Galveston, Indiana − 29 March 2024 Noah is on his way home after school under dark, cloudy skies. While he is crossing the road called “Skinwalker Road,” he sees a white dog with white pupils that might be a Labrador retriever sitting in front of an abandoned church, staring at him abnormally. It seems like it is creepily smiling at him. Noah: Jesus, what kind of creature is it on this earth? He ignored it and started walking home, crossing by the church. Suddenly, in the middle of his path, the dog appeared and stared at him abnormally. At that time, Noah froze for a few seconds. Then, after taking a deep breath, he picked up a stone to throw at the dog. Noah: You shitty doggo! Get out of my way! Surprisingly, the dog disappeared like a television turning off. Noah didn't wait for a second there; he started running towards his home. At midnight, he is preparing his school bag for tomorrow's classes. At that time, his eye captures a white figure sitting at the top of the road lamp through his room's window. He steps closer to the window for clear vision, but he sees nothing at the top of the road lamp. Then he is turning off the room's light and closing the window before going to bed. Half an hour later of his sleep, he is feeling heavy weight on his chest, his arms are becoming paralyzed, and he can't inhale properly. He opens his eyes; he sees nothing in his room, but as he is moving his head left, towards the mirror beside his bed, he discovers something horrifying! A scary creature with a tall human body and head, like the dog he met on the path at noon, is opening its mouth wide towards him! In the morning, as the sun rises, Noah's mother is knocking on his room door to wake him up for school. Noah's Mother: Son, wake up, or you will miss your school today! At that moment, she feels as though she has stepped on something damp. As she is looking down, she sees blood coming under the door. Noah's Mother: JESUS WHAT THE!! NOAH!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!! Noah's father comes quickly. As he sees the situation, he becomes so busy that he breaks the door as fast as he can. After breaking the door, what they see is blood splattered around the room, and Noah's body, half eaten, falls to the floor. Since that day, Noah's death case has remained unsolved.

Messerschmitt BF-109K Flight 233, a British Airways Boeing 757 from Glasgow to Paris was flying over the North Sea. It was a regional flight at 41,000 feet. The pilots were First Officer Ted Clark and Co-Pilot Mike Tompson. They had flown together for the last three years and were a good team. On this flight something would happen that would change their views of what was ‘normal'. For off their left wing was another aircraft. It was flying in formation. Because of its size it was very small. The pilot spotted it first. “Hey, Mike, we have company. Another aircraft off our left wing. Look...” Pilot Ted pointed. Mike peered over to look out of the left cockpit windows. He had to lean fully forwards to see the other aircraft. “I see him. What the hell? That can't be right...” “I know. A 109. He should have radioed us.” “Must be that restored one on the way to an airshow in Europe.” The pilot tried the radio on three different frequencies; there was no reply. “Nothing. Like he's a ghost.” “Maybe he has radio problems?” the co-pilot added. Suddenly the Messerschmitt changed position and flew right over the cockpit. He was so close they could see the oil stains and rivets and patched bullet holes. A green shoe was painted on the cockpit side and dozens of kill markings on the rudder. The plane's propeller was a whirling almost invisible fan. “What the hell? I'm radioing Paris,” the pilot said and did so. The reply was immediate. “We hear you Flight 233. Our radar only shows you. He has no transponder signal and is too small to pick up. Descend from FL41 to FL 39. Keep us informed. Over.” Pilot Ted acknowledged and descended to 39,000 feet. The 109 remained at 41,000. He stayed there, above them and at the same airspeed, 550 miles per hour. “The tail wind must be adding to his speed. There's no way that a Messerschmitt 109 can keep up with us. And we are too high for him.” The co-pilot peered upwards at the small dot of the German fighter. “We can find out who the pilot is when we land and ask him. Our speed is 550 miles per hour. If he had a speed of 410 and a 140 tail wind he would keep up with us. Not sure on the height though. I don't know much about vintage warbirds.” The pilot went back to flying. All was fine for a few minutes. The German pilot joined them! He appeared in the passenger cabin and passengers and cabin crew started screaming. Co-pilot Mike left his seat. He looked through the spy hole on the armoured door. And rubbed his eyes. “It can't be. It simply cannot be...” he muttered. “He's here. Inside the plane with us.” “What? The German pilot? That's impossible. His 109 is still there above us. Look...” The blue painted 109 still cruised two thousand feet higher. It was impossible for a pilot to leave one aircraft for another while in mid flight. “Open the door Mike. Be ready...” Pilot Ted ordered. Co-pilot Mike unlocked the cabin door and was confronted with a chaotic scene. Passengers and several air hostesses cowered in fright from the German pilot. He was standing in the aisle facing forwards. He was wearing a black leather jacket, pilot's helmet and flight suit. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing on my flight?” the co-pilot demanded. “Who am I? Why I am Hauptman Gunther von Snitzel at your service.” The brave and confident looking German pilot offered his hand and the co-pilot automatically took it. It was ice cold! He took a step back and then noticed the cabin air was freezing. “Who and what are you?” Mike was now scared but wanted answers. “I told you, I am Gunther the pilot. In the Luftwaffe.” “Yes I know that you're a German pilot. But what are you? How can you be here when your plane is two thousand feet above us? How the hell did you get in here?” The co-pilot asked what everybody wanted to know. “Oh... that. I'm a ghost. I was shot down by a late mark Spitfire in the last week of the war. Now I forever fly the skies. It can be quite lonely. So please forgive me...” Gunther looked sad and lost. His earlier confidence left him. “A ghost? You were shot down by a Spitfire in 1945? Oh my God,” from Mike. “I came for a vodka.” Gunther said, perking up and managing a smile. “Give Gunther a vodka!” Mike instructed a shaking air hostess, Emma, to do so. She opened a bottle of vodka and poured some into a glass with ice. The German took it and the open bottle. Gunther drank the ice cold vodka and smiled. “It's been a long time. Thank you. Now I must go.” Then in a puff smoke and flash of lighting he was gone. Passengers shook their heads, some prayed or cried. One or two had taken videos on their phones. Mike ran back to the cockpit in time to see the small blue Messerschmitt bank steeply away from view. Ted was shaking his head. He radioed Paris to say the 109 had gone. He didn't mention the visitation. Nobody would believe this for it was impossible. Video footage was already uploaded online and it was changing the world...

