Story time!

Before you read: This is a story from my Ma’s mouth and it features a psychic medium. This psychic is reputable, and we know her well. If you don’t agree with/like psychics, that’s fine but this is a personal story so, you know, don’t be an arsehole.

In February, 2007, my step-dad was killed. It’s not really relevant to the story, other than it sets the time frame nicely and adds some context.

Not long after he had passed away, my Ma and one of her good friends went to see a psychic they knew well.
Ma has since told me that at this point in her life, she wanted nothing more than to see her partner again, just once and that was the main reason for visiting a psychic medium.

If I remember correctly, this particular woman was also the psychic with whom my Ma had visited before, and she had correctly predicted the sex and outcomes of each child my Ma bore. Upon visiting and entering room, the psychic asked my Ma to leave her,… friends, I believe she said, outside as the room had become far too crowded.
My Ma was understandably confused as she’d come with only one friend who was outside.

“Not that friend,” the psychic laughed softly. “The entourage you’ve brought with you.”

Before they officially begun the reading, she told my Ma that many people had come with her; grandparents, two children, a partner, a father. She told my Ma that she would never, ever walk alone.

Whether you believe in the credibility of psychic mediums or not, the accuracy of her statement and the pure joy in my Ma’s eyes when she tells this story is the most precious thing in the world.

How to: Do Automatic Writing

You’ll Need:

A pen


(Optionally) A candle

(Optionally) salt

An Explanation:Automatic Writing is when you let an spirit/entity take a hold of your hand and move it to write, scribble, draw and communicate. It’s a (usually) safe way to communicate with spirits, as long as you stay calm and don’t let fear take over. 

A Fair Warning: 

Fear is food for spirits. Feed them, and they’ll get stronger. Stay serene. Automatic writing takes practice and might not work on the first try.

How to:

If you want to be very safe, surround yourself with a circle of salt.

A lot of people prefer to do automatic writing in the nude, however, you do whatever makes you comfortable.

Spirits like to come out at night, so you might be more successful then.
Now, to the actual writing.

Light a candle (preferably new and black for protection, but white’ll do) near where you’ll be sitting.
Sit comfortably. Some people prefer to do so half laying back.
Take your pen in whichever hand you want (maybe best in the hand you’re not predominant in? Since you body will have less control over the writing in that case.). Place it on the blank page.
Close your eyes. Enter a meditative state. Calm your mind. Let go of all thoughts and just breathe.
Relax your arm entirely so that you have no muscular control over it.
If your hand starts writing, let it do so. Don’t open your eyes. Don’t try and see what they wrote, what they drew, anything. Eyes closed, relax.
If you feel yourself starting to take control of your hand, let go of the pen and wait until you’ve relinquished all hold on the arm that’s writing.
Don’t try and understand, interpret or control. Let it flow.
Once you feel that it is over, open your eyes, put the pen away, thank the spirit, say goodbye, turn the candle off, throw it away and then, you may look at what was written.
By candle light, no danger should come. If you feel unsafe or that something “evil” or “bad” has taken a hold of your arm (and it frightens you), just request help from beings of light to protect you, or that your guides come and help you. 
If you want to communicate with a particular person, you may try by having an image of them or an object that belonged to them with you, but it’s a bit like chatroulette, you could get anyone from anywhere. And they might not even know how to write or speak your language, Remember that.


Samhain is coming up! It’s a great time to get into spirit work, channeling and such. The veil between our worlds are thinner.

Some writers have been said to write entire books through this method. And some have had lengthy conversations with spirits this way (once you’re good enough, you can keep you eyes open and ask questions.)
Either way, stay safe. Have fun, and share your experiences with me!

🔮Psychic Skills🔮

Originally posted by dancing-at-the-funeralparty

We’re all born with extrasensory perception (ESP). We all have gut feelings, the only problem is that we don’t listen to our intuition. Your sixth sense should never be ignored.

The first step in finding your ESP is acknowledge you have the power to get all the information that was hidden from you.  Do a daily mantra or affirmation saying something like “ My mind is wide open and ready to receive information”.

Then begin researching as much as you can about a given psychic ability, especially one you have an affinity for. Learn your strengths and that most people are extrasensory in only one or two ways.


Close your eyes, clear your mind and let your senses guide you. Try to “feel” what’s in front of you even if you’re not physically touching it. 

Learn to focus on the senses even when you’re surrounded by distractions. When you’re in a crowded place try to quiet your mind and isolate each sense. That helps you keep your senses tightened at any time. 

After some time of doing this try to make simple predictions, like what are your friends going to tell you, or when you wake up predict if it’s sunny or not.

