Did it Bite? Still a Puzzle.

  First, I'll mention that the Smashwords sale ends on July 31^st, right at midnight, according to them. I'm leaving Bittersweet Promises (romance, http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/160356 ) and Dead Man Talking (mystery with ghosts, http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66400 ) up until the end. The coupon code to get them free is SSWIN. I've had many, many downloads, and you readers must like the books and my writing. The sales numbers on my other books are climbing, too. Thanks a bunch! J

 We're still having some neat communications out at Dry Creek Cemetery using the KII's and flashlights to talk to some ghosts. In fact, we're becoming old friends with a couple of them, Walter and Jim. I'll expand on our visits there in a diary to come, probably number IV. I do have that listed on my tentative table of contents. I'll also put up a short video clip soon, hopefully next week. So many stories, so little time to write them all up! 

  Today I'll mention what happened after one of our recent Dry Creek visits, an incident after we returned home. My friend, Sarah, started ghost hunting with us a few months ago. I've known her and her husband, Floyd, through my writing for quite a few years. In fact, Floyd started the group that evolved into our critique group. They're also students in my Psychic Development Class, so we've been planning more frequent chats with ghosts lately, in order for them to practice expanding their abilities. Sarah had mentioned a ghost in her house a time or two, and we'd been trying to work our schedules so Angela and I could go over and see what we could determine. I'd asked Sarah not to tell us anything about her ghost, to just let us see what we picked up.

  One thing Sarah had already shown us, though, was an interesting video she took. Two of her grandchildren were playing on the floor in front of the TV. A white ball of light flew out of the TV, around the kids and up into the air, where it disappeared. This wasn't a fleck of dust; it wasn't a bug. You could run the video in slow-mo and tell it was a dense ball of mist. It only lasted a few seconds, and enlarged as it moved toward the camera. However, that might be because it's zooming at the lens.

  Busy with our lives, we procrastinated. That changed abruptly on August 16^th, a night after we came home from Dry Creek. Timmy spent that night at my house, and we were still examining pictures and talking about the investigation after we'd dropped the others off. Someone knocked on the front door.
  Now, it was close to midnight, so I debated whether to go get the pistol first. I'm grinning as I write that, since I know Floyd and Sarah will be reading this. However, it's not exactly untrue. I'm leery of late-night visitors, and yes, I keep a loaded pistol in my home. The door was already locked, though, so I peeked out one of the three high windows on it and saw the two of them standing there.
  As I opened the door, I said, "What on earth are you doing back here this time of night?"
  "Let us show you," Floyd said.
  We walked into the dining room, where the lights were still on. Sarah showed Timmy and me her left arm. On her forearm, approximately half-way between her wrist and elbow, was a circular indent of teeth marks.
  "I was washing off the mosquito spray when I spotted them," Sarah said.
  "And she called to me to come look," Floyd said. "When I saw them, they were a lot redder than now."
  "I didn't feel a thing," Sarah added. "I just saw them already there on my arm."
  "It had to have happened at your house," I said. "Had it been at Dry Creek, it would have faded a lot more by now. Might not even be visible."
  We took several pictures, and I began to feel extremely apprehensive about what we would find in their house when we could schedule a visit. Which we ended up doing fairly quickly, due to my concern over Sarah's safety.
  Timmy was unable to join us, and the other four of us gathered there the next Monday night. I had my infrared thermometer and digital camera, but ended up not taking any pictures. Angela hadn't even brought her KII, only her cell phone with the ghost radar on it. Without Timmy, we just weren't that organized, I guess. We only used our senses. To both Angela's and my puzzlement, we didn't feel  anything dangerous.
  We did find at least a half-dozen ghosts. Most were benign, but one was an angry, irascible old man. He told me his name was Herman, and Angela got that same information from him. He also told Angela that he wasn't a bit happy about the new people living in his house.
  During our initial walk-through prior to dinner, we discovered a lady named Virginia in the master bedroom. She was very anxious to cross into The Light and glad to see me. I obliged her right away, and we left the door in the east open for any others who wanted to cross. Several more did leave while we ate dinner, but not Herman.
  Sarah and Floyd didn't have a lot of information about the former owner of their home, which they'd bought thirteen years earlier. However, they had heard he was a crotchety old man whom the neighbors didn't care for and lived alone. At this point, they are still asking around to try to get his name, which none of the current neighbors can remember. We probably will head down to the Deed Records office soon, or perhaps my husband can look it up on line for us.
  Anyway, Sarah and Floyd were under the impression Herman had slept in the middle bedroom on the north side of the house. The doors to these rooms opened off a hallway. As soon as I got to the beginning of that hall, I could feel a heaviness. In that middle room, the temperature was definitely much, much colder than in the rest of the house. Too cold to be explained by the air conditioning, since Angela even put her hand up there and the blowing air felt warmer than the room.
  "You know," I told Herman. "You'd be a lot happier on the other side."
  "You'd find friends and family there," Angela added.
  "Aren't you tired of hanging around here to defend your property rights?" I asked him. "It must be boring."
  Now that you mention it, he replied through telepathy, it is.
  "Well, think about it while we eat," I told him.
  He did, and at last he told me he was ready to go.
  "Before you leave," I said, "did you bite Sarah?"
  Nope, he said. I wouldn't do something like that to a woman.
  "Do you know who did?"
  Nope. Can I go now?
  I didn't bother to tell him he could have gone at any time. Instead, I led him outside, and the others followed. He immediately strode up the pathway to the door, but he did wave goodbye on his way.
  We talked some more about who or what might have bitten Sarah, and we may have an idea. At least, when they mentioned this person — who, yes, is deceased — I received a strong feeling we had discovered our culprit. But since it is someone from the neighborhood, I'm not going to name names here. We did a very strong cleansing and spread consecrated protection elements in the house, so I don't believe this man will be able to get back inside.
  I've heard different opinions as to whether a ghost can actually inflict bite marks on a person, and I still don't know. It's another paranormal puzzle, the answer to which we may or may not be privy to in our lifetimes.
  Angela and I could feel the difference in the house immediately: a lighter, less dense atmosphere. But it wasn't until a couple days later that Sarah reported back.
  "I guess I had lived with whatever was going on here for so long, I didn't even notice it," she said. "However, when I came home from work last night, I walked into a welcoming house. It was calm and peaceful, a place where I could relax and recover from the day's work. I could tell the difference right away. Thank you so much for clearing all those ghosts out for us."
  She was welcome, of course.
Boo!
T. M.

