I was aware of only one thing: when communicating with the other side, every medium has certain signs or metaphors that facilitate communication. The crying of a child was my sign for: a child has died a violent death here. Either I hear the crying of the child or that of the mother. I don’t need any more details or information than that. This sad fact is enough information for me.
I was more than irritated and at that point could not make any connection to the events in the forest—I didn’t know until then.
By “chance,” I was shown a newspaper article that reported on the ghost stories from our forest. An attempt was made to explain the events and eyewitness accounts scientifically. I began to research and, of course, found a lot of information on the internet—some more useful than others. But everything seemed to revolve around the pit. Only, the events seemed to have no beginning. There were no dates, only oral accounts. According to those interested, the residents here would all keep quiet about the history of the forest and try to distract from the subject. I believed that immediately. But as we all know, silent walls are not particularly useful.
The stories were therefore not particularly valuable to me. I couldn’t find anything about missing children in our area. No unsolved crimes. Just ghost stories about the pit. Personally, however, I had had my experiences in the forest and not near the pit.
At first, none of it made much sense, and everyday life had me firmly in its grip again. Summer turned to fall, and fall turned to winter.
When the first snow fell, I wanted to go back to the forest with my dog. As soon as I took my first step into the forest, I sensed them: two children. Two small children playing in the snow in the forest. Their presence was so obvious and clear, even though I couldn’t see them. But I could sense and hear them. And I felt that they were also very interested in me.
They knew that I could sense them, and I knew that they were following me and my dog through the forest. It was completely silent; not a bird could be heard. On the way back, however, I could hear something else: a child’s laughter—very close to my left ear. There was really no denying it anymore. As always when I have experiences like this, I don’t panic or feel afraid, but only feel calm and acceptance for the seemingly impossible. So I just went home, mentally wrapping a “protective cloak” of light around myself and my dog.
But I would remember this night as particularly bad. Even before I went to bed, I had that vague feeling of being watched again in the evening. Not a strong presence or threat, just the feeling of being watched. Especially on our upper floor.
I went to bed with my children. Both of them sleep with us in a family bed, my younger daughter always in some typically wild toddler position on top of me.
That night, I suddenly woke up and saw a small shadow, like that of a small child, standing up at the bottom of my bed.
Instinctively, I sensed that the shadow was strange—it wasn’t one of my children, and I started screaming.
My husband and children woke up from my scream, and the shadow was gone. In the morning, however, I still had trouble remembering the situation. I asked my husband if one of our children had perhaps sat up and sat on the bed, but he said no. Both had been fast asleep until I screamed. Interestingly, he also had the feeling of being watched that evening, independently of my experience. Although he himself has no sense of such perceptions.
Even though these experiences still didn’t make sense to me, I could at least be sure that we had had visitors. During the day, I began to burn sage in the house. When I entered my older daughter’s room, however, I already knew what to expect. The closet in the attic, where we store boxes of children’s clothes, had been left open, and I could feel the childlike energy that lingered there. A child was hiding there.
I approached with the sage and asked mentally if it was hiding there. In response, I heard a soft knock three times. I told the child that I was sorry, but it had to leave now; it couldn’t stay with us. I felt its energy move away from the window.
“Peace” returned to our house, but now I couldn’t get the children from the forest out of my mind. I wondered how it was possible that the children hadn’t been picked up. What had happened to them? Where were their parents, their mother? Wouldn’t they be looking for their children on the other side?
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