Supernatural Friday: A Dark and Terrible Thing is Coming!

"A Dark and Terrible Thing is Coming!"

It’s coming,

Like a terrible thing

It’s scary,

Dark, and with a toothy grin.

So you better beware,

Have everything ready

Decorate appropriately,

For the end is near.

Just remember one thing,

It only comes but once a year

Halloween, costumed in orange and black,

A mask upon its gruesome face

Ringing your doorbell with persistence,

Innocent child or demonic being

Feed it candy, just to be safe.

Trick or Treat.

I hoped you enjoyed this poem I wrote, "A Dark and Terrible Thing Is Coming!" It's an original poem and copyrighted to me, so do share the link with friends, not the poem, please. Thank you.

Appearance on TV Talk Show, Virginia This Morning

I was interviewed because of my new book, How the Vortex Changed My Life, on Virginia This Morning TV talk show earlier today, October 30th. You can see the interview at Richmond author Pamela K. Kinney’s spooky area thriller

Countdown to. . . HALLOWEEN! (Legend of Stingy Jack}

Halloween is fast approaching. People are purchasing pumpkins at the store or from a nearby pumpkin patch , so they can make jack-o-lanterns to peer out from porches and doorsteps in the United States and other parts of the world. Gourd-like orange fruits inscribed with ghoulish faces and illuminated by candles are a sure sign of the Halloween season. The practice of decorating “jack-o’-lanterns”—the name comes from an Irish folktale about a man named Stingy Jack—originated in Ireland, where large turnips and potatoes served as an early canvas. Irish immigrants brought the tradition to America, home of the pumpkin, and it became an integral part of Halloween festivities. 

Stingy Jack was a miserable, old drunk who loved playing tricks on anyone and everyone. One dark, Halloween night, Jack ran into the Devil himself in a local public house. Jack tricked the Devil by offering his soul in exchange for one last drink. The Devil quickly turned himself into a sixpence to pay the bartender, but Jack immediately snatched the coin and deposited it into his pocket, next to a silver cross that he was carrying. Thus, the Devil could not change himself back and Jack refused to allow the Devil to go free until the Devil had promised not to claim Jack's soul for ten years.

The Devil agreed, and ten years later Jack again came across the Devil while out walking on a country road. The Devil tried collecting what he was due, but Jack thinking quickly, said, "I'll go, but before I do, will you get me an apple from that tree?"

The Devil, thinking he had nothing to lose, jumped up into the tree to retrieve an apple. As soon as he did, Jack placed crosses all around the trunk of the tree, thus trapping the Devil once again. This time, Jack made the Devil promise that he would not take his soul when he finally died. Seeing no way around his predicament, the Devil grudgingly agreed.

When Stingy Jack eventually passed away several years later, he went to down to Hell to see the Devil, but the Devil kept the promise that had been made to Jack years earlier, and would not let him enter. 

Thinking, Ah, Heaven will surely let me in then!, he wandered up to the Gates of Heaven, but was refused entrance because of his life of drinking and because he had been so tight-fisted and deceitful.   
 
Jack went back to Hell to see the Devil.

"Where can I go?" asked Jack.

"Back to where you came from!" replied the Devil. "You doomed yourself to roam the earth, a restless soul who can find no rest ever." Lucifer tossed him a turnip and a ember straight from the fires of Hell itself. "Here, hollow out this turnip and place this ember inside. Use its light to find your way through eternity." 

And to this day, Jack wanders, never stopping in one place, a hauntingly lost soul, who learned you never ever really beat the Devil at his own game.

 

Supernatural Friday: Did a Black Cat Cross Your Path Today?

I own a black cat. Love her.  I can’t ever see her as devilish or evil. And yet, black cats are in the United States considered bad luck if one crosses your path. Plus they are associated with witches around Halloween. What started this for our furry black felines?

These obsidian felines were not always feared or a part of superstitious lore. Dating back as far as 3000 BC in Egypt, cats of all colors, including black ones, were held in high esteem. To kill one was considered a capital crime. One of their goddesses had a cat head, Bast.

The Nordic goddess, Freya was also a fierce warrior as shared with us by Ethan S. One of the many names by which she was known was the Mistress of the Cats, and it was said that the chariot in which she sat was drawn by a pairs of great cats with fur blacker than the midnight sky.

