Supernatural Friday: Will You Marry Me, Even If You're Dead?

It seems that it’s never too late to be baptized. Even the dead can get this.

Baptism for the dead, vicarious baptism or proxy baptism refers to the religious practice of baptizing a person on behalf of one who is dead. A living person then receives the rite on behalf of a deceased person. Baptism for the dead is best known as a doctrine of the Latter Day Saint movement, practicing it since 1840.

Those who practice this rite view baptism as an essential requirement to enter the Kingdom of God, and therefore practice baptism for the dead to offer it by proxy to those who died without the opportunity to receive it. The Church of Latter Day Saints (Mormon) teaches that those who have died may choose to accept or reject the baptisms done on their behalf.

Another event never too late to preform, is marriage for the dead. Yes, you are reading that. In Chinese tradition, a ghost marriage (pinyin: mínghūn; literally: "spirit marriage") is a marriage in which one or both parties are deceased. Other forms of ghost marriage are practiced worldwide, from Sudan, to France since 1959. The origins of Chinese ghost marriage are largely unknown, and reports of it being practiced today can be found. Chinese ghost marriage was usually set up by the family of the deceased and performed for a number of reasons, including the marriage of an engaged couple before one member's death to integrate an unmarried daughter into a patrilineage to ensure the family line is continued, or to maintain that no younger brother is married before an elder brother. A previously engaged woman upon the death of her fiancée, can choose to go through with the wedding, in which the groom was represented by a white cockerel at the ceremony. However, some women were hesitant since this form of ghost marriage required her to participate in the funeral ritual, mourning customs (including strict dress and conduct standards), take a vow of celibacy, and immediately take up residence with his family. A groom had the option of marrying his late fiancée, with no disadvantages, but there have been no records of such weddings.

Then there is the posthumous marriage (or necrogamy). This is a marriage in which one of the participating members is deceased. It is legal in France and similar forms are practiced in Sudan and China. Since World War I, France has had hundreds of requests each year, of which many have been accepted.

And so it appears you can still be baptized or even marry that special person, even though you are moldering in your grave. Death isn’t the end, but the beginning. 

Supernatural Friday: Death By Monster (Original Poem)

An another hopefully heart-stopping original poem by me for Supernatural Friday. Please do share the link of the blog and not the poem, so people can read it. 

"Death by Monster"

By

Pamela K. Kinney

Cold as

death,

Somber dark

unfolding,

Silver sharp;

fear stabbing

moonbeams at trees.

Monster hunting,

preying on

innocent souls.

Silvered moonlight

reveals

that death

is never pretty,

but shines

the color of blood.

Superstitions About Death: Second Blog Siop of Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia, and the Tri-Cities Area

When I was writing Paranormal Petersburg, Virginia, and the Tri-Cities Area, I learned some interesting superstations about death, thanks to taking a ghost tour at Sutherland Tavern in Dinwiddie, Virginia, and Michelle Olger. In past centuries, before a burial of someone who passed away, wakes were held. A wake is when the body was laid out for two to five days. One day was needed to put out the call about the death, another couple of days for people to gather there, and a couple of more days were needed for viewing the body. Parlors in the past were where people placed their dead when “laid out.” They were called death rooms.  Not in morgues, as at that time, such places were not there yet. When morgues came into being and dead placed there, that is when parlors became living rooms.

Today, people bring flowers to give the families of the deceased. This, too, had to do with the body in the parlor. It began to smell, so placing many flowers in the parlor helped tone down the stench. Also, all clocks in the house were stopped, and any mirrors covered. Clocks were stopped at the hour of the death of the person laid out. Superstition had them believing that if they were not stopped, the living would have bad luck. There were also superstitions regarding mirrors: covering them wherever the dead were laid out was to prevent disembodied spirits from seeing their own reflections and never finding rest. Other reasons stated that mirrors should be covered so the soul of the departed wouldn’t get caught behind the glass and be unable to pass to the other side. There is one final belief that if the living saw their own reflection in a mirror while a body lay in the parlor, they would die soon after. The pallbearers carried the body out the front door feet first, so not to beckon any souls back into the house.

