These scenes were strange and surprisingly modern compared to what I expected. I saw a young man, perhaps a teen, and he looked Indian to me. There was a moving truck, and things being packed away. Did he used to live here? He played some kind of game with a ball and his hands, and a freak accident resulted in a hand injury. Such emphasis seemed placed on this– did this lead to some sort of unusual death? Why was I being shown this? And then quickly, these scenes were over. This was supposed to explain something to me, but I really could not understand what it all meant, just as I could not explain my serious dramatic reaction to that which I was shown. I appreciated the communication, but what was I to conclude?
And then someone finally appeared to me– a little girl. She looked somewhere around 6-8 years old, had dark brown hair to her shoulders or a little past, with bangs. She had pretty gold studs in her ears, a very pleasant little face, and also appeared to me to be Indian. I recognized that this little girl was a ghost, and that it had been her little hand that reached out to me. Was she the little sister of the boy I saw in the vision? This was different from the spirits I thought I felt and would one day meet– angry old men and women from long ago. I became a sort of friend, guide, or nurturer to this seemingly lost little girl, who was mostly benevolent. Over the next few days she was a constant figure in my life, always with me. I would try to figure out who she was and what she needed, but this would prove difficult.
I was no longer afraid, but knowing this girl came with a new set of problems. She had a horrible temper, was extremely mischievous and easy to set off. She had a ghostly pair of glasses with circular lenses which she was continuously smashing in some sort of repetitious game, and I would take them from her and attempt to repair them for her. When those were out of her hands, she would snatch mine off my face and do actual damage to those, which I would be forced also to grab from her and fix. Yes, she was able to destructively affect the physical world, and nearly did permanent damage to my very essential eyewear. I suppose I should have counted myself lucky that something with this ability was merely an angry child and not something more violent.
One thing which occasionally sent her into her fits was when I attempted to guess her identity. I was receiving strong impressions as to her name– from where I got such ideas, I don’t yet know– but my guesses were verbalized to her. “Nita? Is your name Nita?” And she would shake her head and smile at me. I kept feeling an “N-T”, and tried again. “Netu? Your name is Netu, isn’t it?” and she would deny again with that mischief in her eyes, a miniature Rumpelstiltskin; I felt convinced that I had either already correctly guessed her name or had been very close and she was keeping it from me. But why? After all, didn’t she want to be helped? If I persisted with this for too long, she would lose her temper with me.
Days after her arrival, my new friend the professor returned to check in on me and see how I/we were doing. I think I had made a believer out of him, and his curiosity was piqued. As we walked around that afternoon outside the house, we neared my open garage and noticed a small dog. It was a chihuahua, who seemed very friendly, and came right up to us. I cannot explain how I know this, but the dog was a ghost, although outwardly it did appear as any normal living dog would. I felt that this dog was here to answer more of my questions– maybe some that the little girl would not. I pet the shaky little creature and the professor and I instantly went for the tags. This dog had a collar and a few metal tags attached! Intrigued with unraveling our mystery, we just had to read them. I was looking for owner names, addresses, phone numbers. Anything at all identifiable. Anything at all I could use as concrete information to research and track down something, and figure out the origins and needs of my spirits of the house.
We saw an owner name– Edgar. That’s it, just Edgar. We saw many Chinese characters and words which neither of us could understand, yet I strongly felt were bits of advice, or proverbs of sort. On another tag, oddly, the breed of the little copper dog was identified– “Mayan Chihuahua”. I hadn’t been aware that such a specific type existed. This raised a new question to myself and the professor– were our ghostly visitors and visions supposed to actually be Mayan? But then I realized for the first time in days, the little girl was not around. Why was this? Was this her dog? Would she not come to greet him/her?
I intend to solve these mysteries, but now that I’ve opened up these lines of communication, I doubt I would have any choice. One way or another, the truth is going to be revealed– whether I like it or not. I must admit that I feel a sense of control now over the issue, and I am anxious to discover what these secrets that have been plaguing me all along actually are. I am no longer fearful.