Dreamwatch

Mystery Fiction. True Paranormal.

Year: 2018

Volcano Tsunami Premonition. Tsunami that Swamped Indonesia caused by Volcano’s Underwater Landslides

Volcano Tsunami Strikes Indonesian Coast.

A few days before Christmas, Dec. 25th, 2018, I was telling someone a bit of movie trivia about the 1968 film Krakatoa East of Java. The thought came from nowhere, not volcanoes or Krakatoa or Java. Who talks about that in everyday conversation? I wonder if a premonition tried to break through.

Later that same week a volcano tsunami struck the Indonesian coastline at night with no warning. People might have been warned if an earthquake had triggered the deadly surge, but there was no quake. Underwater landslides caused by the volcanic eruption of Anak Krakatau to the west triggered the tsunami waves.

A premonition? Yes. And here’s why.

The volcano that erupted is known as Anak Krakatau, the name means “child of Krakatau.Krakatau is an alternate spelling of Krakatoa. So premonition points for that.

Right name. Wrong location? Krakatoa is east of Java, you say. Not so fast …

Let’s back up to movie trivia and the mistaken geography of Krakatoa East of Java. Krakatoa is, in fact, west of Java. No one noticed the blaring geographical error until advertising and promotional materials had been produced. Movie posters were printed. The film had its name. But wait, there is a big goof in the title—Krakatoa and its child, are located in the Sunda Strait at the western tip of Java. Producers decided the costs were too great to reprint, and it was too late to fix everything without delaying the film’s release date. Factual geography wasn’t important enough to make corrections at extra time and cost.

I don’t recall if I saw the film Krakatoa East of Java (it released 50 years ago), I might have watched it if only for the special effects. However, because of that movie mishap I have always remembered that Krakatoa is west of Java.

Geography. Geology. And volcano tsunamis.

Located in Southeast Asia, Indonesia is made of thousands of volcanic islands, one of which is Java. Formerly known as the Dutch East Indies, Indonesia lies across the Equator between the mainland of Southeast Asia and Australia. At a major convergence where earth’s tectonic plates meet, the Indonesian archipelago remains at high risk of seismic and volcanic activity, and resulting tsunamis.

— Kat in Connecticut

Read more Dreams & Premonitions in our Natural Disaster Category.

We’d love to read your True Paranormal Experience. Submit Your Story here.

Lights out. Phantom sounds of water running and more.

Lights out … then water running and TV turned on

My husband was away this weekend at a high school reunion. I turned the TV off, locked the house, fed the cat, turned the lights out, and went to bed.

At three o’clock in the morning on Saturday, I woke up and heard water running.

I listened to the water sound for a while when I was in bed to try to locate it. Thought about water going through the radiator, but didn’t have the heat on that day. Didn’t sound like it was in the pipes or the dishwasher, which was off. I got up to see what it was.

The water sound stopped as I walked out of the bedroom.

Also strange that when I got into the kitchen, the water sound stopped, but I heard voices … the TV was on! The cat was sleeping in the bedroom with me and the remote control was on the sofa with nothing near it to turn it on.

After lights out, the TV turned on!

I definitely turned the TV off. The TV wasn’t on when I went to bed. I would have heard if I left it on. I was in the next room and up for a while reading and didn’t hear it. It seems that the TV went on as I walked into the kitchen which is right behind the living room.

I turned all the lights on and slept on the couch after staying awake until 5:30 watching TV. I have no idea what it was all about!

— Nancy in Connecticut

Thanks for your story, Nancy. For centuries 3am has been known as “the witching hour,” a time when paranormal forces are said to be strongest. We’ve received several stories about TVs and other small electronic devices inexplicably turning on and off. Find similar stories in the DreamWatch Archives, Phantom smells, sounds, lights.

— Kat

Creaky Old House of Ghosts

A grandmother’s house is supposed to be warm and nurturing, filled with knickknacks gathered over a lifetime and the aroma of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. A place to test the boundaries of already loose rules. My nana’s creaky old house was all of that and more.

Creaky old house with a history of ghosts

Located halfway down a cut-through street in a small mill town in Maine, it was a rambling red two-story structure with a porch on the front and wild raspberry bushes out back for eating and making pies. Generations had come and gone, and in the early days it was common practice to give birth in the house. However, under less than sterile conditions and with limited or no medical intervention, an infant had to come out fighting for his life. From there, common childhood diseases threatened a child’s long-term survival.

