Bullying, My Two Cents


In the wake of yet another teen suicide in my community as a result of bullying, I need to vent. Mean people suck. Simply put. I just don’t get it and I know I never will. This coming from someone who was not one of the cool kids, nor was I one of those kids that can say I looooved high school and would jump at the chance to relive it. Hell no.  I loved my teachers and excelled, graduating with honors. While I got along with everyone I never quite fit in with any particular group either. As a result I kept to myself. Solitude, music and books were my best friends in those awkward raging hormonal years. Perhaps that’s why I was one of the lucky ones. I stayed in the shadows. But I saw. Even some twenty-three years ago, bullying was happening. Nothing compared to the scale that it is today though. Nowhere near.

It completely and utterly saddens me to hear when  a fourteen year old girl takes her life because some popular boy doesn’t like her and a group of girls, the bitches we can be especially in packs, relentlessly making her life hell. And this girl, she kept it balled up inside her, like most kids that age do. And I get it. I so get it. You’re humiliated enough amongst your peers why bring it home where you have some sense of control. Schools these days are like fucking battle grounds. Education takes a back seat to behavior. But, but, it’s up to us parents to be involved with our children. That is the key people.

I’ve often bumped heads with my children’s pediatrician when it came to signs of illnesses over the years. Why? Because I know my children more than anyone. Every parent does. Well, a participating parent. We know their every day behaviors. We know when they are sick. When they are lying. When they are hiding something. When they are withdrawn. And we can’t ignore it. No matter how awkward it may be. We simply can’t. It sucked major ass that I had to talk to my daughter about sex in the fourth grade because of things she heard in school. But I did it. And she walked away still believing in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and knowing what “jerking off” was. Yah me.  It totally wasn’t the way I’d visualized that conversation to go and totally not at such a young age. But I did it, while silently cringing.

But that’s what we do. That’s what we are supposed to do. We are supposed to be their protectors. The ones they can trust with anything. And when they get to that age where they get all hormonal and crazy, where mine is these days, it’s up to us to reel their asses back in, ride the storm, and pray for the best. But that takes an effort. And effort takes diligence, not to mention patience and understanding.

We owe it to our children people. God knows parenting didn’t come with an instructional manual, I know. I tell my fourteen year old all the time, we’re in this together kid. This is your first time being a teenager and my first time raising one.

Bullying is a sad reality effecting our kids all over the world. It knows no boundaries nor color. And it thrives on people keeping silent about it. Talk to your kids. You know yours better than anyone else.




Rewind: a short

this piece was another written for a writing competition that we were tasked with writing a flash fiction which is my first attempt at such. Me? Write short and sweet? This undoubtedly was a challenge for me but absolutely an excellent exercise in writing and out of my comfort zone as I don’t write Sci fi. Ever. But…I liked where this storyline was going and it is sprinkled with a hint of romance so who knows I may revisit this world. Thanks for reading and enjoy!



Can’t be sure what woke me up. The banging in my ear or the stench of stale cigarettes filling my lungs. When the light trickles through, as I open my eyes, the banging returns. I jerk my head and nearly slam it into glass as I peer up at a man in a stupid looking police uniform. Outdated or something.

“You okay miss,” he asks. I stare in confusion, as if waking up in a dream. Where the hell am I. I strain to look over his shoulder at the tall brick buildings, smoke in the air, and the sounds of boat horns. I shift, peering beyond him, but I’m yanked back from something pressing against my knees. A steering wheel. A very sleek looking steering wheel. I crinkle my forehead trying to remember. I glance around inside the car hoping for some clue. The view matches the expensive look of the wheel. Leather covers the seats. Wood grain along the center console.

No sign of anyone else with me but for a lone black briefcase resting in the center of the backseat. “Miss?,” the officer mumbles again, his voice resonating impatience. I instinctively begin to fumble with the door handle to slide the window but huff in frustration discovering it’s automatic. I need keys. I look to the ignition. Empty. I drop my eyes to the seat next to me, to my lap, to above the visor. All empty.

I begin to open the door to the officer in the least to ask him where the hell I am. Just as it cracks open a new voice fills the air. “Is everything okay officer?,” the voice asks. I jerk my head to the passenger door where a man is now standing. I can’t see his face as he towers over the car. Only his t-shirted chest and jeans along with an arm full of shopping bags.

