Have you ever had that feeling that you are not alone? That distinct tingle that tells you something you can’t see is currently around you? Usually, that is our imagination running away with us, but every once in a while, it’s a legitimate warning from our subconscious that we are being watched. In rare occurrences, paranormal things do actually happen to us. Most of us are programmed to rationalize it and if it cannot be rationalized, then we simply brush it off as our mind playing tricks on us. But, what if it never is rational? What if there is always a supernatural answer to our physical and mental hiccups that we cannot explain? What if Deja’ Vu is really a repeat of a moment we have lived before instead of just something similar that we have been through? What if realistic dreams are really glimpses at a past life that we have lived? What if the bumps you hear when alone are not just the house settling, but something more supernatural lurking?
It was 2006 and I was 16.My name is Ellie. My maternal grandmother passed away. We were extremely close and so this impacted me in a very big way. On top of the typical angsty teenage feelings brought on by hormones, I was now dealing with intense grief and no one to talk to about it. So, I did what most kids my age did, I took to my space and blogging. For a few weeks it was slow, I didn’t have many followers and no one really cared. I was too ashamed to put a name so it was all anonymous. One day I got 5 followers. The next day I got 10…and it took off from there. It got so big that I began blogging daily and dropped my space all together. I lived for blogging. I woke up early to make an entry, then rushed home from school to make another. It became my obsession.
One day, a few months into the obsession, I received a message on my personal my space. It was from a blank profile, and It was a simple, almost fan like message. He said his name was Finn and that he thought I was an amazing writer. He told me that he subscribed to my blog and was obsessed with my views and opinions and wanted to hear more of what I was thinking so he tracked me down and hoped he wasn’t overstepping. Now, as an adult, this sends so many red flags up. But, as a 16-year-old hormonal girl who was grieving still, The attention, especially on an intimately personal level, was welcomed. Even at 16, I did find it weird that he found me from an anonymous blog, but I shook that off after several exchanges with Finn. He seemed to get me. I barely had to go into detail on how I felt for him to fully understand. It was like he already knew what I was feeling each day before I even blogged about it. I inquired as to what he looked like and he would tell me it didn’t matter, just as my appearance didn’t. I tried to argue that he had me at a disadvantage since my space was full of pictures, but he argued back that it still wasn’t a big deal to him. He said we connected on a deeper level and that physical appearance was irrelevant. I asked his age, and he told me he was 17.
A few weeks passed, and I suddenly found myself obsessed with Finn instead of blogging. I basically quit altogether and devoted all of my online time to Finn. He was always on. when ever I logged in I would automatically receive a message from him. I guess it never struck me as odd because no red flags ever went up. I realize now I was blinded by young love. Which is exactly what it had became for me. At 16, I had fallen in love with Finn, the 17-year-old boy with no face or voice. Hell, I didn’t even know if Finn was real, But I didn’t care. He got me. He listened and understood me. I knew small things about him. He said he was from New Orleans, Same as I. Which, of coarse prompted the question of meeting. He always avoided those propositions by claiming he was busy, grounded, sick, or just about every other excuse known to man.
I finally just stopped asking him. which left a sour spot in my obsession. I became bitter about it. I broke down one day and told Finn that I felt he wasn’t real, or really who he claimed. I explained that I had no picture, never talked on the phone, no address, no meetings… nothing to even prove he wasn’t a 75-year-old woman from Canada. This was the day I stopped getting replies. He didn’t reply again… I sent at least 50 messages and got no response. I was devastated and I begged and pleaded. I apologized, and told him I needed him. That I was alone and that if he didn’t talk to me, I would kill myself. Still, no response. weeks went by, and I finally stopped writing. I sunk into a depression. I couldn’t even begin to look for him because all I had was a name, Finn. I asked around at school. No one had heard of him. But yet he lived In the same huge city, so he had to be somewhere. I took the bus after school each day and visited every school within 50 miles. no record of a Finn at all. I knew the name wasn’t common. It was rather dated honestly. Very classic and foreign in my opinion.
One day, I gave up. Months passed and my 17th birthday came and went. I started blogging again. I certainly had enough to whine about now. I never named him in the blogs, but I went into depth of how I felt and how I ached. I had received a cell phone for my birthday that year. Since I spoke to no one, the little flip phone usually stayed on the charger as a glorified alarm clock. No one had the number, except my parents and remaining grandparents. So when it rang one day with a strange local number, I hesitated answering. Before the final ring, I picked up.”hello…” and then there was silence. no one said anything on the other end… I don’t know how I knew, or if I was even right, but I quietly whispered “Finn…” He answered. Soft, sweet, low, silky one word answer “yes” then he hung up.
I was floored. Never once did it cross my mind to wonder how he got my number. I was so excited, mad, elated, sad and just a complete emotional wreck. Here was what I prayed for and it was gone again. the sweetest voice I could ever have heard, and it was gone. Then my common sense kicked in and I dialed the number back. It rang several times. A lady answered the phone “Latter Branch Public Library” and at first I was caught off guard. I stumbled over my words for a minute then blurted out ” is Finn there?”. The Librarian told me no, there was no Finn that worked there and no one had used her phone within the last hour as the only lines were behind the desk where she sat. We hung up after I apologized for wasting her time.
I was confused. It was him, and I knew deep in my heart it was, but how could it be? So, I did what any young girl with a driver’s license and a heart would do; I drove to the library to see for myself. It was about 20 minutes away, and when I pulled up, it was huge. A sprawling mansion of a building. If I wasn’t already a woman on a mission, id have gotten my camera for pictures. It was a relic from the past. A grand building that was very intimidating, on top of my already nerve racking mission, made for jittery legs as I made my way to the doors. I walked in and asked the lady if a young man by the name of Finn had been in there. She looked less than enthused and simply replied ” young lady, I told you earlier there is no Finn here ,cher, now feel free to look around or run along, I’m reading, me”. Her deep south Cajun drawl was thick and she made that shun seem like a sweet compliment. I had always thought that was a neat trick. Born and raised there, I had never acquired that drawl. I looked around. There were vast rooms full of wall to wall books. I knew there must have been at least 150,000 books there. As I browsed the books, I noticed the staircase. Looking around, the librarian was deep into her newspaper so I decided, why not?
As I crept up the steps the interior changed. It was less welcoming and warm up there. I started opening doors as I went down the hall. Mostly empty rooms, some of them were storage for tables and supplies. I reached the end of the long hallway and noticed that the last door had a staircase that led to the attic, no doubt. I ascended very cautiously. I don’t know what I was looking for. I suppose in hindsight I was following my gut instinct and looking for Finn.
The attic was filled with things. It was dusty and only lit by the windows on the front. The contents of the attic were extremely dated. Objects from the 30’s and 40’s. A mannequin for dress preparations with a half sewn dress on it. The material moth eaten, faded, and falling apart. A chest that was the size of a small car it seemed. An old phonograph or two in the corner. Antique mirrors and what appeared to be old pictures and paintings draped in cloths.
I was channeling my inner Nancy Drew and decided to look through the photographs. They were huge and old. I didn’t even think they made photos that big at that time in history. Upon closer investigation, I realized they weren’t pictures, but detailed sketches. They were beautiful. My breath caught. The third one I looked at was identical to me. The hair was all wrong, it was long and brown with waves. But it was my eyes, my nose, my smile. It was me…
To be continued…
