A mere two weeks ago, I blogged about this very topic. If you want to read that post, it can be found here.
Call them what you like, they’re never good. There is always something dark attached to these feelings of impending dread.
This morning my mom phoned me on my direct office line, with a simple question: “Are you at work with your own car, or did you travel with Nikita.”
“It’s just a question.”
“No Bean, it’s not just a question. You wouldn’t be asking without some sort of reason.”
She proceeded to tell me that for the past two days she’s seen shadowy figures passing by her bedroom window, or door. I’ve seen one before too, shortly before Malcolm died, so I don’t merely want to dismiss her feelings, because I believe they hold some merit.
I’ve done a lot of reading about Shadow People, which as defined by Wikipedia are:
“A shadow person is the perception of a patch of shadow as a living, humanoid figure, particularly as interpreted by believers in the paranormal or supernatural as the presence of a spirit or other entity.”
They generally are associated with sleep paralysis. The night I saw mine, I woke up to see the figure at the foot of my bed. I was terrified, but it merely put a finger to its lips and I heard ssshhhh and it walked through the door. Gone. Disappeared into thin air. I knew something was wrong and mentioned it to my parents as I had a sick aunt at the time. It never crossed my mind that Malcolm might be coming to say goodbye.
The Bean sees them when she’s awake, and her sense of them extends beyond merely seeing them.
This morning, after her daily quiet time, she felt anxious about me and got a strong smell of my perfume.
“I’m so worried for me, Chickpea.”
“Don’t worry, Bean. I’m fine. My car is at home.”
“Okay, just tell Nikita to drive safely. Please. Promise me.”
The distress in her voice was tangible.
“I will. Promise.”
As much as I tried to downplay it and reassure her that everything is fine, because it is, it does have me wondering…
I told Nikita and the poor woman is now as high-strung as a faulty Jack-in-the-Box.
We’re taking it seriously though. I will let my mom know when I am home.