Then around medieval times, cats taken care of by old women who practiced healing and lived alone were considered familiars if the old woman (and sometimes man) were accused of witchcraft and convicted, burned at the stake. As for why particularly black cats, it seem to superstitious people, once the cat went out into the dark of night they appeared to disappear, except for their yellow or green eyes. The same would go for black dogs too. Of course, we know that the animal having black fur and the night being pitch black, well, yeah, they seemed to vanish.  Plus black cats born in May seemed to be strongly associated with witchcraft and were often drowned. It is bad luck to discuss family matters when a black cat is present, lest it be a witch in disguise.

Evil omens and harboring the ability to change into human shape to act as a spy or messenger for witches or demons are some of the mostly widely known legends of black cats (in the US). When settlers arrived in the Americas, they already had a deepening suspicion of anything associated with the devil. Due to the sisterhood of witch and black cat, anyone caught with a black cat was severely punished or even killed. Similar superstitions led people to kill black cats during the Middle Ages, increasing the rat population and the spread of the bubonic plague.

A legend in Wales tells about one black cat. When people arrived in this town that had been ravaged by the Black Plague, the only living creature they found was a single black cat. The black cat is now the traditional mascot of Kidwelly!

In Great Britain and in Ireland, black cats are considered good luck. One way this might be so, English monarch Charles I held a belief that when his treasured black cat passed, he claimed that his luck was gone and he was arrested the very next day and charged with high treason.  Also, in the UK, a black cat crossing your patch is a sign of good luck.

Some bad luck a black cat might deliver:

If you are driving and a black cat crosses in front of you, you should turn your car around or receive bad luck.

The gambling world holds the belief that as you are driving to a casino, if a black cat runs across your road or path, you should not go to the casino. Most players believe that black cats bring bad luck.

Crossing paths of a person is considered an omen of misfortune and death—kind of like the banshee’s scream heralds death for the person who hears it. Things are a bit more complicated in Germany. In Germany though, if a black cat crosses a person’s path from right to left, that is a bad omen, and yet, if done from left to right,  the cat is granting favorable times.

Pirates in the 19th Century believed that if a black cat walks towards someone, that person will have bad luck. But if it walks away from someone, that will bring good luck to that person. If a black cat walks onto a ship and then walks off it, the ship is doomed to sink on its next trip.

Sailors often sought out a black cat to become a ship’s cat, as it brought good luck. Fishermen’s wives kept black cats at home in the hope that they would be able to use their influence to protect their husbands while at sea.

In Japan, black manekineko (beckoning cats) are a wish for good health.

Dreaming of a black cat us considered lucky for the dreamer.

Black cats protect their human’s house from evil spirits, and it is said, take away the bad energy in the house.

From Scottish lore, a strange black cat on a porch brings prosperity to the owner.

It is believed that a lady who owns a black cat will have many suitors. So, for those looking for a boyfriend, get a black cat!

Not just black cats, but all:

Cats should never be bought with money. Doing so means they will be bad mousers. (Shelters looking to get their cats adopted, this might be a good ploy to use.)

And last, but not least, a story about a black cat by Edgar Allan Poe.   Black Cat

How the Vortex Changed My Life Now Available at Barnesand Noble.com

The trade paperback edition of the urban fantasy novel, How the Vortex Changed My Life, is now available online at Barnes and Noble. Which means you can order a copy to be delivered to your home or into the store. Which also means is if you have their membership card and even get coupons in your email you can use, you can use them to save money when ordering the book, too. BarnesandNoble.com

Blurb: 

Cat Viggolone just can’t get a break. She'd gotten married, but that ended when the husband left her for his younger secretary. She'd wanted children. That flew out the window along with the cheating husband. There’s the career, but working a window at the Virginia DMV can’t really be classified as a great career choice. At thirty-three, her life had become positively dull.
Then the vortex opened.
Sucked up into a corridor just outside of Hell, she meets Connor, a werewolf, and Larry, a demon that looks like a blue-eyed eyeball. They escape back to earth, only to find that the vortex has opened up in downtown Richmond. The town is going to hell, literally. Besides a grayness seeping out and turning all living things into zombies, monsters and demons are invading Cat’s world.
Will Cat and her new friends (including an angel named George) be able to stop the vortex before it claims the entire planet?
Cat’s life is definitely no longer humdrum and ordinary.

Winner of the #TherearenoeyedropsinHell Blog Tour

I drew the winner and drum roll............it's Cathleen Marshall! She will be contacted as she left her email on the blog she commented on. Congratulations to her!

Supernatural Friday: Last of #TherearenoeyedropsinHell Blog Tour for How the Vortex Changed My Life

Today, is the last stop for the #TherearenoeyedropsinHell blog tour for my new urban fantasy release, How the Vortex Changed My Life. 