Fighting the Nasties

  It's difficult to write anything today after hearing about the horrible incident in Colorado. And it's hard to even think about relating that terrible situation to something I've been mulling over recently. So, honestly, this has nothing to do with Colorado. It's just that I had already been pondering some things I'd encountered in my own life.
  I've said time and again not to mess in the paranormal world without guidance. It's dangerous, folks. And lately I've been wondering if it's even more dangerous than previously. Tammy, a friend from Facebook, put up a link to an article that muses whether it's worth the risks of the danger we encounter: http://www.examiner.com/article/ghost-hunters-and-paranormal-researchers-is-it-worth-the-risks. It has a lot in it to consider, especially for someone like me who has definitely run across some nasty entities, even a couple demons. My tummy actually didn't feel well after I read this.
  Can they target you for reprisal? I imagine so, and I constantly keep my protections about me against something like that. I've seen far too much out there not to be wary. It's not just daytime you have to worry about, either. They are not "night" entities, although they might want you to think that.
  I'm not a demonologist. I just feel obligated to deal with the nasties when I encounter them. The operative word here is encounter. I do NOT go looking for them. In fact, if I hear of a place that could have a demon, I stay far, far away from it. Unless it's harming, or preparing to harm, a loved one or friend. Then, of course, I have no choice.
  Today, I actually reinforced the boundaries around my house. There is definitely evil out there.
  To end on a lighter paranormal note, I saw the little lady in my kitchen a couple days ago. She always lifts my spirits. She has a special smile, and she helps me make delicious food! Hmmmm. Wonder if there's something about food in the air? When I was teaching my Psychic Development Class at my friend Angela's house yesterday, her ghost, Robert, came to the door. According to Angela, Robert has given her some really cool recipes. Let's all think food in the air instead of evil. Yes!
  Bittersweet Promises and Dead Man Talking are still free on Smashwords, with the promo code SSWIN. Grab one, if you haven't already. You can't beat free. And if you enjoy the books, you can leave a review on the book page. I love seeing those reviews, the nice ones, anyway. Some people just don't understand those of us who dabble in the other world.
  Take care, stay safe, and send many, many good thoughts to the families in Colorado.
Boo!
T. M.
 