Clear your mind. Start with something like “Should I take this street today?”. An answer will pop into your mind. (That’s your gut feeling)  Don’t analyze it or think about it, just go with it and do it. Don’t be disappointed if you encounter problems in the street your intuition told you to go. Remember that we can never see what didn’t happen because of the choice we made. Everything happens for a reason. 


Trust your intuition! Never say that it’s always wrong, as this types of comments don’t let it improve. 

Stop the what-ifs! 

Don’t try to find logic in your intuition. If you do so, it won’t work.


🔮Visualization exercise🔮

Clear your mind and make a list of questions you need answers to.  Close your eyes and imagine a traffic light–Red at the top (no), yellow in the middle (maybe) and green at the bottom(yes) – Start warming up by asking questions that you already know the answer to. Do this until you feel confortable asking other types of questions. The color that first pops into your mind is the answer. 

🔮Some types of psychic skills🔮

Heightened Intuition: A more developed intuition.

Clairvoyance: The ability to see visions, receive images often trough the third eye.

Clairaudience: The ability to hear messages from higher guidance.

Clairsentience: The ability to pick up energies and emotions from other people; Empathy. 

Psychometry: The ability to receive information from objects.

Telepathy: “Mind reading”. Mind to mind communication.

Precognition: Direct knowledge or perception of the future.

Mediumship: The ability to communicate with spirits. 



Creepypasta #960: Just Keep Breathing

Length: Medium

Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady breaths. Just keep breathing. I have to remember to do this. It’s important. 

Sitting in English class, having the other girls pick on me, calling me names. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady breaths. 

The boys always stay away from me because I’m weird. Except for Jeremy. He’s always nice to me. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Just keep breathing. 

His girlfriend, Nikki thinks I’m trying to “take her man”. She bullies me and calls me a slut. 

I’m really just trying to live. Just trying to keep breathing. 

She corners me after school, and threatens me to stay away from him. She shoves me and I fall down. I see a flash of metal as she kneels down close to my face. She tells me that if I don’t stay away, she’ll be more persuasive. Just keep breathing. The next day Jeremy approaches me after class. He brings my books I lost when Nikki cornered me. He’s moving a little closer to me. 

Remember to breathe. Steady breaths. Just keep breathing. 

Nikki notices this and she notices that I know she knows. I remember yesterday and politely excuse myself, trying to head home. 

Just keep breathing. 

Nikki catches me outside and pulls me into a secluded area on the side of the building. She shoves me and screams at me that she warned me.

I remind myself to breathe. 

I didn’t notice when she stabbed me in the chest. I only noticed her horrified expression as she stared at me. I look down to see the knife in my chest. I pull it out and partially coagulated blood stuck to the blade. I grab Nikki by the neck and lift up. She tries to kick and scream for a little while, and I let her go when she fell limp. It’s so difficult to act alive when you don’t breathe.

Credits to: DeusSolis88


Because I feel this needs to be said

If you’re able to contact spirits, spirits of the dead in particular, you’re not required to help them. You’re not required to pass on messages and you’re not required to help them move on. You’re also not required to help physical people contact their deceased loved ones or spirit guides or gods. If you want to great, but please please please make sure you know what you’re doing and what you’re getting into because not all spirits are friendly. But just because you can talk to them doesn’t mean that you’ve been chosen and that you have no choice.

And if you do choice to act as a medium you have ever right to pick and choice who you help and when you help them. You’re allowed to not allow strange spirits into your home or tell them they’re not allowed to show up at all hours of the day and night. It drives me crazy when I see mediums on tv who have spirits that pop up at all hours of the day and the medium feels they have to act on it right then and say things like “when spirit calls I have to act”. You’re allowed to say no, to spirits and to physical people.

Empath Hangover:

The exhausted, ran-over-by-a-truck feeling that Sensitives get after a catastrophic event.
(Hurricane Matthew, Pulse Shooting, Tsunami’s, Mass Terror, etc)

Empaths feel the emotions and frequencies of others.  When large groups of people are going through an emotional trauma/catastrophe, it’s that much stronger. 


  • Be gentle with yourself.  You need to recharge your batteries and rest
  • Check in with friends/family to make sure their safe, but don’t relive events just now. 
  • Others may want to talk about the event at length, Don’t.  You need distance from all of those raging emotions. 
  • Get something to eat.  Food is grounding. Root Vegetables especially.
  • Drink Water.  A lot of it. 
  • Find Sacred Space.  A place where you can just Be, and feel safe.  Grab a blanket if you need to. 
  • Do a calming activity (knitting, art, cooking, reading, etc). 