“This your car Sir?,” the officer asks. The man shoves a hand in his pocket and pulls out keys, clicking the fob and hearing the doors unlock, He immediately opens the door next to me. “Yes sir, it is. Is there a problem?” He peers in on me then and winks. Winks. What the hell. Blood rushes to my head from frustration and fear.

The officer clears his throat, and our eyes meet again as he looks away and back to the stranger standing just inches away from me. “I uh noticed your girl here. Wasn’t sure if she was drunk or…”

“Yeah,” the stranger laughs. “She’s fine. Right honey?” He leans in and catches my eyes which I’m sure reveal my absolute confusion. He shoves a hand back in his pocket and tosses something to the seat next to me. I reach for it and as I pick up the wooden square shaped box, my eyes immediately travel to the etched writing across the top surrounded by small colored jewels. As my fingers graze the writing, I smile.

I turn my attention back to the officer who’s eyes are on me intently. I slowly nod my head as I push the door open and stand. “Yes sir, I’m fine. Sorry for the confusion. I must have just dozed off waiting for my husband.” Shaking my head I giggle. “He always shops like he’s buying for any army.” I shift my head over my shoulder to look at Nate who’s now holding the bags up in the air, grinning as I grit my teeth regretting my words as soon as they escape.

“Guilty.” he says.

The officer takes another look at us. Staring at what must be our odd looking attire and then grunts. “Well alright then. Carry on.” And without another glance he turns away and meanders along the side street leading towards the hustle and bustle of the city alive with pedestrians. I turn back to Nate who has already tossed the bags in the backseat.

“Really?” I nearly growl at him.

“What?,” he laughs. “You were still out of it.”

“Well you could have tried to wake me up.”

“Don’t be too sure I didn’t Ry.”

I shake my head at him, knowing full well he didn’t. He never does. Always likes to be in control. Scope out the spot before we head out. “Whatever,” I groan.

Reaching in the backseat, Nate grabs the briefcase that holds all the intel for our assignment and slams the door, balancing the bags that hold our change of clothes. He walks towards me and tosses a bag my way. “Took you long enough to remember this time woman. What’s up with that? Nice touch on the husband bit though.” He nods as a deviant grin forms on his face.

I roll my eyes. He didn’t waste any time throwing my words back in my face. I had always insisted we play the brother slash sister role so we wouldn’t have to show any signs of affection in public for prying eyes when we were on assignment. With the slip of my tongue and the look I was getting from him, I knew what was coming. “You know you have a thing for me woman. Just admit it. We can work through it.” And there it was.

I don’t answer him as I pocket our time piece. My saving grace it seems. With just one look at the box that holds the power to allow me and Nate and others like us to travel through time, I was able to rebound and remember who I was. Ryland Creagh, acquisition specialist. And remember our task. To retrieve the sword that was stolen and bring it back to its rightful owner. Well the decedents of the owner anyways.

This assignment found us in 1930’s New York City. In a time when the country was just beginning to become alive again, slowly pushing forward past the Great Depression. A time when greed and desperation became second nature. Con-artists and peddlers ran the streets. Preying on the needy. The unsuspecting.

My attention back to Nate I laugh as I say “In your dreams old man.” He was three years older than me but calling him old was a stretch. At twenty-nine he was far from it. Mind or body. We were required to remain fit because of the “obstacles” sometimes our assignments presented for us. And Nate, well he took fit to a whole new level. I’d never admit it to him though. What little respect I did have as a woman in this business I’d lose that quick. Even though Nate would be the first to jump on anyone’s back to stand to my defense he also has the biggest ego of them all. And he’s my partner. Lucky me.

“Come on let’s go find Harry,” I say, ignoring his smirking grin. The con-artist we’d come to know as just Harry was an informant so to speak. More like a rat as for the right price he’d dime anybody out. Everything he ever told us always panned out so we trusted him. Well as much as you could trust a conny.

Harry who we found on the street corner peddling his latest gimmick knew right away where we could find the antiquity dealer who had a certain dark cloud over his head. A high class con-artist, that’s what he was really. As I stare at the length of row houses dancing off the moonlight, I twist my neck at the brownstone numbered twenty-eight fourteen. “This is it,” Nate whispers, too close to my ear for my liking.

