joined us, and went screaming home at the sight of the mysterious apparition. And there is still the occasional shadow person who roams my house, seen only in my peripheral vision as I work late at night while my family sleeps.
But what once were anomalous events, unexplained mysteries destined to remain the topic of Halloween conversation for years to come, can now be unveiled through the remarkable technology known as Technical Remote Viewing.
Remote Viewing student Dolores Allegue had been at Stonehenge all day, moving from rock to rock, feeling the smooth, aged stone that had been hewn from the earth in places far away from where they had finally been set. She loved the way they felt. Their cool solid strength against her palm seemed to energize her in ways ordinary stones failed to do. Standing at the center of the circular structure, with nothing but the flat green grass spreading away to carpet the hills that surrounded Salisbury Plain, she could imagine the druids long ago, robed and prepared for an ancient ceremony so sacred, it was never recorded but in the minds of souls long dead.
That evening she and her husband went to the Durty Nelly's Pub near Amesbury, in Wiltshire England. Nestled by the river Avon, the charming town had become a spot for tourists coming to see the nearby ruins. Durty Nelly's was a place to go for a pint, and talk about the day's adventures. It was also a pub where the rich history of the area was recounted again and again by the villagers. For it is in Amesbury where the Abby stands that Queen Guinevere retired to after the fateful day when her husband, King Arthur, was slain by the wicked Mordred. While lore has it that she spent the rest of her days cloistered away in the Abby, devoted to God, it is whispered that beneath the shadows of her devotional habit she still pined away for her forbidden lover, Sir Lancelot.
It was on a mist filled, cool evening that Dolores and her husband drank frosted stout served in wide-bowled, stemmed glasses--sipping the creamy head and listening to stories.
"Would you like me to snap your pic, luv?" the bartender asked in his heavy British accent.
"That would be great," Dolores said, scooting her seat at the bar closer to her husband. Holding up their glasses in a posed toast, the flash went off, and the date was forever printed on the photo, May 22, 2000.
Sometime later, when they were back in the United States and settled after their long travels, Dolores got her pictures back from the developers and sat down with her husband to look them over, reliving in memory their wonderful trip to England, Scotland and Ireland. In the center of the stack was the picture from pub, and as they looked it over, Dolores noticed something strange on the photograph. There were markings on her left hand.
On closer inspection, they appeared to be a combination of red letters and/or numbers, perhaps E S C A? Or was it maybe, E J O X? Maybe, suggested her husband, it said 5 C A? Or 3 0 A? Whatever they were, they appeared to be printed horizontally across the back of her hand. They both knew she did not have the red markings on her hand at the time, and yet they clearly showed up in the photograph? What could they be? Was it a flaw in the photograph itself? If so, the similarity to letters was uncanny. It was indeed a mystery. But it was a mystery that she now had the technology to help explain.
Being a student of Technical Remote Viewing, she decided to use TRV to solve the mystery. Cueing the target: Dolores Allegue's hand/marks/origin, and using the photo as target reference material, she assigned target reference numbers to the cue and posted the eight digit number on PSI TECH's TRV bulletin board, asking for peers to remote view the target blind for her.
One student stepped up to the plate. The results of the session brought chills to Dolores. Reading like a gothic tale from an Edgar Allen Poe story, the session was filled with legend, lore, and ghosts. Keep in mind that the cue was to find out the origin of the marks, and the student did the session blind, having no idea what the target was.
The session began with a shadowed, dark, moving aspect, misty and blurred, which made an eerie "E.E.E.E.E" sound and gave the viewer chills and goosebumps as she perceived it. She continuously got images of a knight, a horse and rider, a mission or castle, a dagger and a spirit. As the session progressed, she perceived emotions at the target site of "get away" and "frightened". There was a bright round object, and again images of mystery, evil, a man, dead, and henchman. The data on the shadow figure was concrete enough to declare as tangible, as it moved toward the man-made structure in the session.
It was at this point that the session sketches became more detailed as the viewer moved from the general to the specific. The sketch of the man-made structure began to take the clear form of a castle or abbey, and the data included misty, foggy, pointed and peaked, and she got images of a church, a tower, a priest, dead, and a knife or dagger, and the word martyred, floating and headless. Again the ghostly apparition appeared in the data, and the viewer became upset and unsettled.
While more remote viewing sessions would have to be done to fully solve the mystery of the anomalous markings on Dolores' hand, the student's session revealed that perhaps the origins of the ghost marks were related to a haunting tale of death and intrigue connected with the local history of the area.
Another student of Technical Remote Viewing had an unexplainable experience while camping with a friend in the wilderness. In his own words, this is his story:
When I was a teenager, my hiking buddy and I had a little cabin in the Colorado Rockies. The original building probably served as a root cellar for a nearby mining operation. When we found the cabin, the roof had long since collapsed. The massive stone walls were still in good shape, cut back into the base of a hill in a valley where a seasonal creek ran cool and fresh. My friend suggested it would be a perfect place to camp on weekends and suggested that we might put a roof on it.
Over a period of about ten weeks we did just that. We were able to scrounge enough useable lumber from a collapsed mine building to reconstruct a roof and an entry door. It was hard work, for there was much we had to haul in the packs on our backs: mineralized roofing felt, tools, nails, hinges, flue pipe, rope, and so on. We built a raised fire pit in one corner with a smoke hood, and constructed bunk beds along the opposite wall. We called it "Hide Hut" and hung a sign over the door. We often hiked there to spend the weekend.