I want to talk about why I felt Richmond and nearby Chesterfield County made a good area for this new fiction novel of mine. It’s a very paranormal loaded spot. Just as all of Virginia is. After writing five nonfiction ghost books, I learned a lot. Where else would a serial killer who dresses in a white bunny costume and brandish a hatchet at a bridge in Fairfax? Forget that man with the hook—Bunnyman is creepy, downright creepy. Ghosts seem to be just wanting to haunt the Commonwealth. Especially in Virginia’s haunted Historic Triangle and Petersburg and its Tri-Cities area.

Richmond has a vampire connected to the train buried under the hill in Churchhill, and his tomb is located in Hollywood Cemetery. Does he wait for his next victim, maybe the last to leave as dusk settles over the tombstones? People talk about seeing a werewolf in Henrico. I wonder if like the old classic Universal monsters, if the werewolf battles the Richmond Vampire?

Most of all, Poe may not have been born here, but he was raised here, went to college in Charlottesville and had his honeymoon in Petersburg, so Virginia must have been dear to his heart (his beating, telltale heart). He is considered Richmond’s native son.

So, where else would Larry and all those demonic beings, plus that vortex, come to, but Richmond? At least, Larry can get eye drops from any drugstore in town.

Leave a comment,  telling me if you agree Richmond is very paranormal or not, leaving your name, to be entered in this short blog tour’s giveaway, where one winner will win a gift certificate of $20.oo from Amazon, where you can buy the paperback copy of , or the Kindle version, plus stuff on Amazon (you might think about one of my books even). Check this blog, http://pamelakkinney.blogspot.com/ this coming, Monday,  October 16, 2017, at Noon, Eastern time, to see if your name is picked. If it is, you will need to leave me a comment with your name and email (don’t worry, I must approve comments and I won’t post it on my blog, just email you, so we can get you your prize).

Pamela K. Kinney

Buy the book:

How the Vortex Changed My Life available on Kindle and in trade paperback

You can visit the past three blogs I stopped at:

    October 8, 2017: I Smell Sheep Reviews: http://www.ismellsheep.com/

    October 9, 2017:  KMN Books: http://kmnbooks.blogspot.com/

    October 10, 2o17: https://www.carolsmithwrites.com/single-post/2017/10/10/This-Week-Pamela-K-Kinney-Is-Guest-Blogging

Cat Viggolone just can’t get a break. She'd gotten married, but that ended when the husband left her for his younger secretary. She'd wanted children. That flew out the window along with the cheating husband. There’s the career, but working a window at the Virginia DMV can’t really be classified as a great career choice. At thirty-three, her life had become positively dull. then the vortex opened.

Sucked up into a corridor just outside of Hell, she meets Connor, a werewolf, and Larry, a demon that looks like a blue-eyed eyeball. They escape back to earth, only to find that the vortex has opened up in downtown Richmond. The town is going to hell, literally. Besides a grayness seeping out and turning all living things into zombies, monsters and demons are invading Cat’s world.

Will Cat and her new friends (including an angel named George) be able to stop the vortex before it claims the entire planet? Cat’s life is definitely no longer humdrum and ordinary.

Connor and I arrived at some stone steps. We clattered up them and into the Richmond Public Library. After we stepped into the foyer and passed the circulation desk we looked around, unsure of where to go. I saw a room to the left of us, pointed at it, and we slipped inside. Rows and rows of books in shelves lined the area like soldiers marching behind each other. A portly man in khaki pants, white shirt, and a blue, flowered tie sat behind a desk. He looked up and smiled.

"Can I be of assistance?" His smile faltered as he stared past me.

He's seen Larry. This won't be good.

He stood, his forehead wrinkling. "That's pretty life like. What is it? A balloon? I can't see any string attached to it."

Deciding not to beat around the bush, I blurted, "He's not a balloon. He's an eyeball—actually, he's a demon."

The man said, "Are you trying to say that whatever it is, is alive?"

"Kinda. I guess demons are sort of alive."

The librarian walked over to us and poked at Larry. Larry didn't like it and started that weird bleating noise he could make and bumped against the man. He bumped him so hard, he almost knocked the librarian over. The man managed to stay on his feet, and took a couple of steps back as he wiped the finger on his pants as if Larry had given him cooties.

Connor grabbed the librarian by the same finger and squeezed hard. The man cried out.

