My little weird memory challenge has proven to be fascinating. I want to make sure these stories are seen, so I thought I would pull them out of the comments section and post them here. I love stories like this. Not necesarily paranormal, but definitely on a border of some type. I'll share some more later, and I'll extend the challenge to anyone and everyone who reads the blog and feels inclined to share. Just leave it in the comment section or email it to me and I'll make sure it gets posted. No rules, just a weird memory.
From Big Brown House:
When I was 15 years old, a family friend hosted her 14 year old niece Ana from Mexico for a year. Ana and I became friends, and it was somehow decided that during the summer between my Junior and Senior years, her older brother and I would swap places. I'd live with their family in Guadalajara for the summer and he would live with my family in Los Angeles.
Before leaving for Mexico, Ana and I spent a day Magic Mountain (a large amusement park outside LA.) The lines for rides were horribly long, and we spent over an hour in line for the Colossus roller coaster. During the wait, I had plenty of time to tune in to the people around us in line. Behind us was a group of men from Mexico. They seemed to be mostly in their 30s, and to my eye, almost seemed to be in costume, so unique was their dress.
Ana kept whispering things like "They're cowboys, and they're horrible. Don't look at them." I couldn't tell what they were saying, but she was clearly disturbed by it. They looked so interesting though, so exotic and so unlike the urban-styled Mexican Americans I knew.
Over the next hour, I kept sneaking looks at one man. He had bright blue eyes that seemed to glow from from his sunburned face. He had dark thick coiffed hair that looked right out of the 19th century, an ornately styled shirt that still defies description, and these spectacular boots - black with elaborate colorful floral appliques and tall stacked heels slanted in at such an angle I couldn't imagine walking in them. Those boots. I was so taken by those boots.
Fast forward a month later. I am now in Guadalajara, and have gone to the giant San Juan de Dios Marketplace. Outside on a huge amphitheater-like stairway I am sitting by myself, waiting for the family when I hear a click click click behind me. I turn my head, and clicking down the stairs beside me are these incredible black and floral boots! I look up and I swear to God it was the cowboy. He didn't see me, and I didn't say anything. I just sat there stunned and spooked by the complete impossibility of it all. Thirteen hundred miles away!
From Stephen Wagner:
When I was around 15-16, I used to head up the street to a large playground area on clear nights with my 3-inch reflector telescope to look at the stars, planets, and nebulae. (It worked amazingly well for a cheap "toy".) It was here that I had a minor UFO experience.
I watched as a star-bright object moved across the sky. I knew it was not an aircraft, and at first assumed it was a satellite traveling on its straight, swift course. But then it made a very sharp U-turn -- something a satellite cannot do (neither can a conventional aircraft) -- and then dissolved away into nothingness. But that isn't the strange part.
Very often on these dark nights, alone beneath the canopy of the Milky Way, I would challenge God to make himself known to me. (I was searching, searching, searching in those days. Not that I've stopped.) God didn't respond. But something is the shin-high grass did. I heard something stirring in the grass down there, and it was heading my way, quickly.
It scared the crap out of me. I picked up my telescope and backed up as quickly as I could, keeping the thing in front of me. Then I turned and high-tailed it out of there. What was it? A rat? A snake? Had I stayed, would God have risen up out of the grass and answered all my questions? Or maybe it was the Devil himself, rushing up from the depths to take possession of my soul before God even had a chance to answer.
Which reminds me of another weird episode. One day I was riding in an elevator in the building where I worked in Manhattan. There were two or three other people in the car, including a scraggly-looking fellow with an unkempt beard and piercing eyes. The elevator stopped on my floor, and as I'm about to step off, this fellow turned and looked at me with his dark, sharp eyes and said, "You've got the Devil in ya." Holy crap! Obviously, I can't forget it, and it's messed with my head ever since.