There are other interesting superstitions concerning death that I found and wrote about in the chapter for Sutherland Tavern:

It is bad luck to meet a funeral procession head on. If you see one approaching, turn around. If this is unavoidable, hold on to a button until the funeral cortege passes.

When a clap of thunder is heard following a burial, it is an indication that the soul of the departed has reached heaven.

Do not hold your breath while going by a graveyard, so you will not be buried.

If the deceased has lived a good life, flowers will bloom on his grave; but if he has been evil, only weeds will grow.

The odor of roses when no one is around indicates that someone will die.

Seeing yourself in a dream means that your death will follow.

If a sparrow lands on a piano, someone in the home will die.

A picture falling off a wall means that there will be a death of someone you know.

A single snowdrop growing in the garden foretells death.

 

What other traditions or superstitions do you know about death that I haven’t mentioned? Leave a comment about it, plus your name and email (so if you win, I can contact you after I draw the winner October 6^th) to be entered to win a signed copy of my new book. 

Supernatural Friday: Weird Death Customs and Superstations

I've found some interesting customs and superstitions that people used to believe, concerning death.

It is bad luck to meet a funeral procession head on. If you see one approaching, turn around. If this is unavoidable, hold on to a button until the funeral cortege passes.

Aa clap of thunder is heard following a burial means that the soul of the departed has reached heaven. 

Do not hold your breath while going by a graveyard so you will not be buried.

The person who died was good in life; flowers would bloom on his grave. If he or she done evil while alive, only weeds would grow.

The odor of roses when no one is around indicates that someone will die. Seeing yourself in a dream means that your death will follow.

If a sparrow lands on a piano, someone in the home will die.

A picture falling off a wall means that there will be a death of someone you know.

A single snowdrop growing in the garden foretells death. .

Clocks were stopped at the hour of the death and  another reason, otherwise, the living had bad luck.

Covering mirrors where the dead was laid out supposedly prevented the disembodied spirit from seeing their own reflection and never finding rest. Other reasons because so the soul of the departed wouldn’t get caught behind the glass and be unable to pass to the other side. One final belief claimed if the living saw their own reflection in a mirror while a body lay in the parlor, they would die soon after.

Supernatural Friday: A Light at the End-Guest Blogger Sonnet O’Dell

Welcome my guest blogger for today’s Supernatural Friday, Sonnet O’Dell, as she blogs about near death experiences. I also want to apologized for not having Part 2 of Risen Dead for Supernatural Friday last week, but Marscon had me hopping all week and this Friday, I had promised to Sonnet. I will have Part 2 next Friday. Now enjoy Sonnet’s post and do leave her a comment.

There have been many accounts of near death phenomena. People claiming to have seen a white light at the end of a tunnel, deceased loved ones telling them to go back or seeing their body from the perspective of floating above it. No one can dispute these accounts because of course there is no way to prove that isn’t exactly what happened. These accounts are as fascinating as they are frightening.

No one knows what happens. Is there something after this? An afterlife. The afterlife has been a major theme in most religions. In Egyptian mythology, the heart of the dead was weighed against a feather to determine whether or not their heart was heavy with regrets. In Greek mythology you have the souls of the dead ferried to the underworld by Charon, taken past the three headed Cerberus to be judged by Hades as to whether you would go to the Elysium fields or to Tartarus. Christian mythology though appears to be the vaguest on what will happen when you pass on. There are clear concepts of Heaven and Hell, seen often as grand frescos in churches, but no understanding of proceedings. Do you have to wait in line to be judged? Or do the dead float around about us but we just cannot see them.

This has been explored in various works of fiction. The film Beetlejuice depicts the afterlife as a civil service waiting room where the dead are assigned the living to haunt. The TV series Ghost Whisper dealt with the unfinished business of the dead and crossing them over through a golden light. The Lovely Bones depicts the dead as living in small personalized heavens looking down on the world watching life. Any way you look at it, theories are abound. Imagine if you could cross that boundary and return to tell everyone what it is really like – of course if you believe in reincarnation perhaps some of us already have.