I was still chapped about the attire he had picked out for me which I’m certain was his plan all along in sneaking out while waiting for me to wake up. Not an easy task climbing through the window with a two sizes too small dress with a cut that even I knew was risque for the time period. And Nate’s laugh under his breath as I did didn’t go unnoticed as I whipped my neck around at him.

Following me in we were careful to remember the layout from visiting earlier when the shop was open. Two stories full of what amounted to stolen family heirlooms. Items given to the shop owner for protection. In hopes that one day they would be returned. Little did they know they’d never see their priceless pieces again. Instead destined to be sold.

We slowly make our way over to the china cabinet where we had discovered the sword earlier that day. The sword owned by the family Gohen. Bestowed to them as a gift from the Queen from her private collection. The sword, ending up in New York all the way from Germany, during a time where it wasn’t safe for successful Jews. Fearing the worst many began hiding their valuables, their money, their artwork, their history. They were desperate to do anything to keep their culture alive after the terror ended.

Nate opens the cabinet door and retrieves the sword as I keep watch of the door and windows. We then slowly retrace our steps to the window. Sometimes our assignments were dangerous. Dangling atop high rise buildings. Lingering around terrorist camps. And then sometimes they were dull like this one. Uneventful. Boring. But necessary and paid just the same.

Just as I’m climbing out of the window and Nate is reaching up to help me down a voice yells out in the quiet of the night. “You there! What’s that you’re doing? What’s that you got?” I hop into Nate’s arms and the two of us look in the direction of the officer with a rottweiler gaining ground on us. We begin to run knowing getting caught was not an option. The rumor that remained in my mind. Remained in all of our minds really. The one that got caught once. Shot dead while he waited in his prison cell. Shot for the fear of him caving and revealing the organization.

As we round the corner to our waiting car, the power source for our time travel, I jerk my head over my shoulder to see the officer and the beefy rot still on our tracks.

“Faster Nate,” I yell. He digs in his trouser pocket for the keys and the box. We both bolt to the driver door and give each other a frustrated stare down.

“I’m driving Ry. No time woman. Just get in the car.” I grunt not pleased with him taking control but run over to climb in on the other side knowing now’s not the time to argue equality.

Nate tosses the sword in the backseat and shifts back around quickly to start up the engine as I twist the box in position. The sounds of the barking dog are getting louder as we begin to shift out of the dimension and safely back to our own. I turn to Nate laughing. “You know it never occurred to me until just now. This car, you picking it for our source, it’s so Back to the Futurish don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, so. Good movie. Besides,” he turns to me with a devilish grin. “I like to feel power underneath me.”

I roll my eyes and fall back to my seat, trying my best not to grin.

the hunter: a poem


this piece I wrote some time ago for a writing competition for me had a singular meaning but I discovered quickly as other’s read it, it took on a mirage of meanings and that for me, was a beautiful thing…I wonder what you’ll take from it…

the hunter

Her ivory awaking
an unseemly ache
a crazed fire in his belly
as she stood,
his for the taking

his damnation to defile
peering in awe
unable to turn away
nor a desire to withdraw

a beast in the night
in wait he hid
to profile her steps
with calculating motive
behind every movement he did

for soon the moment would come
to stake his claim
how he dreamt of that second
to relieve his pain



a walk with you…a poem

2016-04-10 21.27.52

she still thinks of a time when
beneath a crimson moon
upon a path laced with secrets
spilled a desire
a likeness she found in your eyes
to a fire
a flame that scorched
the blackest of dreams
sedating the demons
for a moment’s walk with you



A night at the Plantation…Round II

the ominous walk down the path to Ferry Plantation House


Another Friday night has found me at the historically rich home of the Ferry Plantation House investigating with Coastal Virginia Paranormal. Except tonight was a little special. Tonight I was asked to officially join the group and I am estatic!  I knew I fit in with these guys right away upon meeting them last week.  If ever there was a no judgement zone, “we’re nerds and proud of it” group, these guys are it and I am the newly crowned nerd.