More About Alan

            First, you always have to suffer through my advertising. J I still have some books out there free. I try to keep Ghost Hunting Diary Volume I writing as T. M. Simmons free at all the e-book sites, so there's that. Dead Man Talking is free through Smashwords, if you use the coupon code SSWIN (http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66400) You can use that same coupon code to get one of my romances there: Bittersweet Promises, writing as Trana Mae Simmons (http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/160356). I've managed to get Tennessee Waltz, a sweeter romance, to go free at Smashwords, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo. I saw a free report at Diesel the other day, so it should be available there. It's easier for y'all to do a search on those sites, so I don't clutter up the blog with distracting url's.
            Of course, I hope after reading the free books I capture your love of my stories enough to buy more of my work. There is another mystery available, Dead Man Haunt, and Dead Man Hand should be ready about mid-September, well prior to Halloween to set the tone for that delightful day. Two more sets of diaries are out there for your reading pleasure, and I'll release Volume IV close to the same time as Dead Man Hand. Winter Dreams is a new book from me, a dark paranormal suspense. I've also re-published all of my romances, some sweet, some sexy.
            So onward to further Alan escapades. Yesterday, Friday the 13^th (I love that day), I taught my first psychic development class for a few friends who talked me into adding that to my already breakneck schedule. (I refuse to let that keep me from finishing Dead Man Hand and Volume IV, don't worry!) This class isn't necessarily a let-me-teach-you-to-see-ghosts class. We are all either writers or folks of a creative bent. Sarah, Floyd, Amanda and Angela are my initial students; Carl and Gloria should be coming next week. Some are writers, two are part of an Irish Celtic band, one is an awesome designer, one creates awesome crocheted items. Developing the psychic senses is a good way to open to the world around us, improve our writing and other creative talents. But, of course, most folks want to see a ghost in their lifetime, so there was that possibility included.
            I decided to have the class at my friend Angela's, since she has a young daughter and it's not always easy for her to find a sitter if her mom is busy. She really wanted to attend, and I wanted her there. She's become my best hunting buddy next to Aunt Belle.
            I did have a couple reservations. One was the portal behind her fireplace. The people attending the class have a varying degree of abilities/gifts. Concentrating those all near a portal caused me some hesitation. I haven't dealt that much with portals, and though we stumbled around, with some help from friends, and sealed this one, I didn't want it to pop open again.
            "Do you still have the rest of the elements we used on that portal?" I asked Angela when I arrived.
            "Uh huh," she responded. "They're still outside by the tree. Jason keeps asking me how long he'll have to keep moving those so he can mow, and I told him probably for a long while."
            I nodded. During our attempts to secure that portal, we'd gone a bit overboard and used too much copper and too many magnets. That caused its own set of problems, which abated when we carried some of it outside to protect the house. We'll keep a close eye, and third eye, on this one. We have more elements to use if we catch the seal losing strength.
            The second "pause" was Alan. That Alan is a strong ghost, with extremely well-developed abilities of his own. Paranormal abilities. He's a strong communicator, and we do have to discipline him now and then. He doesn't take to that kindly, but it has to be done. I knew there would be no way Alan would keep his nose out of our classes. On reflection, I decided one good point as to that was the class participants would have a good chance of actually seeing a real ghost.
            One not-so-good point would definitely be Alan's ego. All that potential attention could "go to his head."
            And it did.
            We'd no more gathered and started talking when Alan made his first contact. I sensed him there, and I immediately talked to him, in front of the class. Most of them had heard me chat with a ghost previously, although it was a different sort of communication.
"Listen, Alan," I said. "I'm not going to tolerate any ghostly interruptions to my class. Remember when we banished you outside?"
            "Yeah," Angela added. "You spent a couple days out by the mailbox, unable to come back in the house."
            "We can do that again, if you don't behave," I warned.
            He pouted, but he retreated into the kitchen to watch us from behind a curtain of beads Angela has hanging across the doorway.
            Alan did pretty well. He didn't bother me even once … at first. But someone else did. About halfway through the class, which ended up lasting over an hour and a half, I felt some energy on my left arm. It was quite a bit fainter than the energy Alan emits, but it did last for ten or fifteen seconds. I finally glanced aside at it, and the energy disappeared. Concentrating on the class, I didn't spend much time on trying to identify the source of this energy. But I didn't really need to.
            Robert. The name entered my mind. Ah, it was one of the other ghosts we had allowed to hang around Angela's house. I talked about him once before in here.
            Well, Alan evidently took the fact that I didn't strongly reprimand Robert to heart. He thought it gave him permission to make his presence known, too. A few minutes later, I rose and walked over to Sarah as I made a point in the book I was using. Alan came through the curtain, all his energy crawling up my left side. I sighed and without explaining to the others what I was doing, flicked my fingers at Alan and chased him back into the kitchen. He grumpily subsided.
             Then Alan decided to show us he was, indeed, the star of our little gathering. He did something that actually confirmed his presence by showing himself to two of us in the same manner at the same time.
            Angela has a picture of Frank Sinatra on her wall, just inside the front door. I was reading from our lesson book, and suddenly a movement caught my eye. I turned to the look at the picture, and Frank was moving! It was like he had stepped out of the photo and was just going back into it. Well, his upper torso had moved, anyway, since that's all there is to the photo.
            I didn't mention it right then. However, at one point, Floyd asked, "Who's the Sinatra fan?"
            "Angela's mother, I think," I answered.
Angela had been out of the room for a moment, taking care of her daughter. When she came back in, I repeated Floyd's question to her.
            "Oh, it's Mom and me both," she said.
            Floyd and I nodded, but at the time, I didn't realize we both had been interested in that photo for the same reason.
            After class, we started recapping, especially since we'd done some meditation and I wanted to know what the others had experienced. It's a meditation focused on what the third eye is "seeing," so it's a bit more specialized than a yoga or other type. We all actually had a few similar experiences, saw a few of the same things, so I knew the class was working.
            Floyd kept glancing up at that photo. Finally, he said, "I saw someone else in that photo. His image overlaid Frank's, and he was moving."
            The paranormal world still holds a few surprises to me, and I do love a confirmation. My mouth dropped, and I said, "Almost the same thing happened to me. I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye, and it drew me to look at that photo. I didn't see a different person, but by the time I looked, whatever happened was disintegrating."
            Floyd smiled, and I went on to explain what exactly confirmation can mean to a paranormal investigator. It's one of the most satisfying feelings we can get. There is a lot of naysaying by critic that we have to tolerate. So whenever validation happens, pride in our gift quickly follows.
            "What does Alan look like?" he asked.
            I deferred to Angela, and she said, "He looks a lot like Jason, my husband,. But he's a little taller and a bit rounder."
            Floyd's response was a nod. He's still dealing with his new gift ability, and he obviously kept mulling things over, since I got a phone call after I got home. It was Sarah who called, though.
            "Floyd wants to know if Alan had blond hair," she said.
            "Yes," I replied. "Well, it's a rather sandy color."
            She repeated what I'd said to Floyd.
            "Is it sort of mop-like?" she asked next.
            "Sort of. You know, he does look somewhat like Sinatra. That same wiry build. Same color hair."
            "That's who Floyd saw," she said. "It was a different face superimposed over Frank's face. He saw him for a while, then he faded out."
            "I caught it just as he was fading," I said.
            And smiled again at that confirmation feeling as I hung up the phone.
            We'll be continuing our classes for about nine weeks. No, they aren't open to others at this time. I want to see how things go. We'll also do a few ghost hunts, using our senses more versus a lot of the technology available. Timmy, my equipment tech, insists we have at least a few pieces, though. And of course we want a film record as we go down this different path for a while. We'll also attend one or two Circles in Dallas, and hopefully, will all go on an overnight after the classes. I haven't decided yet which haunted location that will entail, but there are a few in the running in my mind. Some are places Aunt Belle and I already visited. One other is a new one I've always wanted to visit. That should make a really good diary for you to enjoy!
            I always enjoy hearing from my readers on Facebook (www.facebook.com/tranam.simmons) or in email (tmsimmons@iseeghosts.com). I'm on Twitter at @TMSimmonsauthor.
            Boo!
           T. M.

