Posts Tagged ‘writing’

I’ve heard many unusual stories over the years. For instance, a farmer’s wife told me of seeing lightning go through a closed window, pass through her kitchen, through an open door, then out a window in the living room. Another time she told me about a night, not long after her husband died, when she’d been awakened by a bell. A bell he had used to summon her when he was sick. “I shoulda never given him that bell!” Then she felt his side of the bed go down. She asked him to please go—it was very frightening for her—she told him she couldn’t handle it, and he left.


When I sold encyclopedias I met an Episcopalian minister who told me that at one time he worshipped the devil. Back in those dark days he used to leave his body and fly with his friends to an enemy’s house to attack them. He also told me that the devil was very powerful and that he was like a light bulb in brightness compared to us who would be like a match. God, however, would be like the Sun.


A Mankind Project friend, Fred Cheyette, has compiled a book of stories of the strange and inexplicable things that have occurred to ordinary people; things that seem too amazing to be attributed to coincidence. After experiencing many unusual occurrences himself, he would often relate them to others. They, in turn, would tell him of theirs.


Here are some of the stories that will appear in his book:


During a trip to Los Angeles I went to the YWCA and had a massage with a woman named Eve, who I had never met before. During the massage she told me things about my family, which amazed me, because I had not mentioned them to her. Two days later I went back to the Y and asked to set up another appointment with Eve because I was so taken with what she had told me. The clerk said that was impossible to do because she had gone back to Hungary six months before!

In the ‘60s I was living in Cambridge, Massachusetts and my brother was living in a nearby town. One night he called me. Since this was before cell phones and speed dialing, he dialed my number manually. However I was not home, but was at a party somewhere in the suburbs. I had come with other people, I didn’t know the house and I had never met the host. At one point I decided to take a break from the party and was sitting alone next to the telephone. The phone rang and on impulse I answered it. It was my brother. I was incredulous. “How did you find me here?” I asked. He didn’t understand what I was talking about. After some discussion, we discovered that he had intended to dial my Cambridge apartment’s number and somehow dialed the number of the house I was visiting.

On September 21, 1938, I was leaving my house in Brooklyn to go to school. I was seven years old and fairly heavy. I closed the front door of the house and walked down the five steps to the landing. As I approached the two steps that led to the sidewalk, a gust of wind picked me up, carried me through the air and gently put me down on my feet on the sidewalk. I looked around and didn’t see anyone, so I walked to school and didn’t say anything about it. The wind that picked me up was part of the most severe hurricane to hit the Northeast in recorded history.

My wife and I were home, sitting in the same room, doing some mundane thing. Suddenly, at the same instant, we both broke out into song. We sang the same song, in the same key and started singing at the same place in the song. It was not a song we had been singing or listening to. It never happened before or since.

His publisher wants him to add more stories to his book before it’s published. If you have a story like the ones I’ve included from Fred’s book (not like mine) and you’d enjoy seeing it in print, email it to Fred at fredcheyette@earthlink.net. Let him know if you’d like it to appear with your byline.


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So now I’m writing number fifteen and wondering why I’m really doing this. What do I have to gain by writing it—what’s my real ulterior motive?

Is it something sinister? Well, no, not sinister, but maybe selfish. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, making a living as a writer, etcetera and this is a way to accomplish that, or so, I think:

  • I’ve always been a little naïve, perhaps purposely. I don’t want to see everything about the potential results of my undertakings, fearing that if I did, I would lose all hope. So I maintain this piece of hope by blinding myself to the possibility that my dreams will not come true—I like pie, it is my favorite food, and soon I’m going to write a short piece about how I got my grandmother to teach me to make pies, and how I used to make eight to ten of them for family holidays. So, I think a little pie in the sky is good.

Now if this is indeed a selfish, self aggrandizing undertaking, why should you read it? (And when I say you, if I’m not being naïve, then I mean those 40 some friends, family, acquaintances, and contacts who I have so far intrigued or coerced.) Perhaps you should read this because there’s something about what I say that touches you, is meaningful to you because you are a human being trying to make your way through this life too.

Therefore, I invite you to read on if you want to. I am glad for an audience to share this with. If not, and you’d like me to take you off the list, email me (larryr@optonline.net). Saying something like “Please take me off the list.” Or “Please remove my name.” I’ll understand. I also get way too much e-mail that I do not read.

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