I am an author and paranormal enthusiast who has published numerous books and articles on the subject of true unexplained phenomena.
A Rude Awakening
This disturbing story was sent to me via social media by a woman who, for our purposes, will be known as Karen Matthews.* If nothing else, it serves as a reminder that events of the past are not far removed from those of the present.
Her ordeal began one night when she was roused from sleep by flashing lights that seemed to be bouncing off of her bedroom walls. Assuming that there had been a traffic accident, or that one of her neighbors was having a medical emergency, she got up and peered out the window hoping to get a closer look. To her surprise, rather than being alive with activity, the street was quiet with nary a soul in sight.
After a few minutes, the lights faded and everything returned to normal. Although it was obvious to Karen that something completely unexplainable had just happened, she had no choice other than to return to bed and try to forget the incident. By morning, she had convinced herself that she had probably dreamed the whole thing.
Coincidentally, or perhaps not, the eerily realistic nightmare had occurred on the first night that she was alone in the house. Prior to that, since the bedroom suit had not yet been delivered, she had been sleeping on the living room sofa while a friend who was helping with the move dozed in a nearby recliner.
Karen admits that she was somewhat apprehensive the following evening when bedtime rolled around. To her great relief, the night was uneventful. In the days to come, everything went smoothly, allowing her to put the strange episode behind her. As it turned out, she had let her guard down a bit too soon.
More of the Same
A week later, on a Tuesday night, the same thing happened again. From out of nowhere, red and blue flashing lights lit up the interior of Karen's bedroom. As was the case during the previous incident, the street was vacant as her neighbors slumbered away, seemingly unaware of what was taking place next door.
In the midst of the chaotic scene, she happened to glance at the clock on the bedside table and noted that it was 4:12 in the morning. Although it hadn't meant anything to her at the time, she couldn't shake the feeling that it might somehow be significant. Twenty minutes would pass before the lights finally disappeared; plunging the room into darkness once again.
In the weeks to come, a pattern would emerge in which the lights of emergency vehicles would manifest in Karen's bedroom, but only on Tuesdays in the wee hours of the morning. During these episodes, even though the evidence of their presence was clearly visible, no source could ever be found.
Hoping to gain some insight into the situation, Karen shared the details of what she had been experiencing with a handful of close friends and trusted coworkers. Though they didn't doubt her account, none of them had a viable explanation for what she claimed was taking place under her roof.
Some good did, however, come of her efforts. She would later recall that on one noteworthy occasion, a curious friend who had offered to spend a few nights at the house also witnessed the lights, confirming that they were not simply figments of her imagination.
A Possible Explanation
Determined to get to the bottom of the strange goings-on, she took her concerns to the landlady. While she seemed interested in what Karen had to say, the woman, who lived a few blocks over in a senior high-rise apartment, could offer nothing in the way of an explanation—or, so she thought.
During the course of their conversation, the lessor mentioned that she and her husband had lived in the house for many years until she moved out after losing him to a massive coronary. Unable to bear the thought of remaining in their marital home without him, she had relocated to a place that was better suited to her needs. Instead of selling her former residence, she had chosen to turn it into a rental.
The woman went on to share that the world she had once known came crashing down one night when her husband woke up complaining of an intense pain that was racking his upper body. Sensing his desperation, she had immediately phoned for help.
The circumstances turned dire when he tried to stand and collapsed on the floor beside the bed. By the time that paramedics arrived, he was beyond saving. She related that seeing the workers trying in vain to restart his heart was something that she would never forget.
The two of them chatted for a while longer before parting ways. Later on that evening, Karen mulled over their conversation. Only then did an outlandish scenario begin to form in her mind.
She wondered if it was possible that the lights she was witnessing, which she believed were those of one or more ambulances, were somehow connected to the night that the landlady's husband died. As implausible as it seemed, she felt that the theory made a strange sort of sense.
Unfortunately, the widow had neglected to mention on which night of the week the life-altering ordeal had unfolded. Even though the curiosity was killing her, Karen just couldn't bring herself to call the elderly woman and ask if her husband had passed on a Tuesday. She feared that, under the circumstances, the query would be viewed as insensitive.
In spite of the ongoing disturbances, Karen remained in the house for three years before moving on to bigger and better things. Over time, she concluded that energies trapped inside the house were somehow reliving the tragic events that occurred on the night of the owner's death, specifically, the fruitless efforts to save his life.
She speculates that the lights of the emergency vehicles, flashing silently in the space where he had taken his final breaths, were there to remind those who would occupy the room in the future of a time when life and hope were lost forever.
*Name has been altered to protect the privacy of those involved.
This content is accurate and true to the best of the author’s knowledge and is not meant to substitute for formal and individualized advice from a qualified professional.