A Strange Little Place by Brennan Storr

A Strange Little Place by Brennan Storr

Author:Brennan Storr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: strange place, a strange place, strange little place, brennan store, brendan storr, revelstoke, canada, british columbia, hauntings, haunted places, true hauntings, paranormal, paranormal investigation
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2016-06-16T00:00:00+00:00


[contents]

Chapter 18

Green Light

The story of the green light is one of those bizarre personal recollections that don’t quite “fit” and so tend to fade until something jogs my memory. In that respect, it’s similar to the stories from Chapte, “My Mother’s House”—most of those things were buried in my mind and it wasn’t until I actually made an effort to look for them that I was able to remember them in full. As I mention in later chapters, this seems to be a common feature of truly supernatural phenomena—the mind actively seeking to forget what doesn’t fit into its established framework of reality.

My most dramatic and verifiable personal encounter with the unknown took place on New Year’s Eve, though exactly which one is still very much up for debate. My memory of the event itself is still reasonably sharp, but the difficulty begins when trying to place it in the timeline of my life. The friend who witnessed the event with me—Aaron Irmen—believes it couldn’t have been before 1998, but other people we saw that night are certain it was earlier. Whatever the case, Aaron and I would have been teenagers at the time of the event and, in true teenage fashion, we celebrated the New Year by playing video games and cracking wise. Our teenage years not being rambunctious ones, the only stimulants we had helped ourselves to that evening were caffeine and sugar, so our recollections of what followed cannot be questioned on the basis of intoxication.

As is usual in Revelstoke around that time of year, snow had been falling heavily all night, and at one point, possibly around 3 a.m., we decided it would be a good idea to shovel my mother’s driveway. This wasn’t an altruistic decision as much as it was one born of the jitteriness associated with too much off-brand cola.

Outside it was cold, still, and bright, the fresh snow everywhere reflecting the light of a dozen street lamps. We set into the wet, almost slushy, snow with our shovels, but even with two of us it was slow going. My mother’s modest driveway took an hour to clear, and we finished at 4 a.m. Though we disagree on exactly what year the event took place, my and Aaron’s memories of that night agree up to this point; from here on, our recollections diverge and the description given is a synthesis of both our memories.

At four in the morning, I was standing next to my mother’s car in our driveway and Aaron was standing at the sidewalk’s edge, looking down an empty Third Street; snow was piled chest high in windrows down the center of the road and there wasn’t a sound—even the nearby rail yard had gone quiet for the time being. It was in that silence that the light came—to me from above Mount Revelstoke to the northeast, to Aaron from over Boulder Mountain in the northwest. It began as a small point of neon green light above the mountain, just a pinprick in the night sky, and then it flashed brightly.



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