Welcome to My Paranormal Life

Welcome to My Paranormal Life

by Exie Susanne Smith


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Welcome to My Paranormal Life by Exie Susanne Smith

As the grogginess starts to fade, I notice how dark my room is. My bedroom door must be closed. I never shut my bedroom door; I don't like, or feel safe in the darkness. My stomach is flopping with fear, as I get the sudden feeling that I'm not alone in the dark. Scanning my room with my eyes open only to slits, so I don't give away the fact I am awake. Across the room, deep in the shadows; there is a shape, it's watching me. It must have realized I'm awake because it has started to glide toward me... I never went in search of the dead; but it seems the dead has come in search of me.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781477252970
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 08/21/2012
Pages: 112
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.27(d)

Read an Excerpt

Welcome To My Para "Normal" Life

By Exie Susanne Smith


Copyright © 2012 Exie Susanne Smith
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5297-0

Chapter One

My Gift

Being able to see, hear and sense spirits is something I am honored to say is a part of my life; I have been bestowed a gift. I see my gift as two parts, first a gift from God and second something passed through family blood. My dad had an imaginary friend as a child. Fifty years later, for him, he and I were discussing my gift, he asked about the ghosts or spirits, as I refer to them, and how they appear to me. I gave him several different descriptions from different sightings and he laughed. A bit taken aback by his reaction, he touched my hand in a loving gesture and explained. "Oh my God," he started, "All these years I thought my childhood friend was a figment of my imagination. He wasn't. He was a ghost. Holy cow!" It was my turn to laugh. As our discussion continued, my dad explained his conclusion, and for the first time, thought about how the imaginary boy was dressed. He said he thought because of the way he was dressed that he was probably part of a previous family that lived in their 100-year-old farmhouse. My mom, too, has some abilities; she senses things. I would say she has some psychic ability. My mom's sister, my aunt, had the same abilities, but a bit stronger. Getting this much ability from both sides of my family explains to me my gift and partly why my abilities are even stronger than theirs are.

When I was a kid, psychic and paranormal subjects were not talked or written about. It was a shock to find out not everyone felt or saw things like I did. Thank God, over the years, the subject has become less taboo, more accepted. With the Internet, television shows, and the many books published on the subject, it's not seemingly as shocking and oddball. With that said, and I do feel that way, I find it interesting that even people in my life that I spend a bit of time with will ask me if I've seen any ghosts lately while they roll their eyes and snicker. It's so cut and dried for them; what they can't see or feel doesn't exist, period. I humor them mostly, but occasionally I don't, and say to them, "Funny you should ask; there's a spirit standing right behind you!" Probably not very nice, but the look on their face is worth the wrath.

I'm not exactly sure when it was I started to look at these abilities as a gift. To be honest, for many years it was a pain in the rear, not a gift at all. Once I got past being frightened by it all and started recognizing the physical feelings that happened when a spirit was around, it changed to being cool/a gift. It was, and still is, a learning process, the way I see my gift now is with an educated eye. I get people to pay attention; be open to this whole idea, when I talk about it scientifically; and speak to it proficiently because I'm educated on the subject (and still learning). I find the paranormal and psychic world fascinating and would miss my gifts if they went away. My research and education has taught me that I have the following abilities: Clairaudient, I am a person that can hear what other people cannot, like voices. Clairvoyant, I am able to see and perceive things clearly that other people cannot. Prophetic dreams, I dream of things in whole or part that are future events, things that have not yet happened. Psychic or ESP, I have a perception beyond the regular senses. Adding one more, as of late, I think I can add sensitive to my list of gifts. A sensitive is someone that can perceive information psychically (ESP) and/or is susceptible to attitudes, emotions, or feelings of others. With the education I was talking about, I have felt fights, stress, anger or upset emotions my entire life but didn't think twice about the fact maybe not everyone was feeling this. The other day I was in the car coming home from an appointment when a funeral procession passed by me going in the opposite direction. One car toward the end of the line stood out; it seemed to zoom sideways toward me. Right after that feeling surrounded me, I burst into tears; I mean into a sobbing cry. I remember thinking, "What the hell is this. Why am I crying?" As the car continued by, I just as suddenly stopped crying. Amazed by my reaction to what I assumed had to have come from one or all of the passengers in that car, I came home and did some research on what had just happened. I found the term Sensitive; it fit. This could explain too why I am not a fan of huge crowds; they exhaust me, too many mood swings for me to take.

