On a chilly, dark night we met our long-coated, derby wearing guide. He carried a very squeaky lantern that swung back and forth as we followed him through the notoriously haunted park. And why shouldn’t it be haunted? Today’s lovely spacious green park was once the site of several cemeteries dating as far back as1858 with Prospect Cemetery, but even before that legend held that Native Americans buried their dead here. Federalized in 1872, by then the cemetery was called Denver City Cemetery and contained various religious and ethnic groups. The Jewish section was reputed to be the most beautiful while the Chinese rituals of dismemberment and boilings at graveside drew the Denver curious in great numbers.
One of the first ghosts a visitor might encounter on any given night in Cheesman Park would be the that of John Stiles who suffered the fate of being the first man hanged in Denver. He is sometimes heard saying, “I did it! I did it.” Apparently, he murdered his brother-in-law back in the day and continues to confess to the crime even though he was executed in the cemetery over a century ago.
By the end of the 19th century several other cemeteries opened in Denver and this one fell into severe neglect. With an increasingly negative reputation, those who lived around it sought to have the cemetery converted into a park. The very costly undertaking (pun intended) to remove the bodies began…but not terribly successfully. After a scandal involving defrauding the city with a scheme involving breaking bodies into pieces and creating an endless trail of supposed separate children’s bodies in coffins, the work contract was cancelled. The city pressed forward with the park leaving thousands of bodies in their graves. Today evidence of this can be seen after fresh snow when depressed rectangles appear across fields. Media has captured these images as have individuals strolling the park. It’s a common event. Bones also have been known to float to the surface and are recovered in the park as coffins continue to break down. Construction in the nearby Botanic Garden or city grounds has also produced complete skeletons in lines.
Our guide pointed out various sections of the old cemetery including the Chinese, Jewish, and Catholic sections. There was once a boot hill, so named because the homeless buried with their boots on and without a coffin, was an area subject to the confounding habit of producing the odd boot or two after weather events. Further along a significant depression in the lawn was once the site of a flood that resurfaced skeletons.
We happened along a tree-lined path that was a road for Model-T cars for about a year. Apparently there were so many deaths due to the cars racing along at 35 MPH that the city had to intervene. The path is said to be haunted now by those victims, and you can still hear their screams. From that path, we gazed out into the park and were reminded that although the trees which lined the road were planted in straight lines, those out in the park were scattered because it was easier to drop trees into open graves when the city halted the contract to move the bodies than to pay workers to close the graves.
Because the original cemetery area covered more than the park, we had a chance to wander a few of the streets where Denver’s wealthy classes built estates right on top of the old cemetery. One of the most famous of these is the Stoiber Mansion. Today it is surrounded by tall hedges and hard to glimpse. It is said to be haunted by several ghosts. The one that guests repeatedly reported is a waiter in a tux who carries a tray. When you place your drink on the tray, it falls through, and he vanishes. The house also has a connection to the Titanic and the “Sacred 36” (a society card club which Molly Brown wanted to join but was never invited into). Across the street, one of Denver’s earliest newspaper men hosted Presidents TR and Taft. Next door lived the first Governor of Colorado.
A totally unexpected connection was made to the movie The Changeling (1980) starring George C. Scott. A couple of decades ago, in the Humboldt neighborhood, a Victorian house once stood where an apartment building does now. Back in the 1960s, Russell Hunter claimed to have had experiences in the Henry Treat Rogers’ mansion that provide the basis for the movie script. The mansion was demolished in the 1980s and the movie was set in Seattle.
Cheesman Park has a history worthy of hauntings. We didn’t sense or see anything but just knowing that the grounds are filled with unrecovered and unmarked graves makes me think twice about picnicking or hanging around too long. Wishing you a happy, haunted Halloween!
Have you ever had an encounter with a ghost? Share your story in the comments. I have had several. One I describe in the introduction of my ghost book. Read it on Amazon.
My Ghostly Tale: Timeless Tulips, Dark Diamonds: A Ghost Story
In this chilling ghost story, an act from the distant past is reawakened and afflicts the life of a modern teenage girl.
When Lydia travels to Amsterdam with her parents, bizarre things start to happen. Curtains flutter and unexplained shadows move unnerving her. With Dad interviewing for a job, Lydia is content to dismiss the oddities blaming them on jet lag and her migraine disease. But upon returning home to New York, the experiences intensify.
