Paint and the paranormal

Holy. Shit!! The molding needs ANOTHER coat of paint. Three coats. I'm begging God to let this be the last. I'm sick of painting already. Reminds me of fixing up the nursery at the other house. Then, three days after I'd completed the final finishing touches, the dick-licker broke in and burned the whole shabang down. He got 13 years, by the way...never convicted in our case, though. The FBI couldn't even prove that he was the one who actually did it. He got the time for 3 other fires that they could prove he set. Each count should have come with 25 years in prison, but this asshole knows the system. He plead guilty and got 13 years. I don't know when he'll be eligible for parole. I can sit here and tell you that I forgive him all day long, but I can't predict what my feelings would be if I saw him face to face. As of this moment, I hold animosity toward him. If I saw him face to face though, I might kick his nuts up into his brains and slit his throat just for shits and giggles.

You may think I'm a real whack-job (more than you already do), but I believe in ghosts. Tonight as I painted the molding around my daughter's bedroom door, something brushed up against my leg. I am the only one in the house tonight. JThe other night, in this very room where I sit, something clanked on some metal. I finally asked what it wanted and it clanked twice. I nearly shit my pants. I told it that I couldn't help it and to please leave me alone. It clanked three times after that and I never heard it again.

All kinds of weird stuff happened at the other house. My husband was never a believer in the paranormal until we lived there. Not even a week after we moved in, we went to bed early on a Saturday night. We'd been asleep for hours when both of us suddenly sat straight up in the bed. Both of us said, "Did you feel that?" It felt like something dead had passed over our bodies. It was damp and cold. He played it off like it was nothing, but I couldn't. I'd had strange things like that happen to me before. About a year after that, I was cleaning the house. I found some crap that I wanted to keep but had no place for it. I put it in a closet in the spare bedroom. I left the room and a bit later, I found another item that I wanted to put in the closet. I flipped on the light and saw that the closet door was ajar a bit. I threw whatever it was into the closet and made damn sure I closed the door all the way. A bit later, I found yet something else that I wanted to junk up the closet with. Again, I opened the door, flipped on the light, and saw that the closet door was now more open than it had been the time before. I stood motionless for a few seconds and then I began to tell whatever it was that it had to leave. I went to the front door and opened it and kept repeating that it had to leave because it had no place in my house. The dog (that died in the fire) began to bark at thin air and then I heard toenails digging into the carpet. The dog came tearing around the corner; chasing something. I held the door open, and just as the dog got to the door, it was like someone had kicked him square in his ass. He did a complete back flip and came to a dead stop at the door. He stood at the door barking for hours after that.

OK I'm scaring myself and that almost never has a good ending, LOL.