What I love about this group and what makes them unique is they as well as myself appreciate the history of a home or place. They embrace that with any investigation that they may do. Whether it be a public place or a private residence, they respect the “heart” of the subject under investigation.

And further their headquarters or home base is a home of historical importance as well as listed as one of the top 25 most haunted places in Virginia. The executive director to the house and docent, Heather Moore, is a member of CVP so she has full access to undergo investigations at any given time.  This I think is resourceful especially in conducting experiments with new equipment as well as training new members.

the bare necessities of a paranormal investigator …

I look forward to investigating with these guys and becoming a part of their family.

As if asking me to join them was not exciting enough, they also informed me where the next investigation shall take them…St. Albans Sanitarium, noted as the most haunted place on the east coast and most haunted asylum in the country!  Go big or go home…these guys clearly ain’t afraid of no ghosts.

Click on the pic below to learn more about this seemingly sinister sanitarium who’s history begins with the land from which is built upon.





Witches, cats, trees oh my…Ghost hunting with Coastal Virginia Paranormal

Witches, cats, trees on my…

So it would seem as I sit here writing this Ms. Scaredy Cat survived her exciting night of adventure with the Coastal Virginia Paranormal group. I gotta tell ya, I really didn’t know what to expect and I truly was a little apprehensive even though I talked good game leading up to my debut night of meeting said ghosts. Well that quickly diminished as I walked inside the beautiful home that is the Ferry Plantation House. Before I tell you about this historical home  that sits on the list of the top most haunted places in Virginia, I should tell you more about the history of Virginia and how this home might have found its way on such a list.

Virginia is one of the oldest original colonies. It is the home of Jamestown, the first English settlement in America where Captain John Smith and his crew landed. Before they came however it was the home of many Native American tribes.  As a result make shift burial grounds are scattered about along with a vast amount of artifacts. Virginia claims to have one hundred and seventy haunted places and the Ferry Plantation House is within the top twenty-five most haunted.


Located in Virginia Beach, the Ferry Plantation house dates back to 1642 when Virginian Savill Gaskin started the second ferry service along the Lynnhaven River thus Ferry Farm as it was called, got its name. This welcomed many aristocrats and their families and slaves to the area creating the Old Donation Farm neighborhood. Many of the homes were built from remnants of prior structures. The Second Princess Anne Courthouse stood on the site of Ferry Farm from 1730 to 1751. It is here I’ll mention a well-known trial that occurred at the courthouse. Grace Sherwood or The Witch of Pungo went on trial here. Likely jealous of her beauty and preferring to wear pants over dresses she was accused of witchcraft by her neighbors. She was a skilled herbalist and known animal lover but unfortunately was convicted resulting in the only witch to be tried and convicted in Virginia.  I’ll get back to her in a minute.

In the 1770’s Walke’s tavern owned by the Walke’s family stood on the Ferry Farm property as well as the family’s mansion.  In 1828 their home unfortunately burned down and two years after that George and Elizabeth Macintosh built from its foundation the farmhouse as it is at present.

Inside the house today you’ll find time period furnishings some being owned by its occupants over the years. The house itself, a three-story brick, federal style home has a parlor, an attic (Henry’s room aka where the slaves were housed aka the jury room above the old courtroom) Who’s Henry you’re asking. Hold on I’m getting there. The home also has a library and multiple bedrooms one being the nursery where my new friend Eric is known to hang out.

So now that we got that out-of-the-way, on to the good stuff. So it was around 7:30 pm that I arrived at the house and met the infamous group that my friend and member Rocki had been talking about non-stop. I met with Tom who for lack of a better word is the head honcho, as well as Wayne, Heather and Mike, head investigators for the Coastal Virginia Paranormal group.  Heather is also the Director of the house which regularly conducts historical tours.  Knowing that, I knew off jump street she was in the know of all the good stuff. These guys were very welcoming and I could tell right away they knew their shit. I spied two black cases filled with research equipment aka the goodies needed for a proper ghost haunt and right away the goose bumps started. I was totally feeling like I was in an episode of Taps. Alas, no Jason Hawes was around but meh, I was already high on all the seemingly knowledge in the air. These guys between all of them have over 20 years of experience in paranormal investigation. That’s pretty impressive. And here I am wondering what that thingie is with all the pretty lights…

one of the members case of investigative tools

I got a quick history run down of the house and then Wayne entrusted me with the said thingie with the pretty lights. It is here I learned it is called a K II EMF Meter, an electromagnetic field meter aka the ghost tracker I’ll hence forth call it. So having done a little of my own research before coming to the house I read that eleven ghosts supposedly have been documented here. One of them being Henry. See I told you I was coming back to him. Lead the way Wayne. Bring on the ghosts.