This is the haunting tale of two girls separated by four hundred years. Lydia is confused and in danger because the ghost of a little Dutch girl, Annika, wants revenge. When Lydia’s life is threatened, she is forced to solve a centuries’ old mystery to uncover the truth about Annika, her story, and how their past and present connect them. Can Lydia learn the truth in time to save herself and help Annika?
I’ve been experimenting with several free, AI image generators over the last month or so. I know there are some powerful applications out there if you pay for them and are good at technology. Alas, not me. But I did have some success with Microsoft’s Designer’s Image Creator. Take a look at the images in the video below. Typing in ever more specific details over a period of time did result in usable images. ArtGuru also produced good images for fantasy but was awful for historical themes. Others to try: Runway, Craiyon, Adobe Firefly, Dream Studio, Night Cafe, DeepAI. All in the future, when I get the time. What works for you?
When fourteen-year-old Lydia travels to Amsterdam with her parents, the last thing she expects is the weird incidents that plague her stay. Curtains flutter mysteriously, and unexplained shadows move through the kitchen unnerving her. But Lydia is more concerned with the potential move to upstate New York. She dismisses the odd occurrences blaming them on jet lag and the various symptoms of her migraine disease.
When Lydia’s father lands a new job and the family moves to an area first settled by the Dutch, the bizarre happenings continue. Suffering from migraines has never been easy, but now Lydia has to contend with what she may have inadvertently brought home with her.
“Timeless Tulips Dark Diamonds is a ghost story for a family read. The story narrates the relationship between two young girls who meet in a place where eternity is now; Annika is living in the seventeenth century and Lydia in the twenty-first. They are connected by place as Lydia unknowingly traces Annika’s passage from Europe to America, discovering at the end of her journey the house in which Annika was murdered.
The book is crammed with real information that’s guaranteed to stimulate the imagination. The writer provides a wealth of background in art, American history and the inside story of the great Tulip crash of 1637. It’s exactly the kind of book I used to read to my children back when they were still children and I recommend it to all parents or caregivers for reading to the children in their care.”
SIGNED COPIES AVAILABLE: Contact himalayaspencerellis@yahoo.com for more info!
A short video about Timeless Tulips, Dark Diamonds- A Ghost Story. The video covers the premise of the book, why it is historical fiction, and why it’s my most personal book.
Shocking twists and turns when worlds collide… Haunting. Disturbing. Unsettling. The face of the Dutch girl glared back at her with dark eyes and a mouth twisted in a cruel grimace. From the hall came a sinister laugh. Fear twisted in Lydia’s gut. After a family trip to Amsterdam, 14-year-old Lydia finds herself closer to the past than she could have imagined.
During her stay, a bizarre series of events that seem to defy all logic is set in motion. Either something really weird is going on, or she is going crazy. Both ideas scare her. When Lydia’s life is threatened, she is forced to solve a centuries’ old mystery to uncover the truth about Annika, the angry ghost of a little Dutch girl, her story, and how their past and present connect them.
Whether Annika is really a ghost or Lydia is in a time warp really doesn’t matter. Lydia finds herself closer to the past than she has ever been. But what can Lydia possibly do to help someone who died over 400 years ago? Will Annika kill Lydia if she can’t solve the mystery of the timeless tulips and dark diamonds? Will Lydia succeed in saving herself from the hands of a… ghost?
This novel follows the story of Janine Stinger, a tech specialist on the crew of a TV ghost-hunting show. Janine is deeply scarred by a previous relationship and especially vulnerable, although she does her best to hide it. When the team stumbles upon a story that dovetails with her own growing up, family history and local legend collide to confront Janine’s darkest fears. Is she part of a true haunting and curse? Her attempts to keep her past private start to crumble as her crush on the team’s lead paranormal investigator become mutual. How can she balance the past, the present, and the increasingly darker threats all while a river ghost lures people to their deaths?
Janine’s character is well-developed as are the other supporting characters. The personal dynamics of work, family, and romantic relationships all play a role in this historical ghost story. The author provides wonderful technical details on ghost hunting, the equipment, and the process. I loved the historical details and research that provided the backstory of the book. The reader learns about the culture in which ghost stories arise and grow. Although this book deals with one haunting, the reader is deeply invested in Janine’s experience and what is in store for her next.