Sonnet O'Dell

http://www.sonnetodell.com
http://sonnetodelldustypages.blogspot.com
@SonnetODell

The Morning AfterLife Blurb:

If remembering could bring about the end of everything, would you still try?

Karrin wakes up on the side of the road with selective memory loss; she knows her name and age but nothing more about herself. She walks the highway back to a town to find all but a few people have disappeared and that there are strange but beautiful beings hunting them down. It seems to her that some great apocalyptic event happened but she just doesn't remember it.

Karrin however is in more danger than she realizes as someone in her new group of friends is more deadly to her than those hunting them down. When she finds one of them, a young man roughly her own age named Gabe injured, she goes against all she's been told and helps him. Gabe in return wants to help her, help her to remember. Karrin's memories, however, could put her in even more danger and bring an end to everything she now holds dear.

The Morning AfterLife Excerpt:

A sound came from ahead of her, it echoed in the absence of her own footsteps as she had sat to rest for a while. Slowly she opened her eyes again, letting them flutter slowly as the light glanced off of the metal bus sign, till her eyes had adjusted to it once more. She looked across to the other corner and from around it came a man dressed in a white suit. She wasn’t sure at first that it was the same one she had seen until she saw that he was carrying a black umbrella. Had he followed her all the way into town? If that were true, how had he gotten ahead of her or even know she would come that way?

About Sonnet O’Dell:

Sonnet was born at the John Radcliffe in Oxford, England, and spent the first six years of her life living in the town of Abingdon close to both her grandparents and most of the rest of her family.

She moved after that to Cornwall for three years and then to Devon for another three before moving to where she has lived for the last fourteen or so years. Sonnet now lives in Worcester, Worcestershire, famous for Lea & Perrin’s Sauce and as the site for the last battle of the Civil War.

Sonnet has had a passion for the written word from a very young age and enjoys nothing more than to read a good book. The worlds created by words.

The Morning AfterLife  BUY Links:

Eternal Press - http://www.eternalpress.biz/book.php?isbn=9781615725687

Amazon - http://www.amazon.co.uk/Morning-Afterlife-Sonnet-ODell/dp/1615725695/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1421695057&sr=8-2&keywords=The+Morning+Afterlife

Barnes & Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-morning-afterlife-sonnet-odell/1107747934?ean=9781615725694

Supernatural Friday: Snow Angels Forcasted for Your Fourth

Something to cool off your hot 4th of July Friday, since snow is the focus of my fantasy tale. This story is copyrighted, so please do not copy it off and paste it elsewhere. Do share the link to here to all your friends and relatives to read.

Snow Angel

By

 Pamela K. Kinney

I remember that winter night when I saw the snow angel. It had just started to snow after supper, about six o’clock. Thanks to the weather, when the sky would have been just turning dusk, instead darkness covered the scene like a shadow.

Pressing my face against the ice-cold glass of the large picture window in the living room, I watched the snow falling in the dark. It was illuminated by an eerie kind of ghost-light. At least that’s how I thought of it. Silence. The only movement came from a lone cat struggling through the drifts to disappear down a storm drain across the street.

I sensed rather than heard someone behind me. I blew out my breath, fogging the glass.

“Mom, it’s time for bed.”

My daughter, Marie. Of course, who else could it be, since I lived with her and her husband, Andy?

I looked over my shoulder at her. “This feels like a reversal of when you wanted to stay up later. Remember those days?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom, but the doctor gave me strict instructions that you get enough rest.”

Grumbling, I moved away and headed down the hallway to my bedroom, Marie close on my heels. Not caring, I shrugged off my clothes and flung them to the floor. Marie flashed frustration on her face, but stooped and picked up the clothing, tossing it in a hamper nearby. I put on my nightgown and ducked beneath the soft pink blanket on my bed. My daughter leaned over to give me a kiss on my cheek. Feather-soft, her lips tickled my skin.

“’Night,” she said, her voice a whisper, “and dream of snow angels dancing in the snow.”

“That’s silly,” I said. “I only told you that story when you were a kid to get you to sleep during the night. It was my way of getting you to not worry about monsters in closets or under your bed.”

