I was fourteen when I had my first paranormal experience, while visiting my aunt Cara at her home in Ballinspittle, Ireland. She lived in a three hundred year old farmhouse, which sat on a cliff overlooking the sea, with with the thickest walls I’d ever seen, and a giant fireplace in the kitchen. It was the perfect setting to meet a ghost, but that hadn’t occurred to me, as at the time I never thought about such things- didn’t consider them to be anything more than characters in funny summer camp stories and dumb horror movies. What I thought about back then was boys. It’s all I thought about. But there were none in the countryside in Ireland. There were no boys in the pubs, zero on the beach, and definitely not in her home. Instead, there were old men, accents so thick it seemed impossible they were speaking English. Old women too. There was my aunt, my aunt’s baby, and her husband- another old man. And chickens. And sheep. There were plenty of sheep. Right away, I noticed strange occurrences in the house. We (everyone in the house) would leave for the afternoon, and upon returning, the sweater that I could have sworn I’d left on the bed would be on the chair instead. I thought little of it. At night, as I was drifting off, I’d hear a noise, and open my eyes to see the doorknob to the bedroom turning, and squeaking. I’d get out of bed, open the door to the hallway and no one would be there. Still, I brushed it off. Then… one night, about a week into my visit… I was falling asleep with my arms up, hands above my head, as I always have. Just before slipping into full blown delta-wave-dreamland, something or someone grabbed hold of my thumb. Immediately, I was wide awake, hyper-vigilant-super-conscious, but somehow I knew that whatever was clinging to my digit was not human, causing me too much terror to open my eyes. I kept them squeezed shut tight, as I wrestled my thumb from it’s grip (it actually created a snap sound as I freed myself) and then I burrowed deep under the covers, the heart-beat in my living body so loud I was afraid they/it would hear it banging and consider it an invitation. I quickly made certain all parts of me including my hair were tucked away so there was nothing else to yank on. As soon as I got myself all buried underneath the blankets, I felt someone LAY DOWN NEXT TO ME. I held my breath, still and silent as possible, and stayed this way until the sun came up, and I could see the light change through the fibers of the bedspread. I don’t know if I slept. At some point, whoever was laying next to me just sort of disappeared. Once I knew for sure it was light out, I ran downstairs screaming. My aunt was in the kitchen making porridge and tea. After explaining what had happened, she said, “Oh honey. I’m so sorry, I should have told you. That’s just the ghost, he lives in the guest room, and often rearranges the furniture. But not to worry, he is just a harmless old man ghost.” “You put me in the old man ghost room?” I yelled. “Some people aren’t sensitive to the spirits,” she answered kindly. “I didn’t tell you as I didn’t want you to be scared.” I slept on the couch in the living room for the rest of the trip. But then… I was different The floodgates had opened. Maybe it was the believing that made it easier for them to reach me. The knowing that they were real. Spirits. The supernatural. The other side. I shared this story, about being a teenager in Ireland, with a guy I once dated. He was a rockstar in the nineties but when I dated him in 2017, he had become nothing more than the town drunk. He grew up to be… just an old alcoholic. I was an alcoholic too, at the time… still not that old, and not totally grown up yet. Anyway, he didn’t believe me. Didn’t believe my ghost stories. Basically called me a liar. This old alcoholic man, so full of spirits that he had no real spirit of his own left within him, didn’t fucking believe in ghosts. In fact, we got into a huge fight over it- me shouting, “I hope I die first so I can come and haunt you!” Him, acting like I already was invisible, as I howled my ominous threat. I ended up ghosting him, and haunting him… I know he felt haunted by me because of the weird text messages he would send, professing his undying love and devotion for me, at all hours of the night, until I finally blocked him. Funny how I always get what I want, even if it doesn’t show up exactly the way I thought it would.
Men love to say they don’t believe in ghosts. They love to say things like, “I believe in science.” As if I don’t. Like. Duh. I fucking believe in science too. And ghosts. Both can be true. But there is something about being open, versus being closed. Something about being hard and shut down versus fluid and soft. When I drank, I rarely had any experiences that connected me to the other side. Maybe I was too distracted with all my boyfriends. Or maybe the alcohol severed my channel. Because every time I got sober, shit started to get weird when it came to synchronicities, the supernatural, and psychic premonitions. Clean up my act, clear out the distractions… the spirits step in. I try to avoid talking about my spirit stuff on dates. Before a date, I say to myself, “Holly, you will not talk about ghosts on this date.” But then I usually do. I’ve likely driven away a few suitable suitors with my inability to not bring up the afterlife, my obsession with NDEs (Near Death Experiences), my interest in death at large, as well as the dead people I sometimes talk to. Of course, the person for me is one who also believes in something other than just… We are born. We live one time. Then we die and that’s the end… that’s it…everything inexplicable is bullshit and miracles aren’t real. Honestly, I don’t believe in God either. Not like, an organized religion God- some white guy on a cloud or some shit. But I am dead certain that there is something else and there is another side and the universe has many higher powers from which we connect with to create. I believe there is life after death. I believe in reincarnation. All of it. I believe anything you can imagine is likely real in some realm. As for the men that don’t believe in god, don’t believe in the afterlife, don’t believe in ghosts… They still have beliefs. Rock solid and logical. They believe in… SCIENCE. I believe in seances. And science. You’re currently a free subscriber to Neon Cowgirl . For only six bucks a month, you could upgrade to paid!
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