I’m not a big Stephen King fan but I’ve known for decades that Estes Park, Colorado is home to the inspiration for his writing, The Shining. It’s alleged to be a very haunted place and consequently easily made my list of places I wanted to visit. But for decades, we merely drove by the stately hotel on our way to Rocky Mountain National Park.
That changed this year when my husband booked us overnight at the hotel and signed us up for the nightly ghost tour. Fun stuff.
Like many of Colorado’s commercial starts, the Stanley wouldn’t have happened without the tuberculosis epidemics of the late 19th and early 20th century. The founder of the magnificent Colonial Revival hotel perched on a hill at the gateway to the Rockies, FO Stanley, suffered from consumption and was told to go West to seek his cure. By this point he was already rich and successful from the photography business and steam powered automobiles. Arriving in Colorado in 1903 in poor condition, he spent a summer at high altitude and recovered his health. So much so that he vowed to spend every summer back in Estes Park. However, the rough Rocky Mountain town was not up to snuff for the wealthy East Coast inventor, entrepreneur, and architect. He felt it necessary to add hotelier to his resume.
Over the next few years, FO and his wife went about building a huge edifice with all the modern accoutrements necessary to rival the hotels back home. The elegant Stanley Hotel boasted electric lights, telephones, ensuite bathrooms, a staff of uniformed servants, and a fleet of automobiles for guests. It’s been joked that Stanley had two things that a good hotelier needs—deep pockets and no children. The Stanley opened its doors to its East Coast clientele but never really made money. FO sold the hotel in 1930 to a Denver businessman.
By the time Stephen King and his wife spent their famous night at the Stanley in 1974, it was showing its wear. Nevertheless, the deserted hotel being prepared for closing for the season, sufficiently creeped out the horror writer and he walked away with the outline for a blockbuster book. The Shining would revitalize Stanley’s folly at the foot of the mighty Rockies.
And now I’m there, too!!
The Stanley is a pretty and well-maintained place. Lately, hotel management has been making a concerted effort in making it more of a destination vacation spot. They host concerts in their own hall, magic shows, and…seances. At least what they are terming “theatrical seances.” These seem to be small audience, scripted (?) events. I think they’d do better to try something more authentic (but that’s just me). There are several restaurants and a café on site. Also offered are a choice of rooms and locations around the sprawling grounds. We stayed in the main building on the 4th floor. The King’s were in Room 217 (and that suite is dedicated to Stephen King). If you stay in the hotel, all the floors are open to you, and we walked all of them. Surprisingly, the hotel feels light and airy. Remember, we were there in May when the Rockies are kind and in full tourist season swing and not closing for a long winter sleep.
A group of about twenty of us gathered for the ghost tour at 8pm on the lowest level. Our guide gave us a brief history of FO and the hotel before we set off to explore the grounds. We were taken into various external buildings, underground levels, and through parts of the main building that are normally off-limits to everyone else.
It seems that individual guides chose what to include or how to structure their tours. Our guide showed us lots of photos taken by previous guests and other guides in the recent past. I would have expected misty images and floating orbs—that kind of thing. Instead, there were actual pictures of what looked like real, solid people in places they shouldn’t be. A red-eyed girl looking through the railing of a staircase. An indistinct dark form of a person standing between two real people. What to think of those? Stories of the different locations were imparted. A vagrant dying in the basement. An Irish Earl fond of pinching the ladies. All along we were encouraged to snap photos. Sadly, I caught nothing but a misty light anomaly in the theatre. Who knows? I was never scared even though we were plunged into darkness often enough. Several guests were creeped out by the haunted mirror. Still, an amusing way to spend an evening. The theatre does have a certain energy about it.
(room where Mrs. Stanley held seances & Molly Brown played pool violating societal rules)
I highly recommend a stay at The Stanley if you get the chance. It is pricey but the history and views are wonderful.
When fourteen-year-old Lydia travels to Amsterdam with her parents, the last thing she expects is the weird incidents that plague her stay. Curtains flutter mysteriously, and unexplained shadows move through the kitchen unnerving her. But Lydia is more concerned with the potential move to upstate New York. She dismisses the odd occurrences blaming them on jet lag and the various symptoms of her migraine disease.
When Lydia’s father lands a new job and the family moves to an area first settled by the Dutch, the bizarre happenings continue. Suffering from migraines has never been easy, but now Lydia has to contend with what she may have inadvertently brought home with her.
(No longer under contract restrictions, I can now share the story freely.)