“There are all kinds of angels in Heaven, Mom. The snow angel is God’s own special answer to make sure that snow falls just right so that children will have a wonderful winter world to marvel at.” She stroked my hair. “Least that’s how you explained it to me. Now go to sleep.”

She left me alone. I didn’t feel somnolent, instead I never felt so wide awake.

I slipped out of bed and sat on the seat by my bedroom window. I peered through the glass and tried not to smog it up with my breath, hoping the snowflakes were still lit up with odd glow. Thank goodness, they still were.

Just then, I noticed a dark shadow moving in the distance, outlined by the glow, too. Flickering off and on like a shorted bulb, it appeared to be gliding closer and closer to the house. I rubbed my eyes, thinking they were playing tricks on me. But when I took my hands away, something peered back at me from the other side of the window and it was not my own reflection!

Heart pounding, I toppled off the window seat. Its head—at least I assumed that was its head—popped through the glass like it was water and looked down at me. Twin orbs of icy-blue glowed from that dark visage. The glow grew brighter and brighter. Unable to move or speak, I fell into that glow and a sense of peace and warmth filled me. I stood.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

Silence. It slid its head back through the window. I got the feeling that it wanted me to join it outside. Not even stopping for a robe or shoes, I unlatched my window and shoved it and the screen up. Frigid air invited itself in and I shivered, but I still climbed out. I dropped down into a soft drift of snow piled beneath my window. To my surprise, I didn’t feel the cold snow squished between my toes and the freezing wind of the blizzard biting into my exposed skin. A warmth filled me and feeling giddy, I danced through the snow, laughing.

My visitor took my hands, and I stopped dancing and looked up at it. It loomed over me, the ghost-light revealing a long figure of ice and snow. Its wings, made not of feathers but icicles, chimed like church bells. The being was glorious and terrifying at the same time. I wasn’t frightened.

“You’re a snow angel, aren’t you?” I asked breathlessly. “A real snow angel.”

It just pressed me against it. Together, arm in arm; we danced a waltz through the snowflakes. We seemed to be floating on air. Magical, like Christmas morning or that first kiss.

There was nothing to fear and when the angel offered, I let it fly me up, up, through swirling snowflakes, high above the neighborhood.

****

At first I never gave a thought to my family. But when I heard the screaming and crying from far away it drew me back. I peeked at the scene below. Morning had dawned and the snow stopped. Something small and indistinct dressed in a pink nightgown lay blanketed by snow right under my bedroom window.

The window was still propped open. Marie dropped to her knees in the snow and snatched up that still form, screaming and crying. Andy stood over her, talking on his cell phone.

Marie stared up at the sky. She acted like she couldn’t see me. But I saw her tear-stained face and the pain in her eyes. “Why, God, why?”

I wanted to go to her, but I felt a touch on my shoulder and I looked to see the snow angel hovering beside me. It held out a hand. I took it.

I looked back at Marie and said, “It’s all right, everything’s all right.”

Ready now?

I nodded with a smile. We rose higher and higher and passed through a tear in the sky that appeared.  The tear closed behind us and I passed through shining gates, entering the snowy fields of Heaven.

Supernatural Friday: Snow Angel

Something to cool off your hot Friday, since snow is the focus of my fantasy tale. This story is copyrighted, so please do not copy it off and paste it elsewhere--the only other place allowed to post it was The Chocolate Box and on here, as this is my original work. Do share the link to here to all your friends and relatives to read.

Snow Angel

By

 Pamela K. Kinney

I remember that winter night when I saw the snow angel. It had just started to snow after supper, about six o’clock. Thanks to the weather, when the sky would have been just turning dusk, instead darkness covered the scene like a shadow.

Pressing my face against the ice-cold glass of the large picture window in the living room, I watched the snow falling in the dark. It was illuminated by an eerie kind of ghost-light. At least that’s how I thought of it. Silence. The only movement came from a lone cat struggling through the drifts to disappear down a storm drain across the street.

I sensed rather than heard someone behind me. I blew out my breath, fogging the glass.

