If we adhere to theory -- ghosts are deceased humans, while demons and angels are not of earthly origin. Both are known to have stronger powers than your average ghost. You'll find a demon more apt to move objects and possess the human body, just as you'll find an angel more awe inspiring and willing to help the suffering human condition than a ghost.
The following chilling story is from the annals of the now-defunct Lancashire Spiritualists Society, which was based in Liverpool, England, until 1939.
There stands a Victorian house in Bidston on the Wirral in north-west England, which was once the scene of a disturbing supernatural incident that allegedly occurred in 1920. The house was bought by two sisters who had been left a substantial legacy in 1919, and their names were Victoria and Margaret Webster. Margaret was 19 and Victoria was 24, and they originally came from Neston, but heard about the beautiful terraced house in Bidston after the death of their father, a wealthy shipping magnate who left his daughters thousands of pounds. Mrs Webster had died after giving birth to Margaret in 1901.
The following story is about an evil discarnate being which may have been responsible for thousands of deaths in 18th century Liverpool, England. The tale is the most incredible one I have ever researched, and it suggests a sinister conspiracy in high places. It all began in the early 1970s.
One wintry night in 1972, the Joneses, a family of four in Old Swan heard a faint regular thumping noise which sounded like a human heartbeat. The strange pulsation seemed to be coming from below, and getting stronger by the minute. By midnight, the throbbing vibration was driving the Jones family to distraction. The budgerigar became hysterical in its covered cage, the family dog started to howl, and the goldfish swam around their tank as the weird pulse shook it.
The first time I realized we had a ghost in our house was one summer day when my siblings and I were sitting in the washroom. I always heard stories about there being a ghost in the house, but as the youngest thought they were only trying to scare me. The washer and dryer were right next to the stairs that led down to the basement. My brother and sisters determined to prove our house was haunted, had us all gather in the back room to be certain it wasn't a trick.
My oldest sister began knocking on the wall. There was an immediate response from someone knocking in the basement. This continued for several minutes, but soon the gentle knocks from the basement turned into bangs. The bangs stopped and we heard footsteps coming up the basement stairs. We immediately proceeded out of the room, but before we could get out, the door began to close. We pulled it open and ran into the living room. After that it was deadly silent.
In the month of May, 1866, Liverpool was hit by a cholera epidemic which killed hundreds. One of these unfortunate victims was a beautiful raven-haired girl who'd just turned 16, and her name was Maureen Allen. Maureen was the youngest member of an Irish family that had recently settled in Rose Place in the Everton district of the city.
Maureen was laid in a coffin, and the Irish custom of observing a 'wake' commenced, even though the authorities were opposed to this, because they didn't like the idea of a body that had died of cholera being put into an open coffin, but the Allen family told the powers-that-be to mind their own business, and the wake went ahead, as did the ritual drinking, feasting and lamentation, which went on all night during such occasions. On the evening of the wake at around 7 o'clock, every member of the Allen family headed for a pub in Great Homer Street to drown their sorrows. George's 19-year-old niece, Shannon, who had only been in Liverpool for a week, volunteered to mind the house.
They were not even close to the main camp when the sandstorm storm hit, blasting hot sand into their eyes, hair, and skin. The wind whirled above, around, and under the hasty shelter the two cowboys had set up, offering no protection at all. They took small sips of water every hour or so to relieve the dryness of their throats and to shift about to keep from being buried completely under the sand.
This story takes place about 15 years ago. My husband and I were living in Phillipsburg, New Jersey. This is the only time I can remember having a psychic dream.
The dream started out with "me" facing a 20-something-year-old woman and she said defiantly, "I'm not afraid of you." She was sitting on a couch in a living room looking straight at me. I realize I'm seeing this whole thing through the intruder's eyes.
My huband and I moved in to a house in Greeley, Colorado in March of 2009. About a month ago, we were getting ready for bed, turned off the light and the tv, when we heard a noise coming from the dresser that's by the foot of our bed. The dresser has metal handles. It sounded like someone was lifting the handle and letting it drop.
In Greek mythology, a satyr is one of a troop of ithyphallic male companions of Dionysus with horse-like (equine) features, including a horse-tail, horse-like ears, and sometimes a horse-like phallus. Early artistic representations sometimes include horse-like legs, but in 6th-century BCblack-figure pottery human legs are the most common. In Roman Mythology there is a concept similar to satyrs with goat-like features, the faun being half-man, half-goat. Greek-speaking Romans often used the Greek term saturos when referring to the Latin faunus, and eventually syncretized the two. The female "Satyresses" were a late invention of poets — that roamed the woods and mountains. In myths they are often associated with pipe-playing.
I am both open minded and skeptical. I think there is so much fake stuff out there that its hard to pick out threads of fact or perceived reality from fantasy and conjecture. There have been a few occasions of what are or seem like paranormal events in my life. I have a few stories, and I think most people have at least one thing that they keep. They are often intended only for us. This particular event definitely caused me to change my at times cold and aetheistic view of reality. In fact, it seems that when I slip into this frame of mind at points in my life, it is then that some little thing pops up to flip me out and say: this is not all that there is.
.jpeg)
.jpeg&description=The Annoying Poltergeist){kind=link}