Connor let go. "Larry doesn't like people poking at him." He glared. "It's rude. Besides, how would you like it if I poked at you?" Connor proceeded to do just that.

The librarian stumbled back. "Okay, okay. But what is that thing? The lady called it a demon, but demons aren't real. Right?"

Connor snorted. "That thing is a demon like the lady said and if it wasn't for him, I'd been dead within hours after I got trapped in Hell." Larry bumped against Connor and made another noise I never heard before, like a cat's purr. "I find Larry is a lot more 'human' than you humans are."

"Well, you look as human as the rest of us," said the librarian with a snotty attitude, "and that eye beastie definitely doesn't." He narrowed his eyes. "This library is for humans only. I mean, non-human things can't get a library card issued to them." He saw Connor give him a glowering look and inched away. "Well, I'm pretty sure that's the rules."

I spoke up. "We're not here to borrow a book." I snuck a look at the front entrance. "We needed a place to hide in. You see, a monster is after us. A very big monster. And there are others outside like it and Larry here. A vortex opened not far from here and downtown Richmond is turning gray and I don't mean Confederate gray either. Richmond's new address is now a part of the Hell dimension. The whole world is doomed. And I don't think it really matters whether Larry can be issued a library card, or what species can use this library."

The librarian's mouth opened and shut in shock, his eyes bulging and looking like tennis balls. He sputtered, "You're nuts." He cut a glance at Larry who hovered closer to him. "I think you guys are pulling something on me. That thing has got to be fake."

I grabbed him by his ugly tie. "Look, Hell is taking over Richmond, and soon, Virginia, not long after, the U.S., and from there, maybe the world. So, get over it.Larry is not fake. He's a demon, plain and simple, but maybe you can't comprehend it. I know I couldn't at first. That means no more people checking out books, no more Christmas, cute fluffy kittens, no more anything good and right for humankind. Just demons, Hell, and the end of life as we know it."

The librarian ripped his tie out of my hand and looked at me like I'd sprouted horns and a pitchfork myself. I must have been tougher on him than I thought.

A growl reached my ears, along with an awful miasma slamming up my nostrils. I reeled around. With an African American lady librarian clasped in one clawed paw and a patron speared by the claws of the other, the monster that had been chasing us stood by the circulation desk. The patron kept screaming while the librarian hung unconscious and limp like a wet noodle.

I watched with horror as the monster snarled and slurped the patron's head into its mouth, effectively cutting off the screaming. The librarian with us took off, yelling something about monsters not being in his job description.

My Book Signings on Friday the 13th and Saturday the 14th

I have two book signings this weekend. Friday the 13th, I will be reading from How the Vortex Changed My Life, and signing copies afterwards from 7:00-8:00 p.m. at Chop Suey Books in Carytown. The address is 2913 SWest Cary Street, Richmond, Virginia 23221. For directions or more information: 804-422-8066.  http://www.chopsueybooks.com/

Saturday, October 14th, from No0n to 1:00 pm. I will be signing copies of How the Vortex Changed My Life, plus any of my five nonfiction ghost books at The Little Bookshop in Midlothian. The address is 1318 Sycamore Square, Midlothian, Virginia 23113. For directions and more information: 804-464-1244. https://www.thelittlebookshopva.com/

Second Tour Stop and Third Tour Stop of #TherearenoeyedropinHell Blog Tour for My New Novel

First one is at KMN Books and I talk about the real places in my Richmond/Chesterfield based urban fantasy novel, How the Vortex Change My Life. The third stop is at Carol Smith Writes Blog and I blog about some facts about my new release that readers don’t know about.

Remember to leave a comment at any of the blogs, including mine that is this Friday, October 13th, and check back to my blog Monday the 16th by Noon EST to see if your name was drawn. Directions to get hols of me whill be on the blog post that day.

Today is First Day of the Blog Tour for My New Book, How the Vortex Changed My Life!

Today is the first day of my #TherearenoeyedropsinHell blog tour for my new urban fantasy book,  How the Vortex Change My Life.  I made my first stop at I Smell Sheep Reviews  Leave a comment to be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift certificate for the complete tour (you can find out at this blog on Monday, October 16th at 12 Noon (Eastern Time Zone who won it). 

My #TherearenoeyedropsinHell Blog Tour for How the Vortex Change My Life

I will be stopping at three other blogs, besides mine next Supernatural Friday, for the #TherearenoeyedropsinHell blog tour for my new urban fantasy novel, How the Vortex Changed My Life.