New Paranormal Resident

  July 7, 2012: A shorty blog today, but I'm trying to keep to my discipline of writing every week. Otherwise, too many paranormal incidents pile up and don't get in here for y'all to enjoy. So….
  I was baking peach pies and cobbler in the kitchen this afternoon. Yes, I not only write and talk to dead people, I cook, too. Imagine that!
  About 4:30 p.m., I looked into the dining room toward Sis's bedroom door. A full-bodied man in a white shirt walked past the doorway, into the living room. I didn't remember hub wearing a white shirt and didn't think Sis had on that color, either. Besides, I refuted the latter conclusion right away, because the figure was definitely male. Deciding immediately to see whether it was hub now in a white shirt, I ran into the dining room and peered around the living room.
  Nobody! I started talking to whoever it was, saying, "Well, who are you? Where did you go? Did you come to get a piece of peach pie?" But he never answered, and I didn't feel a cold spot or get any sort of communication from him.
  Sis communicated, though. She came out and wanted to know who I was talking to. I told her, noticing that she wore a pink t-shirt. The apparition was sort of tall, maybe 5'11, the shirt brilliant white, long-sleeved. I didn't see his face or trousers; he walked too fast. It wasn't my long-time ghost, Howard, since his shirt is more a light gray. I've had a couple new ghosts here lately, so perhaps it was one of those, since I didn't recognize him.
  Interesting things happen when you live in a haunted house.
  Boo!
  T.M.

Who You Gonna Call?