So far, my gifted life has been an amazing journey and, as I said, I wouldn't change a thing. It is who I am, who I have become, and who I will continue to be, shape by this gift for the rest of the time I have left.

Chapter Two


I want to take you back to my childhood home, in particular the basement. The reason is I found journals of mine that date back to ages eight through twelve. Reading those journals over, I realized what spooky old memories that basement still holds for me. Whenever I was in the basement, there was always the distinct feeling that someone was there, unseen, or that someone had been standing there seconds earlier and just walked away. It always felt as if my every move was being watched, and I knew that eventually one of the times I went down there, something was going to reach out and grab me. Our basement had two sides: a finished side that was a walk-out, with a gaming area, a lounge area, and a laundry room, overall a wonderful family gathering space. As a walk out basement, it had full-sized picture windows and a door to a deck that sat privately in the woods which backed up to our house. The other side of the basement, separated by a wall and a door, was not wonderful. This side was unfinished: bare cement floor, cinder block walls, tiny slits for windows, and the entire area piled high with a ton of unused family treasures. Because of the tiny windows, very little natural light made it into the space. It was dark and shadowy all day, and pitch black at night. Worse, the only easily accessible light, just outside the door to the unfinished area, didn't cast light more than a foot into the darkness. That might have been all right if I didn't have to go another foot past that shadowy light to reach the pull cord to illuminate the unfinished room. Holding my breath, I had to take a huge step through the doorway into the dark and grope around for the string pull cord that hung mid-air. The cord went up to the ceiling and across the room, strung on two squeaky old pulleys to a chain from a bare bulbed fixture in the center of the room. True panic was if I hit the pull cord with my hand without the light coming on. I then had to grope in mid-air in the dark for the cord, never feeling more vulnerable in my life. Many times from upstairs, (my bedroom was directly over this part of the basement), I would hear the squeaking of the pulleys and the clicking of the light going on. Of course, I was home alone. The only way those pulleys squeak is if someone is physically pulling the string that runs through them. Just once, in all the times I heard them squeak, did I get up enough courage to tiptoe to the head of the landing and look around the corner down the basement stairs to see the doorway into that area. I wish I hadn't; the backroom light was on; it had been off earlier. I know that because I passed the doorway to the unfinished part after getting a game out of the finished part. I remember wanting to scream but nothing would come out. Instinct had me run to the bathroom; it was the only room in the house with a lock on the door. Locking myself in, I waited for someone to come home. Moments after I locked the door, I could hear someone coming up the basement steps. The sound of footsteps seemed to stay in that area; they never reached the landing or kitchen just beyond. I will revisit this phenomenon in another chapter; for the sound of the footsteps did not stay on the stairs much longer.

* * *

Having now lived away from my childhood home for over 22 years, I wonder what I would feel going back in the house, particularly the basement. Nothing did ever grab me, thank God, but I did hear shuffling sounds and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I didn't know as a child that I should be crediting those events to spirits; now I do. At the time, I thought it was my vivid imagination, but no. In fact, because of the knowledge I have gained in the years since, of spirits, the paranormal, and of myself, I am convinced that something did dwell in my parents' home, particularly in the basement. I now feel that whatever was there was attached to the land, not to me or to the house. My reasoning is, as I mentioned earlier, the house sat on the edge of woods that ran for several miles out the back. One of the many days I spent playing in those woods with friends, we stumbled upon what was left of what looked to be a settler's cabin, not too far from my parents' home. Growing up, we learned about the Native American tribes that lived and traveled through the area, along with the history of the town. I was not surprised to find the relic of a cabin and stone fireplace in our midst. That begs the question; was the spirit activity around me as a kid, early settlers of that area or Native Americans? Unfortunately, for now, that question goes unanswered until I can gain access to the house.

