Possible Past Life

96
Possible Past Life
Victorian two room House / West Virginia Mountain Mama

Hi my name is Lorie. I have my own story to share. It’s not so spooky or scary. More like it’s a nice thing. I take after my father’s side of the family. We have an old name. His roots all hailed from West Virginia. Well one day I visited by not one, but two of my relatives (long deceased). One day, while on my grandad’s farm, mind you this farm has been in the family since around the mid 1800’s. I was 16 years old. I am now 26. Well, my mom, dad, and I, were visiting my grandad (deceased for about 3 yrs). Well me and grandad were always close.

There was this old log cabin that was built around roughly I think around 1860’s. Not quite sure, how many generations were born and died there. I only know stories, from what my grandad has told me. One day, I was out, wandering around on the acres, and decided to check out the log cabin. Well, I walked by it, and swore up and down, I had seen a pioneer like lady. Her hair was in a bun, she was wearing an apron, and a long dress. She was smiling at me, through the window. I was shocked and didn’t know if I was seeing things. Mind you, I was the major tomboy, here. Okay, no make up, baggy clothes, short bobbed hair. I heard something call me, but not by my name. She said, “Samual, come here. Boy get in here.” I looked around. Knowing I am no Samual.” I wasn’t scared, more like surprised. Well, what I had done, was I went in there. Opened the door, and a gush of cold, cold, damp air, flew right past me. Mind you this is summer, humidity and all of that. Hottest month of the year in 1990, July. Well, I went in there. And I didn’t see her.

I was kind of sad. I decided to investigate. I found, an old trunk and opened it and found a photo album of a lot of pictures. Actual tin type or whatever they were. And I seen this boy that stood out from all of them. I could barely read the name. He was in a uniform. Civil war kind of uniform. I brought it to my grandad. I showed it to him, he just smiled. I pointed to the picture and I asked him. “Grandad who is this boy?”, he couldn’t read it very well.

But, he had another photo book. That he kept in the house. He pulled it, nonchalantly, like it was nothing and looked through it. Together me and him found some names, and some more pictures. Sure enough, His name was “Samual James Pringle” He looked at me and said. “Where did you find this, sis?” I said, “In the log cabin Grandad.” He said, “Ohh.” then he smiled. “Did you see her?” I looked at him. “Yes.” “That was his momma. She is my great-great grandmother. Her name was Hilda Sue. I named your Aunt, Ronnie’s sister after her (Ron is my dad). Another person whom I was close with, was my Aunt Sue (Tragically killed 3 years ago. 2 weeks after she settled my late grandad’s affairs) So I had asked him if I was imagining it. He said, no.

They’re your family, your ancestors. They watch over me. I have known they were always here. For years and years. Of course the scary thing was I could have been Samual’s twin sister. Paternal twins I guess. I swear before God that he and I, were twins.

Dare I say, yes, tomboy yes, but still very feminine, as was he. In an androgynous kind of way. Very beautiful and handsome boy he was. He was killed in action. Don’t know where, when or what year. But, he was in the Civil War. I looked for archives. But, a lot of stuff, has either been destroyed or buried over the years. In regards to our family name. And to think, I always had a fascination with the name. Samual, Samson, Derek, as well as Eric. My grandad said, he may be buried on the acres. Or in an unmarked grave. Course now, I can’t go back to the farm, cause, there are present owners there now who were family friends. They take care of grandad’s farm. None of whom, or perhaps know anymore than I do, or what grandad always told me in secret. Not even my father knows about our ancestors. All I know, is that my dad, was born, in that log cabin along with my late Aunt Sue. She was the oldest. First child Joana died of pneumonia 4 years old. My aunt sue, was the only daughter. I never saw my “mother” of that time anymore.

Second one. I’ll make short and brief, was my uncle Roger, he had drowned when my dad was in the Vietnam war. Uncle Roger was 17 when he died. Dad had to come back for that. Then leave back for Nam. I was in the shed this time. And found a bunch of Uncle Roger’s things. Including a picture. This was the same visit by the way. Well, I felt a cold chill, once again. I heard a sobbing. A young man. I looked at the picture. And said aloud. “Oh that’s my uncle Roger.” I knew of that name, from what my dad said. The sobbing stopped. I knew it was him. “Go to the light Uncle Roger.” I felt his hand on my face. He was sobbing. I knew it was him. I just knew it and I felt it. I wasn’t scared at all. I heard his voice, faintly say, “please don’t go near the water. Drown 17.” I was like “Yes Uncle Roger.” Then it was gone.

After we left. I took the photo book home with Samual’s pictures as well as recent ones of Uncle Roger and so forth. I had to start school in Sep. I turned 17 in Nov 90. Around May 91, month before I graduated. Some Neanderthal pushed me in the pool. I nearly drowned myself. I felt a strong uplift and I was pushed out of the water. Funny thing was no other students were in that pool cause everyone had to get in and a teacher pulled me up from the water by my hands. I went home and told my dad what had happened. He looked at me. And said. “Sis, so many years ago, to this date was when your Uncle Roger had drowned. Same age, as my younger brother.” My dad turned white as a ghost, as had I.

That night, I overheard my dad. He was looking at the photo album and he said. “Roger, thank you baby brother for saving my baby, your niece from the very same fate that cruelly took you away from me. Forever I am grateful.”

I was always deathly afraid of pools, and water, like ponds and rivers. If I couldn’t see the bottom, there was no way in hell I would go near it, or even in it. When I turned 18. I took swimming lessons.

Stories are personal encounters that were submitted to us by our website visitors. Unless otherwise mentioned, stock photos are used to help represent the story and are not actual photographs that were taken during the author's encounter.
SHARE
Previous articleDead Thing
Next articleProtective Uncle

Leave a Reply