   It's been far too long since I've blogged about some of the paranormal happenings in my life, and I have notes on several incidents waiting for the writing/telling. I'm going to make a huge effort to blog at least once a week, probably a Saturday. I just need a schedule I can adhere to, y'know? And I already missed this Saturday, because I got called out on two more investigations yesterday. As an aside, I was over at my son Joe's house Saturday morning early, and hub was teasing son about having plenty of time for this or that. I checked son's pocket in his shorts, but nope, I didn't see any time. Joe says if he figures out how to manufacture time, he'll start selling it and become a millionaire! I'm be one of his first customers. Oh, wait, I'll invest and make some money, too!
   As to this new blog, while visiting in Houston near the end of May, I ended up with a couple of unplanned investigations. My sister-in-law, Pat, like her sister Ellen, is fascinated with my paranormal work and writing, although they are both a little skittish about it. Still, Pat tells folks about her crazy writer sister-in-law who talks to ghosts. More in a minute, though.
   First, news on some free books I have available. Smashwords is running a promotion for the entire month of July! So I've added two of my books there for you to get free, with the coupon code SSWIN.
   One is a romance, Bittersweet Promises (Trana Mae Simmons), at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/160356.
   The other one (same coupon code, SSWIN) is my paranormal mystery, Dead Man Talking, at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66400 (T.M. Simmons, of course).
   Right now, Tennessee Waltz (sweet romance, Trana Mae Simmons name) is also free at Smashwords, Kobo and Barnes and Noble. Maybe by the time you read this Amazon will have it free, but so far, no go from them, although you can get it at Smashwords in the Kindle format. And Ghost Hunting Diary Volume I remains free at all the e-book sites. Rather than clutter the blog with all the urls, y'all can do a search at the various sites that handle your own personal e-reader if you want a copy.
   All right, now the fun news. We stayed with Pat and her husband, Raymond, in Huffman, Texas, a small town north of Houston. Pat is a feisty near-70 and still works nearly every day at Tin Roof BBQ between Huffman and Humble, Texas. It has awesome food, and Pat is one of those fantastic cooks. Every time we visit, I come home with an extra pound or five.
   Pat gets off work around 2 – 3 p.m. She called around 1:30 p.m. the day after we arrived and told me the owners wanted to know if I could come over and talk to their resident ghost, Henry. Evidently, they had another paranormal investigator scheduled to stay overnight on the following Saturday, and they wanted to see what I picked up on, and if his investigation might confirm my findings. Interested, I said sure, and hub and I left for the restaurant, about a 20 minute drive away.
   The building is large, with inside and outside seating. The owner's son explained Henry the ghost seemed to be most active in an older portion of the building, which had actually been moved to that site from somewhere in Houston. He led us into that area, which he explained was mostly used for storage now. It held numerous tables and chairs, had some ceiling fans and a bar. It appeared to have been used once as a smaller ice house or bar. On the right/east side of the room were the ladies and men's bathrooms.
   Carol, one of the waitresses, accompanied us. She told me she had a small measure of sensitivity and had interacted with the ghost a few times. He had pulled her hair and touched her. He also called out names now and then, and made his presence known to other employees in various — sometimes spooky — ways . Some employees refused to stay in that area of the building alone.
   I immediately sensed a ghost, near the ladies' bathroom door. He was tall, dark and handsome! A cute cowboy dressed in western clothing. He winked at me in a flirtatious manner, and I felt he was a happy fellow. I smiled back and sat down to chat, explaining to the others what I saw.
   "I thought you said his name was Henry," I mentioned to the room at large.
   "That's what we call him," the son replied.
   "It's not," I denied. "His name is Bobby Joe. He says he tolerates y'all calling him Henry, but his true name is Bobby Joe. He's quite content and really likes being here."
   I listened to Bobby Joe a while and reported what he was saying. "He wants a beer," I said, then, "No, Bobby Joe. I can't give you a beer."
   I went on, "Now he wants me to dance with him." I shook my head. Had I consumed a beer or two of my own, I might have gotten up and Cotton-Eye-Joe'd with Bobby Joe, but I wasn't about to right then. Still, he held out his hand insistently to me, and I laughed and continued to refuse the offer to dance.
   We took a few pictures, but I'd forgotten my digital and used a throw-away. Since I haven't had time to get it developed, I'll have to let y'all know later if I caught Bobby Joe on film.
   As we were leaving, Carol took me aside. Pat had already mentioned what Carol told me: that she had a rather disruptive ghost in her house. She asked me if I could come over and see what I could do about that, since the ghost was bothering her sleep and her granddaughters were a bit frightened. Those who follow my ghost stories know that if a child is involved, I'm there as soon as possible.
   I'm not going to reveal Carol's location, other than to say she lives in a apartment building in town. Pat and I drove there and even before I got out of the car, I felt a presence. Inside, the layout consisted of a living room and kitchen, a downstairs bedroom and bath. The stairs led up to two bedrooms and a bath.
   I met the two granddaughters. One of them was extremely interested in what I was doing and followed me around. I glanced at Carol at one point, to see if she objected to the little girl being with me, but she only smiled an agreement.