A Dutch settlement, north of New Amsterdam,
The New World 1638
ANNIKA
Father would want me to record this day. I fetched parchment and pen. My soul was hollow as I wrote words unthinkable only days earlier.
Alone, so very alone, I write to stave off the madness that encircles me. My only wish is to hold on long enough to see you return.
Sickness has spread through our village. I am told I must remain indoors so as not to tempt the Devil’s wrath. Watching from my window, I have seen the bodies wrapped in linen and taken behind the village. I know not how long this will continue or who shall succumb next.
Father, it has been too long since I have gazed on your kind countenance. I fervently hope you will hear my prayers and hasten back to your most obedient daughter.
May God have mercy upon us.
Chapter 1
LYDIA
Amsterdam, Today
The rain had stopped, finally. The gray clouds broke in the afternoon sky as the cab pulled to a stop in front of a house on Lindengracht. Dad jumped from the front seat and hurried to help the driver wrestle the luggage from the trunk. The cab’s dome light came on and threw a beam onto the metallic clasp of Mom’s purse. Lydia caught the glint of the reflected streak and winced. She looked away, but the damage was done. A flickering cascade of broken, mirrored glass danced at her feet. Instinctively, she closed her eyes. Not now, she commanded. Not now.
Moments later, Lydia opened her eyes and found the image gone. She sighed with relief and got out of the cab. Standing near Mom, Lydia gazed at the three-story brick structure and stifled a yawn with her hand. It was more modern than many of the buildings they had passed since their arrival into the garden district, but still old by American standards. The house reminded her of Colonial Williamsburg except that it was very narrow and tightly surrounded by other structures, one building almost melting into the next. She closed her eyes and yawned, opening her mouth wide. Stretching, she thrust her jaw left and right, fighting the effects of jetlag. It had been a long flight from New York City.
Dad deposited Lydia’s wheeled suitcase alongside her and returned to retrieve the rest of the bags. Mom left Lydia to grab her own shoulder-bag and makeup case from the back of the cab. Lydia turned to look at the tree-lined street and remembered from her tour book that many early canals in the area had been filled in. The grassy strip just beyond the paved street was probably one of those former canals. She wondered what it was like to live in a city where water was the main method of travel. Sleepy pictures of Venice floated through her mind as Dad tapped her shoulder indicating he was ready to go inside.
Lydia pulled her suitcase to the bottom edge of the house’s stairway and bumped it up the six steps following Dad. The three of them stood before a massive oak door while Dad dug deep into his pockets for the key. The family would stay in this historic house owned by the company while Dad interviewed with a Dutch publishing firm. His previous job as editor at an independent art book publisher vanished when the company decided to change its product line. Now that company produced novelty books for children.
“It’s got to be here,” Dad said, his Southern accent making the words melt like butter on toast.
Exasperated, Mom stepped forward and reached to help Dad explore his other pants pocket.
Dad playfully slapped her hand as he took a step back. “Not now, Ronni. The child’s watching…” He grinned.
Mom rolled her eyes. “I’m only trying to help.”
Lydia smirked. She’d seen this kind of behavior before. Dad enjoyed these little stabs of humor while Mom was always uncomfortable with them, reacting slightly shocked each time. Maybe if Mom pulled her own joke once in a while Dad would be able to lay off it. But really, Lydia couldn’t see that happening. Her parents’ dynamics just wouldn’t allow it. They’d never change.
“You two aren’t going to do this the whole time we’re here, are you?” Lydia asked.
Dad produced the key that had been hidden in his hand the whole time and reached for the door. Mom raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips as if to say look what I have to put up with.
“Of course not, darling. I, for one, am going to be on my best behavior.” He swung the door open and stood gallantly to the side, allowing the ladies to pass.
Lydia stepped over the threshold and into a darkened room. Directly in front of her, a staircase led to the upper floors, and just to the left, illuminated only by the light from the street, a vase of tulips sat on a pedestal. The creamy white vase was overwhelmed by the vibrant yellow and red flowers that overhung it. The splotch of color momentarily made the entranceway warm and inviting. Dad closed the door and plunged them into darkness.
“How ‘bout some lights?” Lydia asked.
“One second, one second…” Dad slapped at the wall feeling for the light switch.
A click and the overhead light came on.
