Sep. 24, 2018

HER NAME WAS HARRIET...SHE WAS A SPIRIT...AND WE LIVED TOGETHER...IN HER HOUSE.

I posted a photo of "Harriet's House" on my website's home page. For some reason, I was unable to post it Simply, Sally...with the article.....hmmmmmm.

Many unexplained happenings took place after I moved into the house on Sycamore Avenue in Shrewsbury, New Jersey.  To list them all, I’d need to write another book. I recall being alone in the house, late one night, and seeing a blurred spot of light moving up, down, around and across the dining room windows.

On closer inspection, the light appeared to be traveling inside each pane of glass—not on the inside or outside of each pane—but inside the glass itself. It was beyond frightening.

Another night, unable to rest, I moved to the bright and happy atmosphere of the spare bedroom. Because each night seemed more  suspenseful, I decided to create my own little world of security by closing the bedroom door. Feeling myself slip from reality to a timeless realm of sleep, it was, at that moment, when I both heard and felt the voice whispering deep inside my ear: “Help me, Help me, please help me....I need you to help me!” It was a woman’s voice and—I heard it as well as felt it. The voice seemed to travel down an unseen wire which was being pushed deeper and deeper into my ear and it hurt.

The wire felt hot, my ear and neck ached; the panic in the woman’s voice sounded frighteningly real. Her message, playing over and over inside my head, wouldn’t stop; it gripped me with both pain and fear. I sensed death and darkness surrounding me.

Like watching a large TV screen, I both saw and heard the woman’s voice reaching out, begging me from a deep grave. I pictured the woman buried alive, frantic for me to free her.


I had to get away. Jumping up, I ran to the bedroom door and grabbed the doorknob. Nothing moved—the door’s handle refused to turn either way. Everything appeared locked, frozen; the moment was a nightmare but I wasn’t dreaming. I was completely awake and the woman’s voice wouldn't stop---begging me to help her.

I struggled with the door. Suddenly, like magic, it popped open and everything seemed back to normal. Like hanging up a phone, the voice ended and I stepped into the lighted upstairs hallway.


The next morning, remembering details from the night before, I realized the voice I’d heard was Harriet’s voice; Harriet was begging me for help. Harriet lived in the house.

After experiencing more heart-stopping incidents in the house on Sycamore Avenue, it was clear the house would never be mine. I also accepted I would never be the same person, ever again.

The final straw came when, early one morning, feeling ill, I decided to stay home from work. Almost asleep, the home phone rang beside my bed and, all alone,  I answered it. There seemed to be no one on the line except—I heard someone talking on the downstairs hall phone.

Concerned, I raced down the stairs to discover the downstairs phone was off the hook. When I picked up the phone, the line was dead—not even a dial tone. I hung up the phone and immediately heard a woman’s voice talking on the upstairs phone!


Crazy-scared, I ran out the front door and across the street to the only neighbor I’d met on Sycamore Avenue, a woman named Dolly. Luckily, my neighbor was home. She agreed to follow me home and examine the problem.

When we returned to the house, every phone receiver—upstairs and downstairs—was off the hook. Completely unnerved, I stood near the front door while Dolly placed every receiver back on the hook. Speaking matter-of-factly, Dolly asked if I’d let her contact an acquaintance, a clairvoyant friend named Bea from upper New Jersey.

Desperate, I quickly said: "Yes!  Please see if she can come today"!!!

TO BE CONTINUED.  Join me-- right here-- tomorrow, after 5pm, to hear more about my experience with Harriet.

(Excerpt From My Book: The Beauty Queen, Let No Deed Go Unpublished.)