Ghosts at the Creek
My sister Bridgette and her husband Ryall own a small ranch in Virginia. I used to go and visit them in the summer for a week or so at a time when I was on break from work, and I still do once and a while.
The first summer I stayed there, my sister and I, who are both sensitives (as are our parents and my other sister Jacqueline), were talking about the few odd things that she had seen around the ranch, including a strange Native American ghost and his horse. I wouldn’t believe that of all places, she would have a Native American's ghost on her ranch, so she decided to prove me wrong.
Late the next afternoon, Bridgette dared me to go down to the old creek that ran through her property with her to the spot where she had seen the Native American's ghost and to see for myself that he and the horse existed. We hadn’t been there long when I heard what sounded like hoof beats coming through the trees on the opposite side of the creek from where we were standing and waiting. Having horses of my own, I know what an unshod horse sounds like over one wearing shoes, and it sounded like an unshod horse. I knew for a fact it wasn’t any horse my sister had, as all her horses are either show or racing animals and are all shod. Just then, I spotted a shadow of what looked like a smallish, light-colored horse coming through the trees. And sure enough …
Soon, there between the trunks of two trees in a gap about two-foot wide, there came an elderly Native American man on a nearly pure white horse. As he came over to the creek, he looked up at us, and suddenly his face went from being normal to looking like it had been in a fire; it was scarred and burnt-looking in such a short amount of time that he was looking at us until his whole face looked charred. Then, as quickly as he looked burnt, his face went back to looking normal again. He got off the horse and walked to the edge of the creek, bent down, and then as soon as he bent down—BOTH HE AND THE HORSE DISAPPEARED!!
