Penn Castle; Built 1888; Notice old Marilla (Mrs. Penn) at lower left. We had arguments over whether that was old Reverend Penn on the top porch or not, but it seems to just be vines.

Orb I caught in one of the dining rooms of Penn Castle. Indeed, most "orb" photos are actually DUST. In my opinion, folks, this one is real. The builder of the house,William Penn, not only has a portrait hanging in this very room, but also had himself depicted as a knight or a saint in one of the stained glass windows, has ink 'pens' repeated throughout the house, cast into the newel post, on one of the stained glass windows in the upstairs chapel, and a pen on the weather vane on top of the chapel roof- as a theme of his name. So if this is a spirit, it is surely him! There is a pane of stained glass built into the front parlor wall on a hinge, with a light behind it, that says "Prophets Chamber." (Yes, there is no apostrophe, and there is a period!)

But I am sidetracked. This was not intended to be a blog about Penn Castle (of which there have been a few which were lost on other now defunct sites). This was and IS to be a brief account of some of the ghosts I have met in my life.
Instead of remembering and writing it all over again, I have found in my old lost email account the blog I did before, and I'm copy/pasting it,  so if you've known me long, it's a repeat.
Thank you kindly for your interest in my long drawn out blogs.
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I have been asked to tell you a few of my ghost stories. You can choose for yourselves whether or not to believe what I tell you. Just keep in mind that I am a pretty honest person, I hate a liar, and I have no reason whatsoever to ever lie to my friends. Especially about something so important to me, because I have seen these things all my life, and I only know what I have experienced. I might not believe me either if I hadn't been there...
My earliest memory is of McAlester, OK, ... of whispering voices coming from my parents' bedroom which I clearly remember from when I was about 3-5 yrs old. The room would be empty with the family all in the 'front room' and I heard it coming through the doorway lots of times. It sounded like those EVP 'ghost sounds' people record. Lots of whispering all at once. I can't listen to those. It still scares me. Later in life, I mentioned it and my mom and sisters said yes, that was a spooky old house and Mom and Dad's room was the 'scary room'. Other than that I have wonderful memories of that house.
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~Skip several years...