   The first ghost I sensed was a very unhappy teenage girl, around fifteen. Not only unhappy, but extremely frightened. I "met" her at the top of the stairs, and she raced from me, into the bedroom on the left. She actually tried to hide in the closet.
   "She stays in that closet a lot," the little girl said.
   "Have you seen her?" I asked.
   "Not really, but I know she's there."
   "She's scared," I said.
   I walked toward the closet, and the teen ran out and across the room, to cower in a far corner. I turned and started talking soothingly to her, explaining that I wasn't there to hurt her, only help. She finally relaxed enough to tell me she had been killed in a car accident nearby and she only wanted to find her parents. That she was so very frightened and didn't know what to do.
   "It's going to be all right," I said softly. "I can help you cross into The Light and not be scared any longer."
   "Can I talk to her?" the little girl beside me said.
   "Of course," I replied.
   "Don't be afraid," she said in the direction of the teen.
   I took a few more minutes and explained to the teen that she would be happier on the other side of The Light, that she would be at peace. She wanted to know if her parents would be there.
   "I’m sorry," I said. "They're still alive. But…" I sensed someone else and went on, "…your grandmother is there. She's waiting for you."
   The teenager finally seemed to lose her fear. She is? she said to me. She'll be there to meet me?
   "She will," I assured her. "Are you ready to go?"
   Yes. Yes, yes. Her tone was more that of an exuberant teenager now.
   I walked over to the window and drew the curtain back. I faced east and opened a doorway.
   "There," I said with a nod at the door. "Go through there and you'll find your grandmother."
   She raced past me and flew toward the opening in the sky. She did take time to glance back at me and call, Thank you!
   I left the door open in case there were any other souls needing to cross and started back downstairs.
   "We've had some problems in this other bedroom," Carol said when I reached the head of the stairwell. "Toys strewn around and things like that."
   "It was the teen," I assured her. "It won't happen again." But I went in and looked around to reassure them…then frowned.
   "You've got another ghost here," I said.
   "What?" she responded. "Who is it?
   I stayed quiet for a moment. The other ghost lingered nearby, not masking his presence now, which he'd evidently done before while I helped the teenager.
   "He's male," I said. "Probably in his fifties. Sort of grouchy."
   Am not, he grouched.
   "What's  your name?" I asked.
   Simmons.
   I laughed rather than snap at him. "No, it's not. My name is Simmons. Quit fooling around with me and tell me your name."
   He actually chortled a bit and didn't seem as grouchy. First he mentioned a few other names, and I kept shaking my head and saying, "No, that's not your name. Come on."
   Richard, he finally said. But I go by Dick.
   I sensed this was now true.
   "Well, Dick," I said sternly. "You're frightening the people in this apartment. You've got two choices. Well, three. I can help you cross into The Light, as I did the teenager—"
   Don't want to go there, he interrupted.
   "Then that leaves you two choices. You can behave yourself and stay here, if that's all right with the people who live here." I glanced at Carol, and she nodded a confirmation.
   "If you don't agree to behave and quit frightening them," I went on, "I can banish you. Make you wander somewhere else."
   I'll behave, he assured me. I didn't realize I was scaring them. I was just bored sometimes. But I don't want to cross over yet.
   "Then make sure you don't bother them again," I said. "Otherwise, they'll call me and I'll come back. I won't give you a second chance. I'll go ahead and banish you immediately."
   I promise.
   We went back downstairs, and Carol asked me to check her bedroom. "I feel someone watching me in here sometimes," she said as she led me into the room. "And sometimes the feeling wakes me up at night."
   "It's Dick," I told her, and looked behind me. The ghost had followed us. "He won't do it again, though. So don't worry about it."
   I won't, I promise, he assured me again.
   You better not, I warned him, this time telepathically. Or else.
   A couple days after we returned home, I asked Pat for a report on how things were going at the apartment. I knew Bobby Joe was still prowling the restaurant, so I didn't bother asking about him.
   "She says things have been totally quiet since you left," Pat assured me. "She's glad you came and settled things down. Now, there's this other friend of mine who wants to know when you are coming back down to visit. She has a ghost in her house…."
   So thus the title of this blog: Who You Gonna Call? When this first started happening to me, as my reputation for dealing with ghosts spread, I considered calling myself a ghost-busterette. What do y'all think of that designation? Or is it silly?
   One last update is what Pat told me in a phone call this morning. She had to run to the bathroom the other day while she was at work. She used the one in the older part of the building — unfortunately, it turned out. In a hurry, she left the keys dangling in the lock on the outside of the door.
   That Bobby Joe does love to pull a good prank, and he did. Yep, when Pat tried to get out, the door was locked! Thankfully, she had her cell phone in her pocket and didn't have to pound on the door and make a racket that would embarrass her. She called Carol, at the checkout register.
   "I'm locked in the bathroom, Carol."
   Carol hurried over to the old building bathroom and let Pat out. "It was that ghost," she said. "There's no way that door can lock itself."
   Pat wasn't sure, but she's going to be a little more careful from now on when she uses that bathroom.
   Happy hunting and reading!
  Boo! T. M.