As sensitives, if we don’t take this time to recharge and cope with the onslaught of emotions that we’ve just experienced, we can be exhausted for days or at worst spiral into anxiety. 

Caffeine Challenge #4

Whoo! I went a little over! That was a fun challenge and now I have another project in my pile lol. Remember to tag yours Caffeine Challenge so I can find it!

Here’s mine below:

First line: You talk to the dead fairly regularly. Lately, you’ve gotten the distinct impression that the dead wish you’d just shut up.

You talk to the dead fairly regularly. Lately, you’ve gotten the distinct impression that the dead wish you’d just shut up.

“You’d think they’d at least tell me,” you mutter, hunching your shoulders. The walk to school is usually filled with the spirits of the recently departed, all wishing you a good day. Mrs. Romero, for example, hangs out at the intersection of George and Seventh, but not today. Today it’s just Mr. Romero, Mrs. Romero’s still living husband. He’s pruning the hedges where he buried Mrs. Romero seven years ago.

“Good morning, Antonia,” Mr. Romero says, waving with the garden shears. He tips the straw hat on his head to you. “School today?”

“Like every day,” you say, trying to sound cheerful. You don’t like talking to Mr. Romero. Usually you tip off the police about murderers, but Mrs. Romero had insisted you leave her husband alone until he got to see their grandchildren born. You think the dead are often too kind.

You keep walking, eyes scanning the street for any of your undead friends. Ghost friends? Ghostly acquaintances?

“What are we?” you ask the air. No one responds.

You make it to your high school without having encountered a single spirit. You frown at the principal’s office, the usual haunt of Former Principal Ferrera, the stern, vaguely malevolent spirit that makes the PA system screech. He’s absent, just like he has been for the last three days.

You head into math, hands clenched around the straps of your backpack, with your head down.

“‘Sup, Jennifer Love Hewitt,” Jean Paul says as you drop into the seat next to him. He pauses as if waiting for you to respond. When you don’t, he sighs. “Ghost Whisperer? She plays a medium? Ring any bells?”

Normally you’d be all up for bantering with Jean Paul. You’re not quite friends, but he’s by far the nicest person at school. In the mood you’re in, that’s even sadder than usual.

“Am I annoying?” you ask him, staring at the whiteboard. There’s a very faint outline of a penis, leftover from when Kavi, the most popular girl in the grade, tried to impress Tevin, the most popular boy in the grade. You hadn’t found it nearly as funny as the rest of the class. Then again, the rest of the class hadn’t been able to see Mrs. Ng, the former math teacher, screeching out her lungs at the “classroom defacement.” You drop your head onto your desk. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

Keep reading

Creepypasta #1030: Copycat

Length: Medium

About a year ago I got a new neighbor. The day she moved in I have to confess to being a bit curious. She turned up with two large shopping bags and disappeared into the house. There was no van turned up full of furniture, no cars full of boxes, nothing, which struck me as very odd. For a start what was she going to sleep on?

For the first couple of days she just said hello when she saw me, which I had no problem with. I like to be on good terms with my neighbors.

Now I need to point out, I spent a lot of time sitting in my yard. I smoke, but not in the house and I had a very old dog that needed to go out to pee about a million times a day. In the summer I loved to garden and I’ve always been out there more than I’m in. My door is right next to the low fence that separates the two properties.

The next time I saw her she came scuttling over to the fence and introduced herself as Margaret, and I told her my name was Debra. She was a small blob of a woman who looked in serious need of a very long shower. Her clothes were baggy and nondescript, but she seemed friendly enough. She told me she hadn’t been happy in her last home as she didn’t know anyone and hadn’t managed to make any friends.

I told her a few little things about myself, just things like my name and how long I’d lived there, but I didn’t find her very easy to talk to. As the conversation dried up she just stood and stared at me. Before things got awkward I made my excuses and went back into the house.

After that things changed. Gradually over the course of a week or so I saw her more and more. Her kitchen, which was built on to the back of the house, overlooked my garden, and every time I went out I could see her standing staring out the window at me. I’d be out no longer than five minutes and she’d be there. 

Our conversations consisted of her either questioning me about everything I did, “Where was I going?”, “what was I doing?” and even “what was I cooking?” or those long weird silences where she just stood and stared at me while my brain fumbled about trying to make conversation and not be rude. These conversations always ended up with me making some excuse and coming back inside.

I tried looking busy and gardening. I’d stop for a little while and have a short chat and then say something like “Well, I’d really better get on” but she never took the hint. As I weeded and watered she’d still be there, hanging over the fence staring at me.