My Dad was a Navy man so we moved every few years. After OK we spent five years in a small Louisiana town, still known for its haunted old plantation homes. The one we lived in cost my folks $50.00 a month to rent. It is the house in the picture, only it was pale green when we lived there, when I was 8-12 yrs old. The house had 'history' and my parents were friends of the couple who owned it. They were colorful people- he had once been the sheriff of the old town and she was an antique collector and renovated several old plantations.
It is a wonder that I wasn't harmed there. I learned years later that the ladies of the town had marched up to my mother's door, and told her they would not tolerate the large amount of money that she was paying her 'help' because their own maids were 'getting uppity' because of it, and if she did not pay Ida less money, then a cross would be burned in our yard!!! My parents were just paying the maid fairly for what they felt her services were worth. Dad had then retired from the Navy as Chief Pharmacist and was heading a Blood Plasma Research business. So they had a little more money then. This was the 1960s when segregation was just ending, and most everyone had a black maid. I never knew anything about what had happened till I was grown up years later. I remember Ida though! She got to appear in the movie Hurry Sundown (Jane Fonda) which was filmed there in that town. So I can still see her if I go rent the movie.
The house was a beautiful two story old home with giant live oaks covered with Spanish Moss and Azaleas and Camellias and Wisteria grew everywhere. The house sat on three acres one block off the main street. I spent much of my time high up in a Mimosa tree, or playing marbles (I still have my marbles- the ones I didn't lose anyway) or hopscotch (REALLY!!!) with my many friends, or wandering the wooded part of the yard (alone... again I marvel I was not kidnapped or killed)... or finding old bottles (which I still have- GOOD ones!) My mother ran the Campfire Girls , so I was lucky enough to have that and a lot of friends which I mentioned before. School was okay. I had fun at recess. I wan those stupid 'popularity contests' that they used to do at that time and got my picture in the yearbook a lot. I am not bragging, just telling you I did have a life, and for some reason it wasn't at all spoiled by the little trauma I faced each night.~The dream...
Your average nightmare with slick wood floors and socks that slip when you try to run... of getting up and walking towards the bathroom when something dark and scary comes out chasing... I run, with difficulty till I get even with the big closet door, and the door flies open and there is FIRE, like hell in there... GASP - I wake up.
I am awake. I am only 8 (or 9, or 10,...) and I don't fully realize that the shape of a man who looms over my bed is not really supposed to be there. But he stands there and looks down at me sadly. His clothes seem tattered somehow and he is dark. In my child's mind I called him "frankenstein". Well, ol' Frankenstein didn't exactly give me a nice warm fuzzy feeling, so, covered in goosebumps I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work, only came out a whisper, and I eventually must have simply passed out from terror, because that would be it... till the next night, and the night after that, and the next, and every night that we lived in that house. Because the same exact sequence would occur every time. And not really realizing it was a ghost I was seeing, and half-believing it was normal, I would talk about it to my friends, which might explain why none of them keep in touch with me any more since we grew up. I always looked for old places that gave me that 'feeling' but I still don't think I really put it all together until we moved away.
My sister, who was away in Tulsa at college, came home once, and slept in my bed. She woke up screaming hysterically and sobbed for hours. I remember my Mom trying to comfort her. She would never tell what she had dreamed, and now she denies remembering the episode. I remember it. And I'm pretty sure I know what she saw too.
Later my Mom and sister told me that the stairway and the upstairs rooms scared them too, and they sometimes just could not go up there. I used to fight my way through the fear and force myself up there! I would defiantly go in that upstairs room, the spooky bathroom adjoining and sometimes even the attic, which was behind this arched door. There was an old trunk up there which I have now. After a while I would just be scared shitless, and would almost fly down those stairs in a panic.
The owners later told my mother, when she asked them, that the house had had a tragic fire in the Civil War, and the end where my room was had burnt. The owner had died trying to rescue his little daughter.
That was the most frightening and longest haunting I hope I ever have to experience.
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~The Man On The Horse
1984 - One child in school and one sleeping baby... Long days of, in between chores, wandering alone around the rural East Texas farm we managed for a time in exchange for a place to park our travel trailer and live... big old semi-abandoned farmhouse, later to burn to the ground, aw... but then its porches had the gracefulness of memories of the family who must have built it, and the generations of life there since then, large old grandaddy oaks kept it shaded through the sweltering heat... old barn, old well, nothing but the sounds of the chickens and guineas and geese and turkeys and peacocks and ducks and dogs and pigs and horses and cows and goats and birds and the breeze sighing through the trees... 
I was behind the barn, walking through some wheaty kind of stuff when I looked at the road and I saw a man on a horse, sitting there, the chestnut-colored horse's tail switchin and I swear I heard it snort, which was very ordinary because the people up and down the road out there all own horses and ride around all the time, so it was an every day thing to have somebody like old Howard from down the way stop and chat. I waved and was making my way thru this tall grass ...I remember it was windy because that yellow colored straw stuff was blowing like waves, and when I got to the fence and looked up-
THERE IS NO ONE THERE. NO MAN ON NO HORSE.
Nobody at all. I felt strangely abandoned. Very much alone. I still remember the feeling. 
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~I have had many more incidences which I can never go into, because I have just had so many brushes with the other side, that it isn't possible or necessary to tell every single incident, though I view every single instance of the supernatural enigma I have seen as a wonder and a lucky miracle of the natural universe. 
I appreciate being granted an ability to see. I have EVEN been personally taught by several talented souls, angels if you will... who deemed me (us) worthy enough, through the most intensive series of dream visitations to impart the ability to play an instrument... and to be hired into a really tough-led no-jivin band, for which I (we) had absolutely no background, and played pro for a decade- let's not forget Scott, who was with me the whole way, also learning to play, and we even shared these dreams lots of times.... during two years ...all by osmosis.
Journals I wrote during that time have amazing truths in every page. Prophecies, pictures (I drew one of this very house we now own), letters to people then unknown to me... Friends online who I see hard evidence of psychic connections with every day! A wisp of cigarette smoke when my Dad's been dead for years... Other strange happenings at my mother's house that everyone in the family sees. Stuff going on with me right now. This all shows me that there is a lot more to the world than this life we suffer. There really is. This is merely a chapter. Energy does not die. It transfers, and the dying is only a transition. I have been given all the proof I need within my own self. So I feel secure enough to post this, and let you know what I have seen. And you can think I'm nuts. It's okay. I probably wouldn't believe me either. Maybe...
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Somebody Else's Old Photographs