With the creek running much of the year we shared the area with wildlife. The back gable of the pitched roof was only a little above the grade of the hill behind. Sometimes animals would get up on the roof. I can recall at least two occasions when I was awakened in the top bunk by the sound of something walking on the roof. Listening, I could tell it was likely a coyote from the sound of its claws on the sanded roofing material. Since the bunk was close to the underside of the roof, I could just give the roof a kick and the skittish visitor would disappear into the night.
One night we had eaten and were lying in our bunks talking, when we heard an unusual noise outside. It sounded as though it was some distance away, but very odd.
There was a little battery-powered transistor radio playing, and I turned it off and we listened attentively. Being unable to decide what the sound was from inside, we decided to go out. The moment we stepped out the hair on the nape of my neck stood up. The darkness was jet black with the heavy overcast. The sound was intermittent, with long pauses, and was coming from up the hill behind the cabin at a distance of perhaps fifty yards. I never have been able to describe the sound to my satisfaction, but I recall thinking at the time it was hard to be certain whether it was an animal sound or a human sound. I wondered aloud if it might be some strange night bird, but my friend whispered emphatically, "That's no bird!" He wondered if it could be a mountain lion or maybe a bobcat. Feral felines can make some blood curdling sounds that possess a nearly human tonal quality. This sound wasn't like that--or like any other sound I have ever heard.
It was definitely a vocal sound, and what made it really eerie was that it carried a timbre of insanity. It was high in pitch and a little raspy, like an old woman's voice--not quite a wail. Our anxiety became acute. We had only a little pen light, no firearm, and we were literally in the middle of nowhere. It was late night in early winter, which meant it was cold and unthinkable that a person would be lurking up on the hill. Still, there was that almost human quality in the sound. Yet it was no animal we could imagine. The sound was repeated at irregular intervals. We yelled back. The sound didn't change.
Finding a few loose rocks, we threw them as far as we could in the direction of the sound. The stones could be heard crashing through the tree branches and thudding to earth. It was then that we realized the sound didn't stop when the branches were rattling from the stone's impact. This really spooked us! This was not the behavior of any nocturnal animal, as any creature would have at least stopped to listen to the racket our stone throws were generating in its general vicinity. With this realization we decided to go back inside and latch the door as best we could. It was well into the wee hours of the morning before we crawled into bed to make an attempt at sleep. We could still occasionally hear that disturbing sound. I do not know if the sound eventually stopped that night or if I was able to fall asleep before it quit, yet, I do recall my dreams were troubled.
I have never forgotten this event.
The student decided after years of living with the mystery, that it was time to find out what produced the sound. He decided to use Technical Remote Viewing.
The data produced in the session was as spine tingling as the event itself. The source of the sound was coming from outside and was static, fixed in place, and was accompanied by a presence of a lifeform that emanated the emotions of sadness, trapped, stubborn, and mad with grief. The student perceived that the lifeform was not present, in the sense of a "real" person, and associated with the sound was the intangible data of "broken", "not wanting to live", and "afraid to die".
As the session progressed, there were several of these "lifeforms" present at the target site from where the noise emanated. One was moving outside, bending, shaking, walking and turning, with the emotions of anxiety, fear, confusion and anger. There were the intangibles of unknown and eerie associated with this form, and a sense of being angry with a lack of resolution.
The next lifeform at the site was outside also, shivering, and there was a lifting and scrabbling about. The lifeform emanated emotions of scared, goosebumps and confusion, and there was the strong intangible of "other worldly".
Using advanced Technical Remote Viewing techniques, the student then did a further exploration of the target site, and perceived data of a rectangular man-made structure in which there were the emotions of tortured, grief, loss and guilt. The lifeforms became more clearly with the refined data--a woman, a man, and a child or baby. There was fire, and a gun at the target site, and the intangibles of death, utter loss, devastation and abandonment. The data revealed that the male lifeform had confronted the female with the emotions of disgust, and the viewer perceived the strange data from the male lifeform of, "Do what you should!" There was also an intangible of "wanting to punish self".
When all of the pieces to the puzzle were put together, the viewer analyzed the story based on the data. There was a cabin in which lived a man, a woman, and their young child. There was a burning fire. The woman was not at home, off doing an errand perhaps, and the child died in the fire. The man, upon coming home to find the woman sobbing, the structure burned to the ground and the child gone with it, was so overcome with anger and grief that he left a loaded gun with the woman and said, "Do what you should!", then turned and walked away, leaving them behind. The mother, now abandoned and tortured with loss and guilt, took her own life on the hill.
The student now believes after having finally remote viewed the source of the mysterious sound, that it was the mother's wails they heard that night, as her tragic tale of death and guilt haunted the hill above their cabin.
Technical Remote Viewing is a skill that can be employed to every facet of one's life. Some have used it to find lost objects. Some to find their optimum life path or mate. Still others have used it to solve complex problems or crimes. But for me, one of the most exciting uses is for solving mysteries--especially mysteries of a personal nature that have haunted my past. Now that I have the tool, I plan on remote viewing that glowing orange ball, that glowing figure on the bench, and the shadow that slinks down the hall of my house late at night. Whether the data produced in my session proves the mystery a mere figment of my mind, or something altogether unexpected, of one thing I am sure: My ghost stories will never be the same again.
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