Adding to the hardship, winters were long and arduous. I’d heard of a still birth after a fall on the ice and the premature death of a toddler who succumbed to what would now be a common cold. Under these circumstances, the dining room space would be rearranged for a casket for viewing before a funeral. On the side of the house, a door barely wide enough to fit the narrow box was used strictly for that special purpose.

As with any house of considerable age, stories passed along generations. I’d heard them as I was growing up and each tale seemed to be accepted by the extended family as intrinsic lore of the creaky old house.

Great-grandmother’s ghost

By the time I’d reached my teenage years, my father had relayed on several occasions about the night he saw my deceased great grandmother, whom he’d never met while she was alive. Finding himself suddenly awake in the wee hours, his eyes were drawn to the crib where I slept nearby. An ethereal female figure hovered as if checking on her baby. Not recognizing the woman, my father studied her face to memorize her features before she glided across the room and disappeared through the wall. The next day, he noticed a sepia-toned photo hanging on the wall that bore the image of the woman he’d seen the night before and learned it was my mother’s grandmother who had passed in that same room.

Grandfather’s ghost

Also prone to sharing tales, my mother often told the story of what happened after her father’s funeral one frigid January. She lay awake in the dark, thinking of how much he hated the cold and worrying about where he was. Was it cold there? As if in response, just outside her room, the landing at the top of the stairs lit with a warm glow, which she sensed was her father assuring her he was okay.

My ghost encounter

While an occasional story entertained and underscored the age of the house and the family history, none of it touched me directly. That is, until one summer when I stayed at my grandmother’s house without the rest of my family.

It was the summer between my junior and senior years of college. I was working nearby at a sleepaway camp on an idyllic lake replete with loons that called mournfully in the morning fog. The evening before a day off, my aunt and uncle picked me up and delivered me to my grandmother’s to stay the night. Nana let me sleep in her room since, as far as she was concerned, it had the best mattress.

Ghost footsteps down the hall

After we settled into our respective bedrooms and I pulled the cord on the solitary light above the bed, I lay still, listening to the quiet and reflecting on the hubbub I’d left behind at the camp. Soon I could hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. Heavy footsteps that practically echoed on the old wood floor. They weren’t my grandmother’s. At that time of night she would have worn slippers and shuffled along with no urgency.

The ghost beside my bed

These footfalls had a purpose and were closing the distance between us. My breathing quickened and grew shallow. My body stiffened and I pressed my closed eyes tighter. It would have taken a crow bar to get them open at that moment. I listened as someone entered my room and came up to the side of the bed where I lay—and stopped. All pulmonary function in my body shut down. I sensed a man and could feel him standing close. Would he reach out and touch me? Keeping my lids pressed shut, I willed whoever it was to go away. Please go away. I don’t want to know. Please go. My body broke out in a cold sweat. I listened, but there were no more footsteps. No sounds at all. Just deafening silence. Was he still there? Without ever opening my eyes again that night, at some point I finally fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke to brilliant sunshine flooding the room, and my thoughts went straight to what I’d heard the night before. Who had paid me a visit? One of my relatives who had passed long before I’d arrived on the scene? Someone more recent? I wasn’t ready to go down that path. It was too soon. Too raw.

Becoming accustomed to ghosts

Although certain members of my family had the ability to sense paranormal activity, I wanted no part of it. The thought terrified me. What if I was particularly good at it and it went beyond the occasional occurrence? Or what if I opened the wrong door and invited in a less-than-desirable spirit—something evil? At that point in my life, I couldn’t wrap my head around it and chose to construct a wall of sorts to keep it all out. Leave me alone. Please.

It wasn’t until a few years later when I’d grown more used to the idea of being open to paranormal that I began to embrace the idea. Once I accepted the very real possibility I could connect, I began to experience interactions with the other side. Unlike my initial experience, alone and quivering in my grandmother’s bed, I’ve been consistently intrigued with each one—coming away in awe and reverence. None have scared me. Not yet, anyway.

— Penny, Connecticut

This true ghost story was submitted by mystery author Penny Goetjen. See our conversation about books, writing, and life on my personal author blog: Writings on the Wall. Penny’s interview is titled: Precipice series author Penny Goetjen in conversation.

— Kat

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