“Very nice,” Mom said examining the entranceway and taking note of the fresh flowers. A mirror hung on the wall opposite the arrangement. That caught her eye. She stepped forward and peered at herself. Long slender fingers sporting a French manicure smoothed her eyebrows and corrected a bit of stray lipstick. Without taking her eyes off herself, she pulled a brush from her purse and whisked her newly colored blond locks from her face.
“You look beautiful already,” Dad said grabbing her around the waist, embracing her.
“You always say that,” Mom answered.
“Because it’s always true.”
Lydia turned away from the tender moment. She’d seen that many times, too. She abandoned her suitcase and strolled left into the living room. Two large windows brought light in from the emerging sun. A beige room with a fireplace and comfy blue sofas greeted her. She sunk luxuriously into one of them and eyed the coffee table, considering whether to rest her feet on it. Slipping her shoes off, she started to raise her feet, but then Mom entered the room. Her feet stayed on the floor.
Dad poked his head around the corner. “Don’t you want to explore the new digs, Sunshine?” he called to Lydia.
“Sure,” Lydia said pulling herself to her feet.
Mom surveyed the room and stationed herself at the rain-spattered window. “Do you suppose it’ll rain the whole time we’re here?”
Lydia joined her at the window. “The guidebook says that in Amsterdam, it’s raining, just stopped raining, or getting ready to rain. It doesn’t look too bad right now.”
Mom turned and looked at Lydia. She swished Lydia’s long brown hair off her shoulders so that it hung behind.
“I’m waiting,” Dad called.
With practiced motion, Mom pulled a few short tendrils curling in the humidity and smoothed them down behind Lydia’s ears. Lydia felt her mother’s eyes on the strawberry birthmark at her hairline. Starting in pre-school Mom had covered it with makeup and Lydia repeated the behavior mostly out of habit. As her mother reached up, Lydia stepped back and spun around. She ran to meet Dad at the foot of the stairs.
“Race you to the top!”
Lydia gave him her best, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.
“You think I’m too old for it? Just because I’m a little gray and have a little extra weight,” Dad poked his pouch of a tummy, “doesn’t mean I can’t still beat you.”
“I mean, I’m too old for it. Fourteen-year-olds don’t race their fathers anymore.”
Dad sighed, sounding almost hurt. “Sounds like some ridiculous teenager rules! I thought you and I would resist the imposition of silly rules and blaze our own way.”
“Nope,” Lydia said. She started slowly up the stairs.
“I’ve always said that maturity is overrated, and fun should take precedence.”
“That’s not sounding very parental. Don’t let Mom hear you say that.”
Lydia paused at the top of the stairs while her father caught his breath. In his mid-fifties, Miles Bradshaw had begun to show the decade or so that separated him from his wife. As Lydia gained height and maturity, she watched her father become grayer and rounder. His reading glasses had recently become a permanent fixture. And while the physical changes were expected, she more frequently questioned her father’s ability to adapt to her growing up and changing. He should know that ninth graders are beyond racing their fathers up a flight of stairs. Besides, her father always said that being an only child had made her mature beyond her years. So why did he want her to participate in such incredibly childish behavior?
A quick look upstairs revealed three comfortable bedrooms and a small bathroom. From a window in the smallest bedroom, Lydia peered out onto a grassy courtyard framed by laurel bushes. A garden with spring bulbs bloomed alongside the foundation, and in two beds separated by a walkway were rows and rows of tulips.
Dad leaned against the doorframe. “Small, but nice. What do you think?”
“It’s fine,” Lydia answered. She went to the bed and bounced up and down a few times. “What will our new house be like?”
Dad moved to the window. “That depends. Assuming I get the job, we’ll get a place in the country. Big change for us.”
“That means no Saks or Bloomies. You think we can get a puppy?”
“I think that might be negotiable— if and I mean if, we move. I know you’ve always wanted a pet. Heck, I had a dog as a kid. Loved the dickens out of that hound dog.”
“I know, Dad. That’s why I think it’s time I had my own dog. It’d make the move easier if I had something to look forward to. You know?” Dad gazed out into the backyard seeming to consider her plea.
“Let’s see how things progress, dear daughter, and I’ll get back to you on that. Let’s say you’re not looking at the parent who needs the convincing. Right now, I’m more concerned over how your mother’s going to handle the move. She’s going to have the hardest time adjusting. That is, if we move.” Dad walked down the hallway out of sight.
Lydia fell back onto the bed and smiled. Visions of puppies danced in her mind’s eye. At least if they did move, the prospect of getting a dog was on the table and since Dad was okay with it, it meant that Mom would cave over time.