Alan the Comedian Ghost

  Just a short report for y'all today. I haven't let the cat…uh…book out of the bag elsewhere, but Tennessee Waltz is free over on Smashwords as of this morning. Hopefully, it will go free on the other sites fairly quickly, since Smashwords reported in its blog that it has updated the distribution software. So now instead of waiting 2-3 weeks, we can change the price on a book and allow our readers to get it a lot faster!
  This is one of my sweeter romances, the story of plain socialite Sarah, who falls in love with Wynn, the Appalachian mountain man. No paranormal in this one, just a wonderful heart-tugging story.
  As to ghosts, I haven't had time yet to write up the two investigations I got called out on down in Houston. But what happened over at my friend Angela's house on Sunday, June 3, was cute, although a bit irritating at times, so thought I'd let y'all in on a laugh. We have a round-robin for our critique meetings, and this was Angela's turn. I've mentioned before that she has a resident ghost, Alan. Alan fancies himself quite the comedian at times, and this was one of those. Now, Alan also has an ego, so if he's reading over Angela's shoulder as she reads the blog, oh my! His head will swell at his fame! I might have to go over and help her discipline him again. (So fair warning, Alan, Angela's ghost.)
  Anyway, the first thing Alan did was move our drinking cups. Since we've had some nice weather in Texas, Angela set up a table under her carport. She had the snack plates and plastic cups on the table, but we all went into the house to help her carry out the drinks and yummy pasta salad she makes. When we left, all four plastic cups were on the table beside the plates. When we came back out, two of the plastic cups were at least fifteen feet away from the table, upside down in the yard! The other two were still sitting there undisturbed on the table. The two male authors in our group just walked on past the cups in the yard. Men have a way of not noticing anything that needs picked up. We both halted and stared at the cups, then each other. There was no wind, and besides, how on earth could a wind move only two cups out of a stack and leave the other two on the table?
  "Alan!" we both said at once. She laughed and picked up the cups, and we heard Alan laughing, also. Since the two men were not sensitives, they didn't hear the ghost.
  Later, I was reading my story for the day and a dark shadow kept covering my pages. We were  under a large carport. There were no clouds under there to intrude between me and the pages. No one was moving; we all sat in our chairs, the listeners (I hoped) enthralled with my new diary for my next volume of true ghost stories. The shadow moved away, then back, then away, then…
  "Alan!" I said sternly. "Leave me alone!" Angela had seen her resident ghost doing that, so she broke down into gales of laughter. I'll admit, I giggled a bit, too. The men just stared and shook their heads. They've been around the two of us when things like this happen and are (sort of) used to it.
  I read on. Alan returned. This time he irritated me a bit, because I truly believe you can't let ghosts get out of  hand or they will…get out of hand. So I only allowed him to "shadow" me once, then was firmer when I told him to scat. "Get the heck out of here, Alan, or I'll discipline you!"
  As he left, I glanced up and said, "Damned ghost." Angela giggled, but Alan left us alone after that.
  So if you had a resident ghost, what would you do? Call someone to get rid of it? Enjoy having it around? Would it depend? Let me know what you think, and happy reading and hunting!
  Boo! T. M.

Can Ghosts Get Lung Cancer?