one of the members case of investigative tools
one of the members in a past investigation using the K II meter in the old courtroom at the Ferry Plantation House

Henry is thought to be a slave that is normally lingering upstairs also referred to as the attic and jury room  of the courthouse which happens to be the oldest part of the house. So of course that’s where we head first.  It is here I’ll mention that upon entering the house, the courthouse room is the room you will enter first and I immediately got a weird, heavy feeling about it. I didn’t see nor hear anything to give me the creeps but it was just something about it that didn’t bode well with me.

Walking up the narrow steep steps to the attic with only the light of a flashlight to guide us into the waiting darkness, I can’t lie I got a rush of excitement and then a thought of what the hell are you doing Jen. But I forged on, curiosity getting the best of me. Upon getting to the top of the stairs I walk into what is probably a 20×20 room with a single bed in the middle and a low wood ceiling. Wayne had told me to look up at the ceiling where handprints can been seen. It is thought those of slaves. It was easy for me to spot them randomly across the ceiling when I peered up.

view of old courthouse room, the oldest part of the Ferry Plantation House

Standing there in the dark the four of us, I proceeded to watch my very first EVP session begin.  This is where not only are the K II’s being monitored which I had death’s grip on mine, but also recorders were set as Rocki and Wayne began asking the room, with its now heavy air, questions. “Henry are you here?” Wayne asks. “If you are, make the lights light up for us. We have some new people here tonight with us that just want to know you’re here.” The room is silent but for the outside wind stirring creaks here and there in this old monarch of a home. “Will you come and talk to us Henry,” Rocki asks. The room to my surprising dismay continues to remain silent.

views looking up and down from the steps leading up to attic/jury room

I cannot lie here, my heart was racing a bit and I continued staring into the dark corners of the room and behind me. I silently thanked my Daddy for instilling in me the importance of keeping check of your surroundings. But cursing him for never telling me what to do if a ghost rolls up on me.

It’s important for me to tell you here that a proper ghost hunt is not as exciting as its portrayed on television. Hours of no activity could be waiting for you.  Seasoned investigators such as these guys know this and accept the long stretches of nothingness as part of the job. But me, not so much. The adrenaline was pumping and I was ready for my close up.  After about twenty minutes or so of continued silence, Wayne wanting to give me a full experience of every area, in this informal investigation,  suggested we continue on to outside the home where the hanging tree is. The whaaaa?

The land of the plantation at its prime stretched for miles and miles. Over time that changed leaving it now as it stands part of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by private homes and a large grassy field. I noticed a tennis court in the middle of the field and asked what’s up with that. Rocki said “oh that’s where the Indian burial ground is” and then pointed across the darkness to a large patch of shrubbery. “Over there too.” He continued explaining that the tennis court was built in order to protect the land from robbers searching for relics. “Oh okay”, I say, cool like while thinking oh shit.

Seeing it off in the distance this tree was quite beautiful. Me being the nature lover I was already planning on coming back during the day to take pics of it. Its bare sloping branches in near perfect symmetry was impressive. Of course this is what made it perfect for its name sake. Remembering that this at one time was the site of a courthouse it is said that this tree was used for hangings for those convicted as well as the demise of slaves. Heather, had told me that it was known that at least three slaves had been hung from its branches. Approaching it I discovered the huge tree hollow at its base. I’ve always thought these were pretty cool and this instance was no different. When Rocki said why don’t you go inside it, I didn’t hesitate. What was I thinking…

Armed with a mini flashlight and my ghost tracker, I leaned in and positioned my body inside the tree. Much to my surprise the hollow expanded at least a hundred feet up giving me plenty of room to maneuver around. My own private oasis. It’s important for me to add here that the size of a tree’s hollow is a significant indication of its age. With this being as large as it was, it was obvious that I was standing inside  what possibly could be over 220 years of history.

