I received these stories from an anonymous poster:
The first incident I recall was in 1975. I was at an old house in San Antonio. A couple of college friends lived there, but the house was about to be condemned so they were throwing a huge, boozy party one last time. Rumor had it that the house had been a bordello, but college kids and creepy rumors inevitably go together. Anyway, it was old, creaky, and huge. I went upstairs, and crept down a hallway with multiple doors on each side. I opened the door, and there was daylight.
And I saw two men arguing. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I sensed it was about a woman. Apparently, they could not see me. Both men were in their late 20s, early 30s. One man was Latino. The other man had blond hair, and his shirt collar was open and sort of hanging weird. (I learned later this was probably a detachable collar, although I'd never heard of such a thing.) The Latino man pulled out a knife, and suddenly the blond man had a gun in his hand and shot the other man in the chest. Then, it was night again, and I could hear the party going on downstairs.
In 1981, I was visiting a friend in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. We went to a bar, located in the basement of an old, historic hotel. (I was not drinking alcohol.) Suddenly, the bar was gone. I was in a quiet room. In the room were two tables that looked like hospital exam tables. There were white sheets on the tables, and the room felt very clinical and sterile. I don't recall seeing anyone in there; just the room with two beds. And then...the bar returned. I asked my friend (I was pretty excited) what he knew about the history of the place. "Was it ever a hospital?" I said. But he knew nothing about it. This was in June. I couldn't stop thinking about what I saw, so in late October of that year I wrote out something much like what I've just shared, and put it in an envelope addressed to "Local Historian, c/o Eureka Springs, AK". I also enclosed a stamped, self-addressed envelope. All small towns had a "local historian" I figured. I mean what did I have to lose?
A couple of years passed. I moved to another apartment. Then, one day, my former land lady called me to tell me a letter had arrived at my old address. (Which in itself was odd, because she had never contacted me before.) I drove over to pick it up, and I was momentarily confused when I saw it, because it looked like my own handwriting! Of course, it was, and I had entirely forgotten that I'd ever sent it. Inside was a letter from, indeed, the local historian. Somehow, it had made its way to her. She explained that she had wanted to reply months ago, but the letter had fallen behind a dresser. She had just found it, and wrote back immediately. In the letter she said that the basement had served as a makeshift morgue during the Civil War, and that the room I had been in had served as the embalming room. She was really excited, and asked me to come back sometime and tour the town. But I had learned what I wanted to, and just let it drop.
After that, all sorts of small but odd things happened periodically. I would see the former occupants of a house, and sometimes even get a sense of who they were. For example: I would see a young woman who had lived there, and I would know that she very fond of a young boy. He was not a relative, but she felt very sisterly towards him. I could see them clearly (I still remember her cloche hat she wore, and how cute she looked.)
Some times I would smell things. One winter, when I lived in Scotland, my husband and I were driving in a particularly barren area. We saw an old castle, and a sign that said it was part of the Scottish trust. When we arrived, it was closed for the winter (this was 1993 or 94), but the caretaker drove up and kindly let us in to look around. I had been in many, many castles, but this one viscerally creeped me out. I had to leave one room, and I made my way to the lowest level. I relaxed once I was down there, because I could smell delicious bread baking. I did find that odd, but we all love that smell! A while later, the caretaker and my husband came down there, and I asked why they were baking bread today. My husband said he didn't smell anything. The caretaker just looked bemused, and told us that the area had once been a kitchen. Nothing had been baked in there for hundreds of years...
The last experience I will share is my most memorable. It happened in the Valley of the Kings, in Luxor, Egypt. It was 1996, and we were at the Ramaseum, a wonderful site of toppled statues, ancient ruins, and a still-functioning nileometer. I walked out onto the excavated foundation of something, just a scraped-out square of sand surrounded by what looked like the remains of a low wall. I stood in the center, feeling the heat of the blazing sun, throat dry and raw from the dust.
Suddenly, I felt cool water trickling over my feet. I actually jumped from the unexpected feeling. The water level didn't quite reach my ankles. Above me were banners of colored cloth, stretched across a pergola. There were also fluttering flags along the sides of the structure. The floor was at an incline, and a wide stream of water flowed from the elevated side down (using an Archimedes screw, although why would I know that then?) and people were seated in low chairs and benches, talking and enjoying the feel of the cool water. It was absolutely the most refreshing thing I have ever felt. Then, it just went away. I was back in the unshaded sun, and I was actually a little emotional because the moment was gone.
I did contact a couple of American Egyptologists, hoping to find one who was familiar with the Ramaseum. No one ever answered me back, so I just shut down and gave up.