Leave a comment at any of the blogs to be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift certificate. Then come to my blog on Monday, October 16th at 12 Noon Eastern Time Zone to see if you are the winner. If you are, leave a comment with your name and email, so I can contact you to get you your prize. Having to approve the comments, I promise not to approve the comment. it is only for me.

The blogs I will be at:

October 8, 2017: I Smell Sheep Reviews: http://www. ismellsheep.com/

October 9, 2017:  KMN Books: http://kmnbooks. blogspot.com/

October 10, 2017: Carol Writes: The Write Drive:  https://www. carolsmithwrites.com/blog

October 13, 2017: Fantastic Dreams of Pamela K. Kinney: http://pamelakkinney. blogspot.com/

Supernatural Friday: Ghosts of Written Words

Ghosts of Written Words

By

Pamela K. Kinney

 

Ghosts made of written words,
Haunting, mist upon the pages
Forgotten dreams, or nightmares
Of the author's own imagination darkly,
Ghostly tales for autumn nights
Such stories full of chill,
Readers' own thrills.

 

Monster Fest This Saturday, October 7th

Join me and other authors, filmmakers and vendors at the 14th annual Monster Fest. It will be at the Chesapeake Central Library, from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. The address is 298 Cedar Rd., Chesapeake, Virginia. The event is free and open, family friendly too.

I will have a special giveaway connected to the premiere of my new urban fantasy novel, How the Vortex Changed My Life, where you get to meet Larry, the demonic eyeball in the book. Buy the book and get it signed and enter your name and cell number to contact you if you are not back at 3 p.m. when the name of the winner is drawn, and you are the winner. 

Investigating Colonial Williamsburg for National Ghost Hunting Day, er, Night

National Ghost Hunting Day was Saturday, September 30, 2017, this year. The day part, I spent at Paracon at Ferry Plantation, as a vendor, selling my ghost books, the new fictional urban fantasy, How the Vortex Changed My Life and Paranormal World Seekers DVDs. It was a nice day in the 70s, spent with friends and I sold books, as did my PWS investigator, Carol Smith, had sold some of hers. But by 4:30 p.m. we'd left for Williamsburg for dinner and for Carol and her husband to check into the haunted Fort Magruder Hotel for Saturday night. Paranormal World Seekers had been invited as guest investigators for the Original Colonial Williamsburg Ghost Tour for that night. They would also be using a medium psychic, Bree, too.

After dinner at the Dog Street Pub, Carol’s husband drove back to the hotel and Carol followed Bill and me down the street to the

Bruton Parish church, stopping for me to take a couple of pictures along the way. Like at Dora Armistead’s house. The house was once in the area of the Colonial Williamsburg homes, but it was moved to its current location because it was built in the 1800s and not the 1700s. It is claimed that this did not sit well with Doris, whose spirit followed the house to its new location and now haunts the place. The bright moon hung in the sky, in a waxing gibbous phase.

We met a tour outside of the church, but it wasn’t the one with Angela Travetti. Eventually, she appeared. Once everyone for the tour made it, plus a few guides and the psychic, Bree (a very nice lady), they talked to us about live streaming, warning anyone not wanting to be live streamed on Facebook knew this when they paid and about what we would do. Bree was introduced and I was and we talked. Then, we began to walk. We stopped by the field beside the colonial courthouse. My camera caught what rarely happens, but in a couple of other paranormally active places, purple lines across the screen, that I saw first on my viewfinder. 

The next place would be some orbs, things like that. Some, nothing at all. We stopped at the Ludwell house. Where Lucy Ludwell supposedly haunts. The tour guide told he stories about it. The tour guide had me do a ghost box session, which I recorded with my digital recorder, will later upload and listen off my laptop, along with the couple of EVP sessions I did. Bree talked about her impressions, one that she did not get that Lucy was there. Using my ghost box, I didn't get any EVPs of Lucy talking. I snapped more pictures of the house.

This repeated until we came to the Peyton Randolph House— the most haunted house in Colonial Williamsburg. The house stood dark and imposing. Threatening. Something drew me, like someone calling me to come to it, and yet, fear clutched my heart, squeezing. “You’re not an urban legend,” I muttered to it. “You’re the real deal.”