“Mom, it’s time for bed.”

My daughter, Marie. Of course, who else could it be, since I lived with her and her husband, Andy?

I looked over my shoulder at her. “This feels like a reversal of when you wanted to stay up later. Remember those days?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom, but the doctor gave me strict instructions that you get enough rest.”

Grumbling, I moved away and headed down the hallway to my bedroom, Marie close on my heels. Not caring, I shrugged off my clothes and flung them to the floor. Marie flashed frustration on her face, but stooped and picked up the clothing, tossing it in a hamper nearby. I put on my nightgown and ducked beneath the soft pink blanket on my bed. My daughter leaned over to give me a kiss on my cheek. Feather-soft, her lips tickled my skin.

“’Night,” she said, her voice a whisper, “and dream of snow angels dancing in the snow.”

“That’s silly,” I said. “I only told you that story when you were a kid to get you to sleep during the night. It was my way of getting you to not worry about monsters in closets or under your bed.”

“There are all kinds of angels in Heaven, Mom. The snow angel is God’s own special answer to make sure that snow falls just right so that children will have a wonderful winter world to marvel at.” She stroked my hair. “Least that’s how you explained it to me. Now go to sleep.”

She left me alone. I didn’t feel somnolent, instead I never felt so wide awake.

I slipped out of bed and sat on the seat by my bedroom window. I peered through the glass and tried not to smog it up with my breath, hoping the snowflakes were still lit up with odd glow. Thank goodness, they still were.

Just then, I noticed a dark shadow moving in the distance, outlined by the glow, too. Flickering off and on like a shorted bulb, it appeared to be gliding closer and closer to the house. I rubbed my eyes, thinking they were playing tricks on me. But when I took my hands away, something peered back at me from the other side of the window and it was not my own reflection!

Heart pounding, I toppled off the window seat. Its head—at least I assumed that was its head—popped through the glass like it was water and looked down at me. Twin orbs of icy-blue glowed from that dark visage. The glow grew brighter and brighter. Unable to move or speak, I fell into that glow and a sense of peace and warmth filled me. I stood.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

Silence. It slid its head back through the window. I got the feeling that it wanted me to join it outside. Not even stopping for a robe or shoes, I unlatched my window and shoved it and the screen up. Frigid air invited itself in and I shivered, but I still climbed out. I dropped down into a soft drift of snow piled beneath my window. To my surprise, I didn’t feel the cold snow squished between my toes and the freezing wind of the blizzard biting into my exposed skin. A warmth filled me and feeling giddy, I danced through the snow, laughing.

My visitor took my hands, and I stopped dancing and looked up at it. It loomed over me, the ghost-light revealing a long figure of ice and snow. Its wings, made not of feathers but icicles, chimed like church bells. The being was glorious and terrifying at the same time. I wasn’t frightened.

“You’re a snow angel, aren’t you?” I asked breathlessly. “A real snow angel.”

It just pressed me against it. Together, arm in arm; we danced a waltz through the snowflakes. We seemed to be floating on air. Magical, like Christmas morning or that first kiss.

There was nothing to fear and when the angel offered, I let it fly me up, up, through swirling snowflakes, high above the neighborhood.

****

At first I never gave a thought to my family. But when I heard the screaming and crying from far away it drew me back. I peeked at the scene below. Morning had dawned and the snow stopped. Something small and indistinct dressed in a pink nightgown lay blanketed by snow right under my bedroom window.

The window was still propped open. Marie dropped to her knees in the snow and snatched up that still form, screaming and crying. Andy stood over her, talking on his cell phone.

Marie stared up at the sky. She acted like she couldn’t see me. But I saw her tear-stained face and the pain in her eyes. “Why, God, why?”

I wanted to go to her, but I felt a touch on my shoulder and I looked to see the snow angel hovering beside me. It held out a hand. I took it.

I looked back at Marie and said, “It’s all right, everything’s all right.”

Ready now?

I nodded with a smile. We rose higher and higher and passed through a tear in the sky that appeared.  The tear closed behind us and I passed through shining gates, entering the snowy fields of Heaven.