* * *

When my parents moved from my childhood home, it was into a condominium. Since this was a down size in housing, they needed to hold a yard sale, and asked if I would help. The perfect warm weather day arrived, and the toting and set up got underway. This seemed to be taking forever, and I was very unhappy about it. I had asked they be more prepared, and they weren't. On one of the many trips into the basement area, I asked my spirit guide, "Please help me have more patience and understanding." Not feeling any calmer and still going up and down the stairs to retrieve things, I stomped back into their basement to get another load. With that load in my hands, I turned and took a stepped up on the bottom stair with my left foot. The heal of my right foot lifted off my flip-flop, but the flip-flop didn't budge; it stayed down on the floor. Turning and looking down, I was certain I would see my dog, Lola's sweet face laughing up at me with her paw holding my flip-flop down. She wasn't there; no one was there. My immediate thought was my spirit guide was doing as I asked of her, "Slow me down!" I thanked her for getting the message across to me and went back to work, slower, easier, and nicer to be around.

Chapter Three

Hearing Times Two

Being able to hear footfalls in my childhood home, was for me, the first ever evidence that I am clairaudient. This means I have "clear hearing" or the ability to hear voices, sounds or music not audible to the normal ear. I hear spirits two different ways; in my minds inner ear, and I hear them with my actual outer ear. Because I hear a spirit, or other noise, with my outer ear, does not mean that other people will hear it. The story that follows is an example of hearing with both the inner and outer ear.

* * *

After many years of having to be up and out of the house every single morning by a certain time, I didn't have to, for the next several months. I was no longer working outside the home, and our son had a driver's license and a car. Thank goodness, because as a swimmer on his high school team, he had to be dressed and on the pool deck at school by 5:15 am. My plan was to enjoy a week, or two, of freedom from an alarm clock, then get back on a schedule, which would mean setting an alarm once again. It had been a lovely week of alarm clock avoidance, but I had an appointment the next morning, so setting the alarm was a necessity. This plan went awry, as plans can; I was awakened by an odd noise some place in the house before my alarm ever had a chance to go off. Dazed, I sat up in bed, trying to figure out what the sound was, where it came from, and simply, what the hell time it was. I swung my feet over the side of the bed checking out the clock,; that's when I noticed I hadn't set my alarm, after all. The noise that I heard, that subsequently woke me up, was within five minutes of the time the alarm would have gone off. I never did figure out where the noise came from or what it was. I thought all day about how coincidental the noise was that woke me up that morning. I don't believe in coincidence, so denial is thy name. That night, I asked out loud to no one in particular, "Would you please wake me up in the morning at 7:00 am?" I didn't set my alarm and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up very startled to the sound of footsteps in the hallway just outside my bedroom door. Lunging out of bed, ready to protect myself because I was supposed to be alone in the house, as I rounded the corner of the bed, I noticed the time on my husband's clock and stopped in my tracks. In bright red numbers, it read 7:00 am. I thought to myself, all right smart-ass, now say thank you. Okay, so it happened once; I guess actually twice, but would it happen again? That night I asked again to be awaken at the same time, 7:00 am, and off to sleep I went. It seemed like only minutes had passed when I heard my name, clear as day, whispered in my ear. It was 6:50 am. Again, the day after that, at 7:00 am, I was awakened, this time by my cell phone ringing on the nightstand. I know it rang; the dog woke too, and the face of the phone lit up the darkness when it rang. Later I checked the incoming phone log, and according to that, the phone had not rung. For the next two weeks, I used my "spirit alarm clock" with great success as an amazingly on-time wake up service. I started to feel guilty for imposing on the spirits and stopped asking. For those two weeks, the spirits were on time or within 5 minutes every single day and had finally settled on the method of waking me up by walking in the hallway outside the bedroom door. It worked great.