  Book news first, of course. I hope you've had a chance to check out the great new covers Angela Rogers did for me on Montana Surrender and Bittersweet Promises. I've actually put the books up on another site now, All Romance Ebooks. They are in both EPUB and PDF format, for readers who are more savvy than I am and can download from a site and transfer to their e-readers. Well, I guess you need Adobe Acrobat for the PDF file; even I can open a book in that. I used those formats because friends said they were the most popular on the All Romance site.
  The internet radio show went well…for me, after I called in on the phone. However, Elaine reported some problems with the sound, and several of my friends and fans who dropped by said they were unable to hear the show, especially during my allotted time <sigh>. Even I had trouble signing on to hear the other authors prior to me. It kept kicking me off and yes, losing sound when I did have a connection.
  Elaine has hinted they may get some new computer equipment, so here's hoping. I will be back on later in their schedule, when she focuses on a show geared to the paranormal. Also, I understand the show is archived, if anyone has the urge, or time, to listen to it at www.trianglevarietyradio.com.
  Two reasons I brought this up: One, of course, is to explain the problems for people who took the time to drop by, as well as to thank them from the bottom of my heart. Elaine has asked to pass on her apologies and assurance they are working on things. Two is that on the show Elaine mentioned seeing my new covers on All Romance and did rave about them! So if you haven't taken a gander: Montana Surrender: http://tiny.cc/xf39dw. Bittersweet Promises: http://tiny.cc/zb39dw. Angela didn't get to hear the praise, darn it. She had something going on that prevented her from getting home in time. However, she indicated she's going to listen to the archive. Hope she does, so she can hear Elaine's cover rave! Oh, pooh. I decided to test my skills and see if I could put the covers on the blog. Yep, I did it! Happy gazing!.
  Montana Surrender and Bittersweet Promises are also available just about everywhere e-books are sold, so you can get a copy for Kindles, Nooks, etc. I believe Angela is still working on getting the romance web site updated with the url's and covers, but if you click on the books, it will take you to the Amazon site with the new covers. For Nook, you can go to the Barnes and Noble site. For other formats, I distribute also through Smashwords. The romance site is http://www.tranamaesimmons.com.
  As to the paranormal end of my pursuits, I may have mentioned that I keep an on-going list of ghostly events on my computer. A lot of those pertain to what goes on here in my haunted house. When preparing the one I have for you today, I noticed I'd skipped a short but interesting item.
  On April 23, after we returned from our extended Ohio trip, I finally started unpacking. In one suitcase, I found a small jar of rubber bands! The jar was perhaps a half-pint size, filled with those nice wide rubber bands that work for so many things. I had no idea where they came from nor had I ever seen them before. So I called my sister-in-law, Ellen, to see if she had put the jar in our luggage. Sometimes she will gift us with things she feels we might need or use, but normally she does tell us when she passes on the gift. She answered 'nope', she didn't know a thing about any rubber bands. I still have no idea where they came from, but I've already used a couple from the jar, now residing in one of my desk drawers. Did whoever soaked Aunt Belle's clothes in her suitcase stick the jar in my suitcase? I have no idea, but I've continued to mention this to anyone who might possibly have done it and receive denials.
  Then on May 22, the incident I thought might truly interest my blog readers happened. I was cleaning out cat litter boxes late in the evening, after darkness had already fallen. I carried one bag of yuck to the front door, opened the storm door, then set the bag on the step, waiting to take it out to the garbage can the next morning. But I sniffed and smelled smoke! At first I thought wood was burning close by, and feared my house or a neighbor's might be on fire. Then I reconsidered and thought it might be cigarette smoke. The odor shifted back and forth from that wood-burning smell to the cigarette one a couple times as I stood there. I went back into our bedroom to tell my husband, Barney. He didn't seem to think a possible fire was more important than his TV show, so I shrugged and said something like, "Well, I guess we'll know if the house catches fire." Other wives will understand that, and perhaps some men, also. <smiley face>
  He sighed and told me to look next door and see if WT was BBQ'ing. I told him 9 p.m. was bit late to BBQ, but I opened the window, looked at the privacy fence next door, sniffed, but couldn't smell any smoke. Closing the window, I said I would go get my sister Annie and we would look around, since I didn't want to wander around outside alone that time of night.
  Annie joined me, and as soon as we exited the front door, she, also, smelled the smoke. By then, the cigarette odor dominated. She agreed it almost seemed like someone had been smoking on our front porch. We walked to the south edge of the porch, but the odor wasn't there. Walked across toward the north edge and caught it as we passed in front of the door, but nothing at that edge of the porch.
  "Why would anyone be smoking out here?" my sister asked. "And who could it be? Think Barney's sneaking smokes again?" This was a valid concern, since my husband had smoked from the time he was a small child, and even after a COPD diagnosis, it took me two years to be fairly certain he had quit those nasty things.
   "Donno, but he better not be," I told my sister. "And I can't understand it, either. Why would someone walk all the way up here to our porch from the street to smoke?"
  The street is at least ten yards from our porch, and there is no reason a person couldn't stroll down it and enjoy their cigarette, should he/she want to. If they smoked on the porch, why didn't they knock and let us know they were there? Our doorbell doesn't work, but there's a sign beside it, indicating that. The porch light goes on as soon as darkness falls, clearly illuminating the sign, which also says to KNOCK HARD.
  Annie and I sat on the porch for at least five minutes. The wind was blowing, although not as hard as it had been earlier in the day. Still, I had to tuck tendrils of hair behind my ears a few times, so it gusted enough to cleanse smoke form the air. But when we started back in the house, the cigarette odor still lingered quite strongly at the steps directly in front of the storm door. I'd venture to say the area covered was four feet wide and six feet long, contained in only that pocket.
  We went on inside, out of the smoke smell. It was gone the next morning when I went to feed the rescue cats on the porch. The reason I considered this might be a paranormal incident is due to the numerous unexplained odors we encounter in our investigations. There were far too many questions in my mind about this. I couldn't believe someone had wandered up and smoked in front of my door, left, and that the cigarette odor lingered for a good ten minutes or more in the pocket area there, despite the blowing wind. If it resulted from a living person, anyway. But…
  Weird things tend to  happen when you live in a haunted house! I started to wonder whether or not ghosts could get lung cancer, but naw. They're already dead.
Go have a gander at my books. I'm going back to writing some new ones for you to enjoy.
  Boo! T. M.