Rob Blackwell's Blog, page 10

Dreaming of Death—A Mysterious Building, An Elevator, and a Prophetic Nightmare

Since I published my novel threemonths ago, I've had my fair share of questions. Since it's a book with a largeparanormal element to it, I'm most often asked if I believe in ghosts or ifI've ever had an encounter with one. Although I've interviewed peoplewho have seen ghosts, I can't claim to have ever seen one myself. But I musthave some kind of personal paranormal story, right? Something weird? Somethingthat made me suspect that the world isn't exactly as it seems? Like most of us, I have a few. Ican tell you about the time I performed a Tarot card reading—and was far moreaccurate than I wanted to be. Or the time I refused to go into a friend'sbasement for reasons I couldn't explain, only to find out much later it hadbeen the scene of a grisly murder. But I think I'd rather tell youabout one of the times that I dreamed of my own death. I was in the 7th Gradewhen we visited Blackstone, Va., with my church youth groupas part of a large retreat. Though I had often been away from home as part ofthe Boy Scouts, the trip was exciting for two reasons: 1) there would be indoorplumbing as well as easy access to Mountain Dew, and 2) there would be girlswith us. Here's the strange part of thestory. From the moment I walked into the place where the retreat was held—and Ihad never stepped foot in there before—I knew exactly what the layout would be. I knew where the stairs were, therooms were, what the décor would be like, and basically how to find my wayaround.It was very odd. When I walkedinside, the entire place felt familiar. Like I had not only been there before,but spent significant time exploring every nook and cranny. This wasn'tsomething I kept to myself. As soon as we walked inside, I told my friends Ihad—somehow—seen this place before. I had a friend walk ahead of me, with metelling him what he would find around every corner (before I could see it).Everything was exactly where I said it would be.  It was only then that I rememberedthe dream. As is often the case with me, I don't remember my dreams in themorning: something has to trigger the recollection for me. When I was younger,this was really easy—I'm sad to say it's much harder now. Walking around the building andgiving my friends an advance guided tour triggered the memory of the dream. Inthe dream, I had been walking around the inside of a strange place. It was big,empty and spooky. I wandered all around until I came to a hallway off to theleft. When I turned the corner, I saw a large trash bin on the right side and awhite elevator at the end of the hall. I waited there a moment, not sure whatto do, but with a growing sense of dread.In the dream, the elevator suddenly"dinged" open and when it did, a gust of wind swept down the hallway. The trashbin immediately was pulled into the elevator, which was now a giant, gapinghole. I grabbed the corner of the wall, but everything else was being pulledinto the elevator—the pictures on the walls, the carpeting on the floor,everything. Finally, after holding fast for what felt like several minutes, Icouldn't hold on any longer. I was sucked into the elevator too—my last thoughtbefore plunging into the darkness was that this would kill me. Back in real life, I stood there onthe first floor of the building and recounted the dream to my friends. Somethought I was lying, others thought that perhaps I had visited the buildingbefore (I hadn't). But one friend agreed to go exploring with me. I had to know:was the elevator in here? And what would happen if I found it?When we got to the second floor, wecrept cautiously through the halls. I knew just where to go, just where theelevator would be. Sure enough, we came to a hallway on the left. We roundedthe corner. There on the right side of the hall was the trash bin, just as ithad been in my dream. At the end of the hall was the white elevator. The thing that scared me the most wasn'tthat everything in my dream existed in the real world. What was mostfrightening to me was that there was no one else in that hallway, but theelevator call button—the one you press to make the elevator come to you—was litup. Just as I registered what it was, I heard the "ding" and the elevator doorslid open.I'm not ashamed to admit it: I ran.I ran like hell, with my friend close behind me. Once safely back to the group,we told them everything. Even though a few made fun of me, I noticed everyonestudiously avoided the elevator from that time on, convinced it was a dangeroustrap. During that retreat, I never set foot in the elevator—nor, for thatmatter, got anywhere near the hallway.So what did it all mean? If I hadstepped into the elevator, would something have happened? Did I somehow pick upon some terrible history of the place? If this were a novel, I could tellyou. I'd tell you the secret hidden past of the elevator and how a boy 20 yearsearlier had vanished near that very spot. I'd tell you how many kids who cometo that place have the same terrible nightmare, and how a few even hear thevoice of a young boy calling to them as they walk near the hallway. But truthfully, I don't know theanswers. How could I dream of a place where I had never been? And why did Idream about an elevator that, as far as I know, was perfectly normal? Two yearslater, when my group returned to that retreat, I took a dare and rode theelevator. I'm still here.But I will tell you this. When thedoor shut on me and I was alone in the elevator, I was never more afraid in mylife. And I've honestly never felt the same about any elevator ride since. So that's my real-life paranormalstory. What about you? Have any insights into my dream? Have you had any dreamsthat came true? Leave a comment below!

The "I Want to Die Horribly" Contest

Ever wanted to be a character in a novel? This is your chance. As part of my week with the Paranormal Book Club Facebook page, I'm going to be hosting the "I Want to Die Horribly" Contest. The winner will be featured in the sequel to "A Soul to Steal," and has the option to, you know, die horribly.

Here's what you have to do to enter:

1) Like the Facebook page for "A Soul to Steal." It's here: www.facebook.com/asoultosteal

2) Tweet the following: Want to be a character in a novel? Join the "I Want To Die Horribly" contest now at http://goo.gl/1zwFk. #asoultosteal

3) Buy the book. While no purchase is required, buying the book will really help raise your odds of winning. You can buy it anywhere: on Amazon  or Barnes and Noble, on iTunes, or through Smashwords. Once you buy it, send the proof of purchase to headlesshorseman@verizon.net. That's it.

Good luck!a Rafflecopter giveawayYou need javascript enabled to see this giveaway.

A New Beginning

When I first started in journalism -- now, sadly, 15 years ago-- I was a local sports reporter. It was a fun job (though not as much fun as people tend to think, but still entertaining). The best part, however, was when I started a regular column.

The column was a bit of fresh air. Generally speaking, sports is a cool beat, but it's not terribly creative. It's basically the same thing over and over again. But a column? I could take it anywhere. And I did. I wrote about all sorts of different topics, still vaguely connected to sports, but with pop culture references and at least a stab at humor. It was called, "Nobody Asked Me, But..." which I felt reflected the nature of my comments. You probably didn't ask to hear what I thought about obnoxious parents at Little League games, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

Eventually I killed the column when I started having more responsibilities at the paper, and moved on from that publication. It wasn't until I worked for the South County Chronicle on a freelance basis that I got some version of it back. There the column was called "Critics Corner," and I was allowed as much freedom as I wanted. I could, and did, write about music, movies, video games and books. It was a great outlet for me and I really enjoyed it.

But, sadly, the paper folded earlier this year--another victim to the new digital age. I focused on my full-time job and my novel-writing and pretty much forgot about it. But I missed it.

So when I published a novel and everyone told me, "Make a blog, make a blog," resurrecting the old column was the first thing that popped into my head. And here it is. I can't promise to post every day or even every week, but I will try and keep things interesting and fun.

Dec. 11, 2011