The following is a former winner of the Amazing but Incredibly True Story Contest.
Copyright Muse Enterprises, 1998
My ex-husband and I were staying in a tiny country town with his grandfather. We slept in a large double bedroom with our baby in a bassinet alongside the bed. Some time during the night I was awakened with the feeling that somebody was watching over me. I opened my eyes to see the vision of a lady, although all I can remember is her face. I was terrified and tried to kick her away as she was just above my feet. My feet seemed to move into and disturb her face but as I pulled my foot back she was still standing there. She had medium length brown hair and extremely sad eyes. I knew that in some way she was feeling sorry for me. I screamed to my husband and screamed at her to go away. My husband woke and she dissappeared. I believed that she had come to take the baby, so I sat up for two hours watching him. Eventually fatigue won and I went back to sleep.
Then again I was awakened with the lady watching over me, looking extremely sad. I asked her what she wanted and she didn't answer. I closed my eyes and opened them again and she was still there. I nudged my husband under the blankets, he woke up and she dissappeared again. He said that he had an impression of something but he didn't actually see anything or anybody.
I thought that perhaps the lady was a ghost, and indeed there were stories about a lady ghost that visited people in the town, but the description that the locals gave me of her did not match my spirit who was older and dressed in more modern clothes.
As my son grew he became a very difficult child. He was diagnosed with ADHD and needed medication and constant supervision. I've often wondered if I, myself, was the spirit, come back from the future to help myself in the present. As I get older though, I realize that although I have similarities to the spirit lady, I look quite different to her. I still wonder who the spirit was, what she wanted, and how I could have contacted her or communicated with her. I also wish that she would return now and help me as the same son is becoming more and more uncontrollable.
Second story from Ros:
When I was a teenager I would often climb the cliffs around Port MacDonnell in South Australia. I was a very troubled teenager from an abusive family and I took many risks while I was climbing. I believe I was trying to defy God Himself. I also believed at that time that I was indestructable.
After climbing all afternoon along the cliff edges and safer areas I decided to scale the cliff face that led toward a small inlet and cave that I had been wanting to explore. Below me I could see Con the fisherman. I had so named him because he fished for cray in the waters below the cliffs in his small dingy. He made a good living; other fisherman used their big fishing boats and went out to sea working much longer hours, but their catch was not much bigger than Con's, and their crays were smaller. This day, Con and I had waved and Con had made many hand signals for me to climb back up but I refused to acknowledge them. As I was climbing down further, I lost my footing and started sliding down toward the rocks below (about 150 metres).
I heard a voice call out "Hold out your hand." It was a stern male voice and I automatically held out my hand. I was gripped and pulled upward about ten metres (according to Con, who was watching from below). I was not lifted to the surface. I was place on a ledge about three quarters of the way up. It was the ledge that I used to call my safety ledge because it held many good grips for hands and feet. My hand was placed around a strong tuft of grass.
I looked up to thank my helper, only to find that there was no one there. I climbed up to the top, and was soon met by Con who had taken his dingy in and come up to the lookout to meet me. Con told me in his broken English that I seemed to just rise up; there had been nobody there helping me. Whoever helped me that day was in spirit, or perhaps it was God Himself. This was the beginning of my quest into the supernatural and my belief in forces stronger than ourselves who find ways to guide us toward our destiny.
To contact the author, write to Ros Stiles.
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