Alone in the darkness, this is where things got weird. It’s not easy for me to explain in words but I began to get this overwhelming feeling of sadness and the tree seemingly was pulling me, almost in a hypnotic kind of way. I know it sounds crazy. I know. But it’s what happened. I stood there with a sense of being anchored within the tree circling my flashlight above me peering at the empty space that was beginning to make my chest heavy. After a few minutes the voices of the guys outside grabbed my attention and its as if I came out of my trance. Upon maneuvering myself out of the tree I’m hit with a second wave of emotion. The sudden need to cry. I didn’t actually cry but the feeling hit me and hard. I stood there a moment longer just leaning back staring up at its beauty while the guys showed me a picture they’d snapped of me while I was inside. We slowly make our way then back to the house and I walk away with a sense of confusion but notice the further we distance ourselves from the tree, the heaviness of my chest slowly diminishes.

The hanging tree at Ferry Plantation House
standing in the hollow of the hanging tree

Entering back into the house our next stop is the parlor. It is here Heather began telling me about the history of parlors and it’s uses. In short, it wasn’t just for chilling with your peeps. Back then diseases spread quickly and were relentless resulting in many deaths. Well medicine and technology obviously wasn’t at its prime so family and loved ones had their own practices for determining whether or not someone was dead. How, you ask? Well they’d lay the suspected dead person out on a table in the parlor and family members cloaked in black from head to toe in mourning would watch the body round the clock,  until they were satisfied that the person was not going to wake. Once the determination had been made that they were in fact dead, the body was then removed from the home and prepared for burial.

At this point all the members of the group joined together and we set up chairs circling the room and another piece of equipment was set out to investigate, an EDI Research device. This acts the same as the K II meters but also monitors change in temperature in the room as well as senses motion and vibration. The mother load of devices was my thought.   With the lights out and the parlor doors being shut, another EVP session begins. Sitting around each member took turns asking questions aloud of the room in attempts to evoke a spirit to make contact with us. The ghost trackers had much activity off and on as the members of the group continued to sit and ask questions of who might be in the room. At one point we all began to hear what sounded like a woman humming coming from above. Eventually as the sound continued it progressed to muffled words as if the voice were singing. After about thirty minutes or so the session ended and it was decided our next stop would be upstairs to the nursery and the Nanny’s rooms.

views of parlor in Ferry Plantation House

authentic mourning garb displayed in the parlor at the Ferry Plantation House

Walking up the steps to the third floor I was hit with a sense of apprehension but I brushed it off still left feeling a little wary from the sounds of the humming woman. Upon getting to the top of the steps I turned to my left and peered into the room which clearly had the furnishings of a nursery and then glanced to my right which I was told was the Nanny’s room.

view walking up to the third floor of Ferry Plantation House

Walking into the nursery the four of us sat down on the floor forming a circle putting the K-II meters in the center on the floor. I began to stare around the room looking at all the period clothing adorning the room and even stepping into the walk in closet full of children’s clothing. Mike, one of the head investigators began telling me about the child that’s known to make his presence known in the room. A seven-year old boy that they have named Eric. Not long after Mike and Rocki started calling out to him the meters began lighting up. I sat in silence listening for any movement, or sounds but nothing. And then….a sudden upward tug at the waist band of my leggings. I jumped and immediately shouted out an expletive. My instinct was to get up and run but I was the only chick in the room and there was no way in hell I was showing my chicken shit side. So I continued to sit describing to them what it felt like and we watched as the meters continued to stay lit.

view of nursery from Nanny’s room in Ferry Plantation House
nursery on third floor of Ferry Plantation House

This is where I have to say even though I was in shock, not expecting such a thing and I will say it absolutely without a shadow of doubt in my mind happened. But even though my initial response was that of fear, it wasn’t a I’m in danger kind of fear. It was more a fear of the unknown. Because truly, not only while I was in that room, but the whole time I was touring the house with CVP I never felt threatened. So I think that’s what kept me in place too. That and being a Mom myself to an eight year old boy, my mom genes kicked in.

