My father was driving in his car on the I-75 expressway in Dallas, when suddenly a co-worker appeared next to him in the passenger seat. My father said he looked like a flesh and blood live person, but there was no way he could have transported himself into a moving car that was traveling 60 miles per hour down the highway. My father was startled and could barely keep the car from hitting the guard rail.

His co-worker looked at him solemnly and said, “Go help Momma.”   Then just as suddenly, he disappeared.

My father instinctively drove to the man’s house, which wasn’t far from the next exit. As he got out of the car and started walking towards the house, the man’s wife opened the front door with a stunned look on her face.

“George just got killed in a car wreck,” she said as she stumbled down the front steps and almost fell down.

“I know,” my father told her. “He just appeared to me in my car and said to come here and see you.”

The sightings that happened in the house where I grew up were the most unsettling to me.  My grandfather had lived in that house until he died of a heart attack in 1963. When my family moved into the house, I was given my grandfather’s old room.

One Sunday evening while we were watching the Ed Sullivan show on a black and white console TV, my father was lying on the sofa enjoying the program. He was holding a glass of water, taking occasional sips, when it suddenly slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. The carpet kept the glass from breaking, but the impact sent the water sloshing up […]