When the spirit wake-up service started, I was excited to have a new aspect to my gift. Since finding my childhood journals, I was reminded I used to hear footsteps on the basement stairs, so it was not a new occurrence after all. Apparently, I had taken this scary childhood memory and stuffed it into the back of my mind. It was not scary anymore; no one was here to do harm, only to assist, as I had requested.

* * *

A simple shopping trip with my son turned into more. We left the mall, got into our car, started to back out of the parking spot and realized there was not an exit that way, so we had to go around the end of the row to get out. Not understanding why they set up the parking lot this way, we were discussing better solutions as I drove. Suddenly I heard a voice yell, "Sue, look out." Noticing just in time, a paneled service van was accelerating backward out of its parking spot. Swerving the car to the right, I managed to just miss hitting the van. It seems the driver of the van wasn't paying any more attention than I was. I was thankful someone was paying attention and chose to warn me. I said, "Son, that was so weird. I heard a voice tell me to look out." He said, "That was weird. I wondered where your super human reflexes came from!" The voice was very clear and centered at the top inside my head, brain really; at least that's where it registered. When I say registered, it was like a tingle in the top back part of my brain; the sensation was on the inside. I was so pleased to have avoided an accident and happier still that I had heard a warning voice in my mind. I said to myself, "Thank you to the heavens, to who ever had been kind enough to help keep us safe." On the way home, I wondered if it was my spirit guide or guardian angel. I said to my son, "I should get one of those key chains that says, never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly." He laughed.

After that happened, I was hearing spirits more and more with each passing day. I couldn't be happier that my gift seemed to be growing.

* * *

What happened next has great meaning to me and was cool as hell. Lola, our dog, and I had just taken laundry into my bedroom to put it away. She hopped up on the bed for a quick nap, and I continued talking to her as I put clothes into our dresser, when a bell rang. It was the sound from the kind of bell you have to pick up and swing back and forth so the clapper inside makes contact. The clanging noise came from out in the living-dining room area. I spun around from the dresser. Lola was already up on her feet facing the door;, we looked at each other and simultaneously headed out of the bedroom. We stopped just short of the group of bells sitting on my desk; I felt a bit apprehensive. Without touching them, I looked at the desktop area, checking to see if any of them had been moved. There would be a dust ring. I'm not a real committed housekeeper. They all looked to be where they should; there was no dust disturbed. I had a feeling I knew which bell rang but had not heard any of their tones for years. Picking them up one at a time I rang them; the sound from the brass southern bell was the one that we had heard. This was my grandma's bell that she rang when she needed something while she had been ill and bed ridden. When I rang it, Lola came hustling over, stopped at my feet, and stared up at me. "Aha, I'm not crazy," I said aloud. "Nice to get confirmation, even if only from the dog." I thanked my grandma for letting me know she was visiting and told her I loved her. My grandma and I were very close; nothing could have meant more to me than for her to let me know she was around.


Excerpted from Welcome To My Para "Normal" Life by Exie Susanne Smith Copyright © 2012 by Exie Susanne Smith. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents


Chapter 1 My Gift....................1
Chapter 2 Dwellings....................5
Chapter 3 Hearing Times Two....................9
Chapter 4 Dizziness Explained....................13
Chapter 5 Visitations....................17
Chapter 6 Games of Chance....................25
Chapter 7 Spirited Spirits....................29
Chapter 8 Pets....................37
Chapter 9 Paranormal with a Twist....................45
Chapter 10 The Passing of Friends....................51
Chapter 11 Foretold Events....................59
Chapter 12 Our Old Soul....................69
Chapter 13 Confused, Scared and Current Happenings....................77
Chapter 14 Spirits, Spirits, Spirits....................87
Chapter 15 Finding Peace....................91

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