Sometimes one of the other neighbors would start chatting as they walked past. I’ve lived here a long time and I know most of my neighbors really well. No sooner than we started talking I’d hear this voice from behind me.

‘Hello Debra, nice day isn’t it?’

Part of me thought that the poor woman didn’t know anyone so obviously she wanted to meet the neighbors, but part of me wanted her to butt out.

I even tried lurking just inside my door to have my smoke, but that didn’t work either. I heard this voice drift across the yard, “Warm again isn’t it, Debra?”

Now I know I’m probably coming across as unfriendly, but I’m honestly not. It’s just my yard is my little bit of peace and quiet and I felt like I had nothing in common with this woman. I didn’t need a new best friend which is what I felt like she was aiming at.

Next thing I knew she’d gotten herself a little dog exactly the same breed as mine.

I put some clothes out in bags for the thrift store van, but before it came to collect she came knocking on my door asking if she could have them. I mean, what could I say without seeming mean and petty? I told her she was welcome to them. So now she was walking about dressing like me too.

I noticed a change in her mannerisms. It was like all that time she spent watching me she’d been taking mental notes. The habit I have of biting my lip when I’m slightly annoyed. The way I push my hair back out of my eyes. She seemed to me almost mirroring my behavior. I told myself I needed to get a grip and I was just being paranoid.

She got her hair cut and dyed the same color as mine. I tried to see it as a compliment.

I felt in some odd way that she was watching me and learning how to be a person.

She’d seemed so naive when I first met her, almost childlike, but she was changing.

The time that really got under my skin was when I left the house to go shopping, and there she was in the street talking to an old man that lives a few houses along. His vision isn’t the greatest and he literally stopped dead and his mouth fell open when he saw me. He’d thought he was talking to me.

A couple of weeks after that she got a tattoo. Not just any tattoo though, my tattoo. I have a large tribal one that runs down the left side of my back. Hers was exactly the same. She was so excited when she showed me it too. Like it was completely normal. I had no idea how she did it. I could only think at some point she’d taken a photo of my back when I was lying in the sun.

While she was showing me, I noticed another tattoo on her other shoulder. It was of a crows head in a raggedy looking circle. Hard to describe but really nice. It was also oddly familiar. I went back in and stomped round my house, swearing under my breath about her. It was a couple of hours later that it clicked in my mind. I’d seen that tattoo before. There was a bar I went to occasionally a few miles away, and there was a girl there regularly, with exactly the same tattoo.

That night I decided it was time for some Facebook stalking. I started off checking out the Facebook for the venue, flicking through it’s albums, and suddenly there she was. The girl with the crow tattoo. I kept flicking through seeing if she was tagged in any of them. Suddenly I froze.

In this particular photo the girl with the crow tattoo was standing smiling. She had pale pink hair shaved up one side. Standing next to her, with identical hair, in almost exactly the same clothes was Margaret.

I took a screen shot of it and messaged everyone I knew with a copy. Margaret was freaking me out and I really wanted to talk to someone who knew her before.

Then a couple of weeks later I got a call. To begin with it barely registered who I was talking to. I was having a really crappy day. My little dog had escaped the garden. I’d popped into the house to make a cup of coffee and when I went back out she was just gone. I’d spent the day scouring the streets in a blind panic, so when my mobile rang my heart was in my mouth. My phone number was on her collar and I was hoping so much it was someone saying they’d found her.

“Hi, is that Debra?” the voice asked.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“My name’s Margaret. I’m the girl with the tattoo, and I understand you’ve been trying to get a hold of me?”

I was instantly confused. Were they both called Margaret? I explained about my neighbor and how I thought maybe they knew each other.

“If she’s who I think she is, she used to be my neighbor and her name’s not Margaret. She stole that from me. I haven’t got time to explain but I need her address. The police are looking for her.” Her voice shook with an emotion I didn’t understand.

So I did. I gave her Margaret’s address.

Within ten minutes the street was full of police cars, but they never found her.

They found my dog, in a bag in the freezer.

They found a wall covered in photos of me, taken through my windows during the night. There was even one of me getting changed, tattoo on full display.

I guess in a way I was the lucky one though, because when the real Margaret had called the police about her, not only had they found a wall covered in photos of her, they’d found her two missing children in the freezer.

She still hasn’t been found, and I’m guessing she didn’t manage to get away with more than a couple of carrier bags of stuff. So if you should happen to get a new neighbor, a small nondescript blob of a woman who seems overly keen to be friends I’d suggest you avoid her. Oh, and as a heads up, she’ll probably tell you her name is Debra.

Credits to: hrhdaf