More Ghost Stories – A Bermuda Dungeon Prisoner Leftover
January 11, 2009 by rtwsenior
Since we´re currently on the subject of ghosts, due to Juan in this lovely hostel, I´ll repeat here the only other experience that I have had with such things. I have told this story several times here during this current adventure to illustrate how it goes, as far as I am aware of these things.
In late 1995, I visited Bermuda, the island of my maternal ancestry, and while I was poking around the old fort at the Dockyards end of the island, I felt invisible hands suddenly grab hold of my right calf. I happened to be in an old dungeon cell deep under the fort. Hmmmmm. Suddenly, it felt as if I was dragging an old coat around with every step. I could see nothing, but there was definitely a sensation to prove that something unworldly had just happened.
So, naturally, as anyone would do, I beamed a thought-question downward to this entity who had just grabbed hold of my leg. “Who are you?” He said that he was a sailor who had been imprisoned hundreds of years ago and he had died alone in that cell. No one had come for him and here he still was. When he saw me he thought I could help him because I was so brightly lit up, so he grabbed hold and he wasn´t intending to let go as he was desperate to get out of that cell.
“Okay!” said I. “We´ll go back to the studio apartment I have rented and I´ll try to get Someone Up There to come and get you. You need to move on away from Earth, but They need to escort you to that realm.” So, I pulled my leg along, dragging this coat-feeling thing, down the sidewalk and onto the bus. Later in the evening, I needed to shower and go to bed so I warned him that I would be pulling my blue jeans off down that leg he was gripping so tightly. He was worried that if he let go of me, he would float away and be lost again. But, we carefully cooperated in easing the pants down the leg and letting him change his grip so that he could be assured of not flying off to nowhere again.
Then, I dragged him into the shower with me. All these modern conveniences were making a tourist out of him. A funny exchange occurred as I stepped into the shower. In a sort of a sing-song, I said, “You gonna close your eyes?” and he instantly replied, in the same sing-song, “I gonna close my eyes!” And so, with that arrangement modestly in place, I took my shower with the coat still hanging onto my ankle, thinking that this was probably his first shower in three-hundred years or so.
Then, I went to bed, still conscious of his form dangling from my leg. In the morning, he was gone, obviously picked up by an Upper Transport Team. I´ve never heard from or about him again. This is what we are trying to accomplish here with our dearly-departed-but-not-departed Juan, though it doesn´t involve such intense personal contact. Let´s hope his release can be accomplished as easily.