Within five minutes or so my fear was tested again as I then began to feel a finger drag across the base of my back directly on my flesh. Again, I was shocked from it but the feeling of fear was still not present. I suppose I was imagining my own son when he hugs me and loves on his Mommy. And then I thought, he sees my tattoo back there, not knowing what it is thinking he was helping by trying to wipe it off. This second time experiencing physical contact, Rocki immediately holds the meter up behind me and the lights grow stronger. At the same time, another newbie touring with us, Josh, snaps a picture of me focusing on the area behind me, hoping to capture Eric.


After being rocked by those two encounters I was reminded the night was only getting started. We still had the Nanny’s room to check out and the room where the courthouse stood, the one that gave me the creeps a little. So reluctantly I left with the group walking and me and Josh walked into the dark room of what was the Nanny’s. At this point he was feeling a little uneasy with a feeling of being in trouble. We had been told while in the nursery that the Nanny seems to grow angry if anyone comes into the nursery after 10pm as to not wake the children. It was well past ten. We walked around a bit more finally making our way back downstairs headed to the old courthouse room.

looking into Nanny’s room from the nursery
picture on display in nursery. could Eric be the little boy in this?

We all meet back up in the dark room of the old courthouse which again is along with the jury room/attic upstairs is the oldest part of the house. You’d think courthouse, inmate, angry, haunting in that order right? Nope. This room is popular for decades of  ghost cat sightings. We all stood again with our meters and the EDI monitoring the temperature in the room. We didn’t spot any cats but it is now that some of the members start asking if Grace Sherwood is around. Now I have formed an interesting thought having learned that Grace aka the Witch of Pungo, was a huge animal lover. What if maybe this cat, what if it’s actually Grace? Or what if when the cat is seen it is because Grace is around, the cat sensing her comes inside? Just my spin on things. If you want to learn more about Ms. Sherwood you can check it out here. http://ferryplantation.org/history/grace-sherwood/

It’s at this point that Tom invited me to ask my own questions and well simply put I discovered I was very much ghost shy. An introvert with the dead too. But of course! The meters randomly showed signs of lighting up but not enough to get us excited and so after a short while we flipped the lights back on and pretty much called it a night.

Tom and Mike asking questions of Grace Sherwood in the old courtroom at Ferry Plantation House

Having been there from about 8pm until 3am when we finished I was finding myself still on an adrenaline rush. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy meeting the members of Coastal Virginia Paranormal group, but I discovered just how rewarding paranormal investigating can be. Pairing that with my own personal experiences I was ready to come back before I’d even left. I should mention here again that this evening was made possible for me to meet the group. It was a very informal investigation as they advised me cameras are normally set up as well and monitored during a normal investigation. I walked away educated more in paranormal experience and investigation and a more sense of acknowledgement that spirits are out there. Demonic I’m not so sure but everyday folks just acting out their life as if they were still alive. Pretty dang profound stuff if you ask me….


CVP member and friend Rocki, me and Josh in front of the hanging tree on the grounds of Ferry Plantation House


For more information about Coastal Virginia Paranormal group visit their website here: http://www.cvparanormal.org/index.html


Also if you’d like to read more about the history of the Ferry Plantation House or perhaps schedule a tour, visit their website here: http://ferryplantation.org/

Panoramic Ferry

Thanks for reading!

Guest host for poetry prompt





This past week I was invited to host one of my favorite prompts over in Twitter land. Because of my never ending love of poetry, my addiction really, I participate regularly in poetry prompts on twitter. From the very beginning I discovered with participating in them I was without a doubt finding another outlet to build my characters through the emotions I was exploring through the poems I would create.  And to have to write a poem in 140 characters or less, I was finding  I needed to be resourceful with my word choice. As a result I was leaving out those uncessessary wors like the pesty “just”  or “that”which are like monkeys on a unseasoned writer’s back.

So thanks to the lovely MadStormQueen who started the Madverse prompt, I was able to observe over a twenty-four hour period the creations of many many talented poets armed with the same words I gave them to create a poem. A freaking mazing does not do it justice. I was blown away by all the submissions. Below, following my two submissions,  are just a few of my favorites that really stood out to me that were submitted. Enjoy and thanks for reading!







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