Meeting with friends
INWhen I was a kid, my father would invite neighborhood families over to his house for the evening. While other families would just play card games or board games, my father would come up with the idea of rocking the table halfway through the evening to give them something else to do.
The night I remember best was when I was about 7 years aged. It was decided that I would rock the table with him. The table we used was in the dining room. It was a very vast cherry wood table that seated 12 people. As we were a family of 10, we lived in a vast 5 bedroom house on 40 acres of land, all the rooms were very vast and the dining room was no exception.
That night we moved all the chairs away from the wall so they were out of the way and then moved the table to the middle of the room. I stood at one end of the table with my hands on the table about elbow length from the end of the table, not touching it with my body, my father stood at the other end and also put his hands on the table about elbow length or more, also not touching the table except with his hands. It was quite in the room because my father told me to clear my mind and just think in circles “if someone is here rock the table” which is what I did. It was snail-paced at first but the table moved a little as if someone was pushing it, as if someone was getting up from the chair. Then the table started to rise from the floor on the side of my father's room. I might add that there was no way I could make it tilt towards me, and since he only had his hands on the table, there was no way he could do it either… He began asking questions that were answered by yes or no, he said if the answer was no, rock once, if yes, rock twice. This question and answer only continued until he thought it would be fun to see if we could get them to stand the table on one leg and walk around in circles on that one leg… he asked if they would do that for us tonight… The answer to that question was a shocking yes.
The table started rocking back and forth really strenuous for a few seconds until it got so high that my dad had to walk to the side of the table to keep his hands on it. He leaned on the two legs on my side and stayed there for 2-3 seconds, then he leaned over to one of the legs and stayed there for a second or two, then he started to slowly spin, we had to walk around with him to keep our hands on him, at first he just walked and then I had to run to keep up with him! Needless to say the neighbors who came over were horrified by what they saw because my dad had never done anything more than apply his hands on a table. And they knew there was no way I was going to do what they saw. The table was spinning too speedy for us to keep up with so I lost sight of him and let him go and he fell on all four legs and just stood there. I can still see the look on my stepmother's face as she looked at the table to make sure everything was okay after what he had done…
That was the only time I agreed to rock the table with my father, with the people from the neighborhood at home. Because it put me at a disadvantage, to put it mildly, with the kids I went to school with.
Friday night sit-down
Ffirst a little history…i am from washington state and lived on the coast until i got married, my grandparents lived in a very petite town called up-to-date london which can be found outside of hoquiam on highway 101 going north. my grandmother was a psychic and every friday night she would have a session in my grandparents living room. this house was built by my grandfather and great grandfather from the logging bunk house, it was two stories and two bedrooms and a one car garage.
My grandfather built (and had several patents for) band saws that were used on the West Coast and in Canada in enormous sawmills. I believe some of them are still there. He had a very enormous machine shop with an office where he made saws, so he needed a very enormous driveway for trucks to drive in and out of. The driveway led to the house and was all gravel, so when someone pulled into the driveway you could hear the crunch of gravel off the tires as they drove up to the house, and at night, with the airy from the two enormous street lights flooding the house, it was very unlikely that anyone could get into the house without being seen.
There was no fee for the invitation to the sessions, information was simply passed on orally, all you had to do was arrive at 7:00 p.m. and stay until the end of the meeting.
It was an autumn evening, I remember it because the sun set earlier and it was obscure before the evening started. About 9 or 10 people came that evening, including my father and me. The hall airy was on so that the back of the house was lit up, so if anyone needed a break, they would have no problem. The curtains that were over the front window and the side window overlooking the terrace that led to the front door were open so that the airy from the street lights could come into the living room.
At exactly 7:30 the meeting began as on any normal Friday evening… Two people came in for just a moment and there was a sort of silence and then from outside we heard a car turn into the driveway and slowly pull into the driveway and stop right outside the window. I wanted to get up and see who it was but my dad shook his head no and whispered for me to sit still… the engine died and first one car door opened, then two more opened and closed, the first one hearing footsteps walking on the gravel and then nothing as they crossed the grass to the pavement and then up the wooden steps and across the deck to stop right outside the window. My dad got up to open the door but looked out the window to see who was there first and stopped dead in his tracks…my grandpa took one look at him and then turned to look out the windshield where the car was…or should I say should have been…there was nothing there…after what was probably only a few seconds but seemed like a lot longer it was like they saw what they wanted and turned around and went down the steps and opened the car door, closed it, started the engine and slowly backed out of the driveway. Every single one of us heard the same thing that night, we all got up to look out the windshield…there was nothing there.
Confrontation at the Foundry
Despite the habitual unexplained events at my wife's clinic at The Foundry, I had never felt any real fear. As a believer in the paranormal, I was more intrigued than frightened by these events. However, there came a point where I decided it was time to confront the situation head on.
It all started on a balmy summer evening. The mall was closed and I went to the store by myself to stock up on supplies. The darkness didn't bother me; in fact, part of me was hoping I'd come across something unusual.
I was not disappointed. As I moved through the store, I noticed a huge, black shadow in the shape of a man. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and was pacing back and forth in the hallway of our clinic. I greeted him with a casual “G'day” and continued working. The shadow continued its hushed patrol, ignoring my attempts to engage him.
This observation was later confirmed by one of our clients, a self-proclaimed psychic. She not only felt the presence of a shadow, but also insisted that the entire store was haunted. She wanted to feature The Foundry on a TV show about hauntings, but the owners of the building refused.
The paranormal activity continued: machines turning on and off by themselves, figures walking around the area. While it didn’t negatively impact our business, it was becoming a nuisance to the staff. I decided it was time to clear the space.
I arrived early in the morning, determined to get rid of the clinic’s ghostly inhabitants. To my surprise, there was no power in our shop and the neighbouring shops. I contacted the building owner, who sent an electrician. However, as usual, everything mysteriously returned to working order before he arrived.
Alone in the shop, I set about my task. I explored various methods: pouring sea salt into the corners of the rooms, placing crystals, burning incense. I performed the usual invocations, hoping to drive away any unwanted entities. I asked the staff to stay away until I gave the “all is well” sign.
Around 9 a.m., I finished work and sat down at the front desk to review my appointments. An hour later, there was an ominous silence, as if the world had suddenly stopped. I felt paralyzed, chained to my chair. Then I heard it—a voice, right next to my right ear, somewhere between a whisper and a scream: “You’ll pay for this.”
He had scarcely uttered the words when the front door of the shop closed with a bang that seemed to shake the entire building.
The silence was deafening. I sat there, my heart pounding, processing what had just happened. It was the first time I had ever felt truly shaken by my experience at The Foundry.
Despite my efforts that day, it seemed clear that whatever presence or presences inhabited the ancient building had no plans to go quietly. The foundry, with a history stretching back to the gold rush, had accumulated more than just years—it had stories, maybe even souls, that weren’t ready to move on.
I left the store that day with a recent respect for the unseen. While I wasn’t sure exactly what I had triggered by my attempt to clear the space, I knew one thing for sure: The Foundry’s secrets were deeper than I had ever imagined.
Posted by Conarelli