I love old photographs. ALL old photos! They hold secrets and mysteries that sometimes can be deciphered, if there is writing on the back, or if they happen to accompany old letters. The people in the photos are frozen in time, their images captured at one moment in their lives, forever preserved, long after there is no longer anyone alive to carry any memory of them at all. Long forgotten people, who are now just dust, who were once just as alive as you are now. People who had someone who loved them enough to take their picture. Who somebody loved enough to keep photos of them safe forever in a special box of keepsakes. And who until now, have long been forgotten by time. If they knew that there would still remain these small traces of their existence, for strangers to peruse so many years beyond their passing, what would they think- if they cared at all?
A few years ago, I rescued a whole box of forgotten post cards and Valentines and Christmas cards that were moldering in an abandoned shed next to our house in Austin, Texas. They belonged to a deceased old lady named Leora. I recently unsealed the box which had been packed by me and taped up since about 2002 or so. To my great joy I found some old photographs in there among the cards and letters.
Amazingly, no one else in my house has any interest in even seeing the pictures I am scanning, or any curiosity at all about what I am scanning or why. How can they NOT be?
I can't tell if some of the men might be the same person.
Please be sure to click on the images for the full-size version! Thanks for looking and bringing their memory  back to life for another moment in time.

Apparently the man in the above picture is receiving a severe caning. He must have misbehaved!

Here is a slight mystery... I thought he might have been a fine soldier from WW1. At least the uniform seems to be a WW1 uniform. I think... But then I see Boy Scouts and also Park Rangers dressed like this.. so maybe Park Ranger?

               A young man, nicely dressed.

                      A young lady of the 1920s.

         A dapper young gent poses for a photograph.

Come ride with me Lucille, in my merry Oldsmobile... or whatever it is.

                                Faded love.

                    Happy Mom and Baby.

Baby. Maybe fire ants did not exist back then. I love the old house in the background.

   Man sitting on the roots of a big old tree.

Two ladies in Austin. The back of the photo has a stamp that bleeds through.. it says: "ELLISON PHOTO SERVICE, April 18, 1935, AUSTIN, TEXAS, Guaranteed not to fade."  All the ones that say this are really faded!
((NOTE: If anyone sees this and recognizes any of the people in the pictures, get in touch with me and I will happily send you the photos.))I will be scanning and posting some more out of this box.. some clippings and postcards and old greeting cards. Hope you enjoyed these.

Timothy Patrick Graham 1955-2005

                       Scott's brother Tim
What really happened on August 19th, 2005, Tim's 50th birthday...
At the time of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita:
Tim lived outside of Nacogdoches Texas on a 2 acre piece of land that he owned free and clear. He was poor and didn't even have electricity. It was a killer heat wave.
We lived in Austin at the time, 4 hours away, and didn't go to Nac very often. We got a call that Tim hadn't been seen since several days before when a neighbor had seen him get in a truck and leave with a guy on his birthday.

We were telling the police places to search, the most obvious place being on Tim's own place. We suggested who Tim would have been with .. every year they would throw Tim a rock n roll party and would play .. Tim played guitar. He was responsible for launching our musical career.

Anyway, about 3 months went by, and just before Thanksgiving, Scott and I went there, and were going through Tim's decrepit mobile home. Boxed up some junk, found his cat, poor thing, dead and petrified on the sofa. When it was time to go back to my mother's house, Scott all of a sudden left the yard and I noticed how quiet everything was. No birds, no sounds at all. I got really spooked, the kind of spooked where you actually begin to panic. I started walking out trying to listen for Scott's movement, and I heard leaves and found a goat grazing by the fence.. that startled me, then I felt really weird like someone was right there next to me. Then I whistled for Scott, and he whistled back. I went toward the wooded back part of Tim's land.. met Scott, who said "I found Tim".. he turned around and I followed him, after turning in a few circles he said "I know it was around here somewhere" then I saw it, looked like a soccer ball in the pine needles. Tim's skull. Looked around some more and found a pair of jeans with some leg bones.. then more bones... I was really creeped out at that point and felt like we had better get out of there.

We chose to wait till morning to call the police .. we were exhausted after the long day going through Tim;s moldy crap and no way we were waiting for the police.

Next morning about 7:00 we went out there. I took photos before we called the cops.
When they showed up, you could smell the booze on them, before 8:00 am. I do so hate those small town redneck pigs. They questioned us as if we were murder suspects and the drunk one even went as far as to say "What were Y'ALL doin back there?"real belligerent-like. I turned around and I said to him "WE WERE SEARCHING FOR TIM, BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE WOULD." The saner one elbowed the bigmouth, and that line of conversation was not continued.