She sprang to her feet. The move would be a big change and she worried about how they’d all adapt. She knew that Mom was not looking forward to giving up Manhattan to go upstate. In fact, Mom had done her best over the years to erase her rural roots and pretend to be from the city. She enjoyed the fast pace of the metropolis and its myriad choices. Mom loved the crowded streets, the theatre life, the shopping, and the excitement that seemed to make the streets pulse. Dad was right that Mom would have the hardest time relocating.
Lydia herself was conflicted over the family uprooting itself from the city. She could see some definite disadvantages, but she also recognized that it wouldn’t be all bad. There was the possibility of the puppy! No doubt she’d miss her friends and the routine of her life. She might have to give up ballet, but that might not be such a horrible thing. What worried her most was the uncertainty of the whole thing. If Dad didn’t get the job, they’d stay in the city. But if he did, and it was very likely that he would, then they would be moving.
When Lydia considered that possibility, she felt unsure. What should she feel? Scared and sad about leaving her friends? Hannah especially. How would Hannah get along without her? Would Hannah be mad at her? Blame her? Would Hannah forget her the week after she left? Maybe. Lydia considered the other option. What if she could actually feel some excitement about the change? Maybe getting out of the city would be a good thing. The school might be a little more relaxed and not so focused on standardized tests and whose parents did what. In a small town, she might be able to go more places on her own and enjoy more freedom. She’d be able to be outside more. Actually, be in nature and see wildlife. That would be cool! Being a teenager away from the city might have its perks. But then again, there was always the problem of whether she’d fit in. Would she be able to make friends?
The only thing she was certain of was that Dad would make it through any transition just fine. His perpetually upbeat attitude assured he’d always land on his feet, finding something good in everything that ever happened.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs broke her train of thought. She realized it was only Dad bringing up some of the luggage.
A slight breeze lifted her hair off her shoulder and Lydia wheeled around. Facing the window, she watched as one of the curtains floated up and then returned to its normal position. An odd occurrence with the window closed, but one she thought could be easily explained. Obviously, the windows were not well sealed, and the wind had raised her hair and blown the curtain, startling her. Old houses were like that, just like old apartments. Back home, weather stripping ran all around her bedroom window because without it, her room would be freezing in the winter.
Lydia approached the window, confident that she would be able to feel the draft responsible for moving the curtain. She floated her hand around the window searching for air flow but found none. The window was old, but it seemed to be in good repair and Lydia did not feel a breeze. Dropping her hand, she tried to remember how the incident had happened. She was tired and maybe jetlagged just enough to think she saw a white curtain move against a white wall. If she was turning around when she saw it, maybe it was just that motion combined with not focusing precisely, that made the curtain look like it moved. Yes, that must be it. Lydia refused to dwell on it.
There were far better things for her to concern herself with. Deep down she had a feeling that Dad was going to get this job. He really wanted it, and he’d be good at it. She sighed. How could she make this move better for Mom? For herself? She turned and left the room, walking to the master bedroom, which faced the street.
A large, four-poster bed with a bright blue comforter hugged the wall to the left. She stepped around her parent’s luggage and into the intense sunshine pouring through the sheer curtain panels in the two windows in front of her. The first sunlight of the day beckoned to her, and Lydia rushed forward to be engulfed in its warmth.
From the window Lydia watched as a large, muscular woman pumped her bicycle and drew near. The woman leaned the bike against the lamppost in front of the house and secured it with a combination lock. Lydia pulled the curtains back for a better look and a few moments later, the doorbell rang.
While the print copy is no longer available, the ebook can be found here:
The chill of autumn has arrived along with its spectacular color pallet. Yards are sprouting pumpkins and skeletons; witches hang from brooms. Time to pull sweaters from closets we haven’t seen for a year and sip warm cider from mugs. This time of year calls for the dark and scary (truly, it’s the only socially acceptable time to talk of death).
