Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

May 22, 2007

Today’s Announcements

 Happy Birthday Bobby Smith: indy113@yahoo.com from your friends at Storytime Tapestry

Today’s Stories

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 Living with Ghosts Part III

Ina Townsend Young

As I said, Lisa and I kept the secret from the younger two kids for quite awhile.  It started to get more difficult as they experienced more and heard hushed whispers from the adults in the house.  Faces drained of blood after some of these experiences were more difficult to conceal.

My bedroom in this house was the renovated third floor attic.  I had my own set of stairs, right in my room.  Mrs. Greer seemed to delight in walking down these stairs in front of men she didn't care for.  Several reported to me that they saw a woman in a long, white dress sort of "float" down the stairs.  In retrospect, it was kind of funny to see some of these macho men melt down.  A big, hulking construction worker, insisting I go to the bathroom with him.  Men who couldn't stay the night for fear of my ghost showing up again.  I could always get a laugh out of this, but that was only because she had shown herself to them, not me.  Anytime she did something to me, I was as terrified as the next person.  I would spend several days looking over my shoulder and jumping at shadows until I could settle down.  I had no choice.  It was our home.  I had kids to raise.  I couldn't afford to move.

Then I saw her for the first time.

To be honest, I couldn't make out more than a white shape.  But who else could it have been?  I was sitting at my vanity table, putting on my make-up.  I had leaned my left arm on the table as I hunkered in close to the mirror to put on my mascara.  Out of the corner of my left eye, I saw a white form rush out of the wall behind the table. It went right through my left arm, from wrist to shoulder.  It was everything you've heard about in the spooky movies, folks.  Ice, ice cold.  Just from the wrist to the shoulder.  I'll never forget it.  My mascara went all over my face.  I jumped out of my chair and started jumping around my bedroom, rubbing my left arm and screaming "No!  Get out of my house, you bitch!  I live here, now!  Get the hell out and leave us alone!"  I don't know how long I carried on in that manner.  I've never been so shook up in my whole life.  My left arm seemed to take on new meaning to me.  It didn't feel any different, but I knew it was.  It had been passed through, without a doubt.  It took more than just a few days to settle down from that one.

Of course, the younger kids had heard my uproar and came running.  Time to lie, again.  It was getting more difficult as Kristin was about twelve at this time and had had several experiences, herself.  Things of hers had disappeared, also.  A favorite shirt, hung in her closet, turned up a couple of months later, hanging in the basement, of all places.  One of her regular sleep-over girlfriends started having experiences.  The TV in her room would turn on in the middle of the night.  They would wake up to Three's Company at 4am and check the TV Guide the next day to make sure it was really on and they didn't dream it.  They'd turn it off, and it would turn back on to another station.  Over and over again.

One night, Kristin had a bad cold.  She was coughing very hard.  I'd given her some cough syrup, but it wasn't working very well.  The way she tells the story, she was coughing and coughing and coughing.  She had just gotten up to come upstairs to sleep with me when she heard a woman's voice say "Awww.  It's ok."  She couldn't make it up the stairs.  Instead, she spent the rest of the night wide awake with the covers tightly over her head.  We told her the truth the next day.  She was just glad she wasn't hallucinating.

Things continued to disappear and return.  Things would move around the house.  We dealt with it.  We lived with it.

But wait…there's more.

Ina Townsend Young

mimisuzy127@yahoo.com

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Poetry Corner

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~All Because Of You~

 Mary Dees

I'm not supposed to love you,

No, not like this anymore.

I'm not supposed to know the want,

That you made me feel before.

I'm not supposed need your voice,

Or think of you, the way I do.

I'm not supposed to feel this way,

All because of you.

I tell myself that I shouldn't,

And that I'm only making it worse.

But there I am, back in time,

Remembering how I loved you first.

I ask myself what it could be,

What is it, that I can do?

To not have to know this ache,

All because of you.

I find myself praying for an answer,

To why it is, I wish so much.

For just one second to be near you,

And all I can feel is your touch.

But tomorrow will be just the same,

Because yesterday you knew.

That today I can't get past the pain,

All because of you.

By Mary M. Dees

marlena7694@yahoo.com

~**~**~

 ~Dangerous~

 Mary Dees

I lie awake too late at night,

And play all the wrong kinda songs.

I don't say anything I'm supposed to say,

Just to keep him hanging on.

I stay busy after I get home from work,

Just to keep him at arms length.

I could fight away this yearn for You,

But I just don't have the strength.

Sometimes I silence the ringer,

When he calls to say hello.

His is not the voice I need,

It's Yours I'm wanting so.

I try so hard just to stop it,

This dangerous feeling inside my heart.

But I think of You, like I always do,

And I'm right back where I start.

The hardest part by far are the mornings,

Another day I must get through.

Without the love I don't feel for him,

Because I've already given it to You.

By Mary M.Dees

 ~**~**~

~Unconquerable Man~

 Mary Dees

Things tend to get complicated,

And not so routine anymore.

When an old memory, with new intentions,

Comes knocking at your door.

Promises start to unravel again,

Although once, they were woven so well.

You memorized all the brilliant lies,

He swore to never tell.

His eyes lead you to many yesterday's ago,

When his heart longed only for you.

Your mouth begins to curve a smile,

Your heart beating faster too.

But then, he starts to speak,

While you shrug at the thought of knowing.

The voice you hear, brought you too many tears,

Again, the ache in your heart is showing.

Slamming the door, you watch him walk away,

He has succeeding in his plan.

You open the door, just like you did before,

To this cruel, unconquerable man.

By Mary M.Dees

marlena7694@yahoo.com

Readers Feedback

 Carol,
   Let Bill know that he wrote another wise story there.  I saw those pictures of that
home myself.  What struck me most was the emptiness, loneliness, and foolishness of
it all.  What use is a giant palace if you can't find your children to hug? Would anyone
own a car made of silver if no one was there to watch them drive it?  Wishing you
every joy, Joe

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