I looked up at the roof and blinked, unsure at first what I saw. Mist filled the area, near the chimney, all this on the left side of the house. The stuff began to thicken and grow bigger, becoming like a cloud. Though the tour guide was telling the stories about the house to the tour group, I asked, “Anyone else seeing it? The mist? I see mist forming on the roof, by the chimney.” Carol admitted to not seeing anything up there, but Bree turned to me and said that she saw it too. Suddenly, it was gone. But before it had vanished, I took a couple of pictures. Sadly, the mist or cloud never appeared in them. Worse, during this time, I felt something trying to draw me closer. Bree said she was frightened of the place, but stepped onto the lawn. A guide told us it was private property (Colonial Williamsburg does own it)—though later, they did let the group come up to the side door on the side of the house. Personally, I wasn’t sure if it would have been a good idea for me to approach it, be at its side. Something wanted me there that night. I was asked once if I would let my team investigate a place with a demon. I said never. I didn’t think it was demonic, but something bad did haunt the place. My inner feelings warned me. I think it knew I had the energy for it. Later, at the side of the house, I harrowed my camera at the top windows in the dark above the people, particularly the one by the tree. Something glowed in that window and a guide assured me nothing was in that window. “You got something for sure,” he said. Later, on my laptop, I saw a figure. Zooming in, I saw her. A woman. One side of her face—what would be the left side—solid white, an eye, maybe the nose, her right side on the other side of the pane not there, but mist forming. Not as substantial as her face, I could see on her left side, what appeared to be the kind of gown a wealthy woman of the 18^th century would wear, her hair put up too. She stared down at the tour group. If this was Mrs. Randolph; was she upset (I felt she was) at all, or only at the psychic and the male tour guide telling them the stories, both African American, as she had owned and abused slaves? I think I also caught not as glowing, a figure in the far-left window at front of the house, plus one first floor window two from the door on my right, had glowing stuff, plus one of the pictures had what appears like an animal’s face—maybe a dog?  It appears to me that way anyway. We eventually left the place and stopped at the big tree down the street, where the guide told us another story and I did get some orbs in one photo. The last place was the George Wythe House. The guide told the legend of Ann Skipwith. The one I debunked in my book, Virginia's Haunted Historic Triangle: Williamsburg, Yorktown, Jamestown, and Other Haunted Locations. The excerpt from the chapter in the book:

She and her husband took up the residence in Mecklenburg, Virginia, but they visited the Colonial capital many times, sometimes for weeks at a time. During one of these visits, they attended a gala at the Governor’s Palace. The couple had an argument there when Ann thought her husband was consorting with her sister. She took off in a bad mood.

She bolted for the Wythe House, losing one of her slippers during her flight. Not stopping to find it, she rushed on through the front door of the house and bounded upstairs. The clock struck twelve at that moment. With only one shoe on, she made an odd clicking noise all the way up the stairs in that dark and empty house. The most interesting thing about this tale is if no one was inside the house at the time, how did they know she made a clicking noise, especially when years later the ghost stories started up with that sound being the focus? Some witnesses thought the sound came from someone with a peg leg.

Besides the fact that no one was home to even see how she entered or what she did, there are those who speculated that she committed suicide over her husband’s infidelities. But the actual truth is she died in childbirth in 1779. Peyton did marry her sister, Jean, eight to nine years after her death. Why wait that long after they were involved as supposedly they were? Another myth laid to rest is the fact that though Peyton and Ann paid extended visits to Wythe House, they never lived there. So, it is doubtful that Ann haunts the house. Whoever does, it’s not her. (Not concerning Ann, but a possibility who might be the one haunting his house, since he’d own it.). A short excerpt from the same chapter: How the owner of the house itself, George Wythe, died has spawned a story worthy of Edgar Allan Poe himself. It is told that his grandnephew poisoned him on anticipation of a great inheritance. But Wythe remained alive long enough to write this nephew out of his will. And George did not die in Wythe House but passed away in Richmond in 1806.

I did bring up my ghost box and got a male voice twice (no scanning radio waves either). I will have to listen to see what he said. We did leave there, and true last stop was the graveyard of Bruton Parish, so, some people took pictures over the wall. I did too—nothing supernatural oriented in any of those.

Below are the rest of the pictures—ones I did get something or suspect I did. The ones with nothing are not here.

Now, for the possible Mrs. Randolph picture, I might have captured. First one as I took the second one has the circled window. I tried to zoom in to make the window bigger and show her with my Word/publisher. Sadly, I didn’t. Sorry. 

And finally, thanks to a friend, the ghost woman in the portrait:

And a portrait of Mrs. Randolph can be found here and looks like the face of the spirit: http://www.peytonrandolph.com/p/betty-randolph.html I assume the spirit is of her older, of course, as she passed away January 31, 1783, and the portrait was done in 1755.