I’m going to combine two interests here, Japan (because in the spring I’ll be traveling there) and all things creepy because Halloween beckons. Come, we venture to the exotic land of the rising sun. At the base of Mount Fuji, is a forest called innocuously enough the Blue Tree Meadow (Aokigahara), or the Sea of Trees. Lovely, little tourist area of dense forest which flourishes upon a lava bed dating from 864 CE. The forest is known for its profound silence part of which is undoubtedly due to the sound absorbing properties of the area’s volcanic rock. The conifers and cypress trees must also suppress sound. Perhaps it was this uncanny quiet of the forest that first linked Aokigahara with the traditional ghosts of Japan: yūrei. If only it were that innocent…
“Ghost of Oyuki” (1750) by Maruyama Okyo – first ex. of traditional yurei in art
In Japanese culture, the spirit or reikon, leaves the body when someone dies and goes to an in-between state awaiting funeral rites in order to be reunited with the ancestors in the afterlife. If everything is done correctly, the reikon journeys to the afterlife and becomes a guardian of the family it left behind. Sometimes, however, things don’t go well for the reikon. If the proper rites are not carried out, or if sudden or violent death occurs, the reikon’s journey is disrupted. Even strong negative emotions (revenge, jealousy, hatred, etc.) around the time of death can act to pull the reikon back to the physical world as a yūrei. The yūrei continues to haunt until the appropriate rituals are completed or the emotions that fuel the ghost are resolved. By legend, Aokigahara is full of these persistent spirits. A likely reason for this is that ubasute, or the practice of leaving the elderly, sick or infirm out in mountain or remote locations especially during famine conditions may have been practiced here as late as the 19th century.
In more recent times, Aokigahara has become associated with suicide. The 1961 novel, Tower of Waves by Seicho Matsumoto popularized the area when he became Japan’s best-selling and highest earning author of the 1960s. In 2010, 200 suicide attempts were recorded with 54 suicides. To curb the association with this grim activity, the police no longer release data regarding suicides. Signs have been posted to discourage it. However, every year searches are made, and bodies are recovered.
Yurei (1800s) by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi
The two Hollywood movies that have been made about the forest are The Sea of Trees (Matthew McConaughey, Ken Watanabe, Naomi Watts) and The Forest. Both are good and might deserve another viewing. Happy Halloween!
When Lydia travels to Amsterdam with her parents, weird incidents plague her stay. Curtains flutter mysteriously, unexplained shadows move through the kitchen. But Lydia is more concerned with the potential move to upstate New York. She ignores the phenomena, blaming everything on jet lag and her migraines. Then Lydia’s father lands a new job and the family moves to an area first settled by the Dutch and the bizarre happenings continue. Soon Lydia must face what she may have inadvertently brought home with her, an unhappy ghost from the past.
“YA Author Ellis Nelson knows how to thread a carefully spun tale with some little known, wildly interesting, historical facts and wonderful family dynamics. She paints memorable portraits of the different countries and eras – including the scents, fragrances, smells and stenches that so clearly define those ancient times in Holland . . . right into the New World!”
5 Star Amazon:
“TIMELESS TULIPS is both fascinating and informative on many levels. Ostensibly, it is a work of Young Adult historical & visionary fiction, and while I know the YA audience will love it, it’s also a satisfying adult read. …Read this engaging tale of visionary insight, historical perspective, and just plain entertainment. It will not disappoint.”
5 Star Amazon:
“Nelson brings the setting, characters, and events to life with a deft hand. Lydia’s timeline is equally unique. Her relationship with her fashion-conscious mother added a nice layer of credibility. Lydia has to be both sleuth and ghost buster before the story ends.”
5 Star Amazon:
“Timeless Tulips is the third novel I have immersed myself in by gifted author, Ellis Nelson. As with her other books, this story is exciting, suspenseful, and definitely unique. The plot twists in unexpected ways and is filled with shadowy circumstances. A wonderful read!!”
Recently I’ve been playing with a function on a software program that allows you to put in certain astrological parameters and find a famous person who matches your chart. Fun stuff!! My best match was a writer I know well and while I was surprised at how well the details matched, I wasn’t shocked at all. It made me smile in that small knowing way. Anyway, the first person who guesses my best match (no more than 5 guesses per person, please), will win a print copy of Timeless Tulips, Dark Diamonds. Sorry, US mailing addresses only, unless you want an E-copy of the book. Contest ends Sep. 15. Challenge on! Comment below. My secret match will be revealed then if no one guesses correctly. BTW- Charles Dickens and I are NOT a match.
Let’s turn to Charles Dickens, whose chart I chose to briefly examine because everyone knows something about him and his work. Who didn’t read at least one of his novels in school? Writing during the height of the Victorian era, Dickens created some of the best-known fictional characters of all time and experienced a level of popularity seldom seen with a writer. His work continues to be read and produced today. Some of his widely recognized works are: A Christmas Carol, A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield, Great Expectations, The Pickwick Papers, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, The Old Curiosity Shop, and Bleak House. Dickens was also a social critic who pushed for children’s rights, educational improvements, and social reforms.