Now, let me tell you. In the movies, when they are called to retrieve some bones, they usually come equipped with a bodybag. Well, I was told to "go find something", and wound up with a couple of Tim's beer coolers. The cops had us walk the woods with them and point out bones and bits that we were not allowed to touch, so they could collect them with their gloves.The rest of him was found on the other side of the fence, beard and all.
The dogs next door had had a feast. The bones were scattered over a large area. The last view I had of Tim was a 5-gallon bucket full of white bones and the skull on top.

In Tim's yard was his truck. When we opened it up there was a sleeping bag inside that reeked of death. The police were not interested.

What I believe with all my heart happened, through dreams and the little info we had to go by:

I dreamed I was Tim, and saw this through Tim's eyes: I was given a bottle of Crown Royal with a blue ribbon tied around it for my birthday. I drank it. I drank most of it. I drifted off, gently, and died.

I believe Tim's night went like this:
His friend Randy and some others were none too savory redneck fellers. They were into speed and stuff. Tim had heart troubles and wasn't even supposed to be drinking, but someone gave him a gift of booze. He played his guitar that night like never before. Oddly, he had been seen by his neighbor carrying the guitar when he left.. it was a custom Graham guitar that Scott had built. The guitar has never been found.

So anyway, Tim gets overly imbibed, and falls out, and has a heart attack. Everyone freaks. No one wants the cops. Everyone will be in some big trouble over this. Who knows. maybe they even slipped him something to keep him going.
Randy hides the body in a woodpile behind his house. For maybe a day or so. Then one night, he wraps it up in the sleeping bag and throws it in the bed of his truck, and drives out to Tim's.. deposits it in the woods out back. Throws the nasty sleeping bag into Tim's truck. Leaves. Hopes that's the end of it.
So we show up and he drives Scott on a wild goose chase asking around after Tim, Scott saw that woodpile and got a feeling about it.. but no one tells us anything.
The cops don't care. They are inept.

Anyway, this is what happened 6 years ago. Happy Birthday Tim. R.I.P.

I should add that if Tim could choose for himself how to go, he couldn't have picked a better or more fitting way. He was called "Dead Dog" back in high school, and once when he and some buddies went to Illinois to pick corn, he had a scythe and a t-shirt on his head and was called "The Grim Reaper", which he relished! His belongings included a lot of skull things, lights, plastic halloween skeletons and a Jolly Roger flag. He would have liked the idea of being found as a bleached white skeleton. He would not have dug being scattered by dogs, or such disrespectful transport however.

Trouble Continues

 

Scott tied a rope to the horns and hauled it out, and when it turned over we saw it had been dropped by a mountain lion or bear. We thought  she had shot it and put it there, still not sure she didn't.

Signal or ThongTrees

I was reading about these trees, and saw several that look like ones we have found on our own property. It makes me want cooler weather to hurry up and get here so we can go explore some more and get better photos.
These wonders need to be recognized for what they are, and preserved.

Check out the Trail Tree Project in the links on the left:
http://www.mountainstewards.org/

Here are some of our trees. I can't guarantee these are ALL signal trees, but by the looks of the roots of that big one, they are easily old enough. Plus they point towards cave shelters and springs. I took these more than 2 years ago, so I didn't really know what all to look for. I can't wait to go take more pics and find more trees.
This is one for sure!!!

I am almost 100% positive this is a real signal tree.

These roots show some age!

More massive roots. Not sure, but if it isn't a mutant, it could very well be an old signal tree.

Not positive but I think this may be one.

The big one on the left seems to be one.

Top of one that has huge roots.

The hillside is steep and it was hard to get any footing to get this fuller shot.

Another shot of that huge rooted one.

There is a huge old dead one on the nasty neighbor's hillside that I wish I could get a photo of. I will someday after she has gone away.
There are many links if you would like to read more about this subject.
http://exploreizard.blogspot.com/2010/11/thong-trees-signs-of-times.html

http://www.roundrockjournal.com/?p=195&cpage=2#comment-636694

http://www.lakehistory.info/thong.html

http://www.roundrockjournal.com/?p=214

http://www.funlake.com/do_see/outdoors/trees.html