Evolutionary astrology begins with the premise that we all have lived many lifetimes and we evolve spiritually through the many lessons we encounter along the way. To understand the themes associated with anyone’s past lives, we must look to the south node in the birth chart. Dickens’ south node is in Pisces (4th House). Let’s begin there because it reveals much about what his soul has been through.
With the south node in Pisces, Dickens would have had an understanding that our true nature lies beyond the transitory existence of the physical body and the day-to-day reality. The world may have been experienced as dreamlike or a projection into the matrix. This was probably a key source of inspiration in his writing. Oftentimes, someone with this nodal pattern suffers from a loss of self because Pisces is associated with the boundless where the line between self and other doesn’t exist. Dickens may have had lives in monastic settings engaging in deep spiritual practices including meditations, rituals, fasting, and other aesthetic pursuits. This by itself can cause a loss of connection to the real world. Everyday life may seem strange and harsh. Some examples of the lower expression of the Pisces energy might be someone who falls into addiction or someone who allows others to determine their life path for them. These people don’t live fully in the three-dimensional reality as successful individuals. The higher manifestation of this energy allows an exploration of inner realms and transcendent states which fuels heightened levels of creativity, imagination, and psychic ability (in some cases). Certainly, with Dickens his creativity and sheer volume of work indicates he was using the Piscean energy well.
An interesting biographical detail that can be tied to Dickens’ past life in Pisces, was his membership in The Ghost Club. This paranormal investigation and research organization, founded in London in 1862 devoted itself to studying ghosts, hauntings, and psychic phenomena. Considered to be the oldest paranormal research organization in the world (although not always continuous), predates the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) by two decades. Dickens’ fictional work featured ghosts in A Christmas Carol and The Signal Man, and probably in other works as well.
Charles Dickens south node was found in the fourth house of home and family. Here family must be viewed in a broad context of kinship groups extending to family, clan, or tribe. His past life suggests a pattern where the family defined much of his existence. Family business, expectations, norms, reputations, all limited his life in some way. Some of those restrictions may have been severe. The residual effect on Dickens would have made him very loyal to those he perceived as “family.” This loyalty may or may not have been deserved. It is a remnant from the past where radical commitment and identification to the clan was required. It is possible that feelings of familiarity with people in his current life were rooted in the past. The legacy of the south node in the fourth house suggested that he was likely to have deep but complicated relationships with his family of origin.
Dickens struggled through a tough childhood. Although up to the age of eleven, biographer John Forster describes his life as idyllic, things changed when his father went to debtor’s prison. Charles left school and worked in a boot-blacking factory under miserable conditions. In his creative life, he drew heavily on his experiences of hardship, poverty, and social inequity. Very few details were known of his early life until a biography he had collaborated on was released after his death. Dickens was ashamed of his early life and did his best to hide it. Nevertheless, his loyalty to the family was shown through the provisions of his will. He provided well for all his family members, a wife from whom he had separated, several friends, and all the servants he employed.
Much more analysis could be done on his chart. Interesting to note the strong square to the nodal axis with Neptune indicating the need to release limiting beliefs, religious views, or philosophies. While Dickens was considered Christian, he seemed to despise organized religion. This is certainly an area for more exploration.
This is just a brief glimpse into evolutionary astrology. If you are intrigued about what your own chart might reveal, contact me below. Clients continue to report surprising correlations and stories about how evolutionary astrology reports have helped them. Be aware my fall schedule is filling fast. This is going to be one INTERESTING ride into the new year. Several key astrological aspects are being triggered bringing in fast change.
The face of the Dutch girl glared back at her with dark eyes and a mouth twisted in a cruel grimace. From the hall came a sinister laugh.
After a family trip to Amsterdam, 14-year-old Lydia finds herself closer to the past than she could have imagined. During her stay, a bizarre series of events that seem to defy all logic is set in motion. When Lydia’s life is threatened, she is forced to solve a centuries’ old mystery and uncover the truth about Annika, the angry ghost of a little Dutch girl, her story, and how their past and present connect them. Lydia finds herself closer to the past than she has ever been. But what can Lydia possibly do to help someone who died over 400 years ago?
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