It was mid-summer of 1999. I was going to shift to Mumbai with my family. I had to say goodbye to that city of mine; the Iron-city of India ‘Jamshedpur', where I had spent my childhood and had grown young. I was going to miss my companions and those places where I used to roam around with them. Also my friends were sorrowful, and one of them was my best friend Amit Rauth, an Oriya guy, who was quite more upset than others. Now who would reply his beloved's love-letters? His Hindi was poor while his beloved's Hindi was fantastic despite that she belonged to South India and her Mother tongue was Tamil. A few months before Amit had visited his sister's in-law's house in Madinipur, a District of West Bengal State. There he happened to meet Madhumita, a South Indian maiden who lived in the same locality there. Both felt unexplained closeness for each other. Perhaps it was love. My friend was hesitant. But brave and broad-minded Madhumita proposed him and both became lovers in veil of friendship. (In India still in most places love is a prohibited thing and falling in love is kept a secret from family and society.) When after a few days Amit was returning from Medinipur, Madhumita took promise from him that he would reply her letters. Amit told me about his love story. And after a week he came to me with a love-letter in his hand. He was joyous but sweating too. It was letter from Madhumita for him. The letter was written in Hindi language. Selection of words was excellent. The language was overflowing with meaning and deep emotion. I came to know that Madhumita was a thoughtful girl. Amit was unable to reply Madhumita's letter in the same manner in which Madhumita had expressed her feelings. So he asked me to reply her letter in his name. I read that letter, connected myself with the feelings expressed in the letter and created my feelings and wrote down the reply. Simply, Madhumita had taken that letter as Amit's letter and she replied back to Amit. But in fact it was her reply to me. I again wrote letter to her and this consecutiveness took place for months. Madhumita would have understanding that she was in contact with Amit. But in fact her and mine hearts were unfolding to each other. And then I shifted to Mumbai. Now Amit used to send Madhumita's letter to me. I used to write the reply and send to him. He then used to send the letter to Madhumita with his name and address. One day I was feeling badly sad apparently for no reason. I was feeling to weep despite knowing no reason for it. I wept in my room and in the bathroom. I was hiding my tears from others. After some days I went back to Jamshedpur to meet my friends. There I got worried to see Amit's grief-stricken face. He told me that a few days back he got the news from his sister about sudden death of Madhumita. Madhumita suffered from sudden severe stomachache and she couldn't survive even an hour. She was remembering Amit on her last breathings. She wanted to see him. I was shocked to hear this painful news. I felt the same deep sorrow like Amit was suffering. Now I realized that this was the reason behind my feeling of unknown pain that day in Mumbai. My inner-sense had known about her death or she had known about me after leaving her body and might had come to me. Whatever; I was feeling lifeless. I returned to my room. That night in my half-waken sleep and half-waken dream, suddenly I felt weightlessness. A strange beautiful girl whose colour was unfair and skin was glowing, came in my dream. Her presence was not unfamiliar at all. She took my hand in her hand with love and flown off holding my hand and took me on a high branch of a tree in an unknown place. In my dream, I was realizing that she was a ghost. But yet I had no feeling of fear. I was totally fearless and I was feeling oneness with her. She poured a lot of love on me through her silent presence. When I woke up in the morning, I was feeling deeply contented and light. The face of that ghost girl was still afresh in my inner sight. I had never met that girl. I had never seen that face. She was about 16 years old slim girl. She had little less-fair color. I met Amit the same day. I asked to him about look of Madhumita. He showed me the picture of Madhumita which her sister had sent to him. I felt that the ocean of love was overpowering my heart. Madhumita had come in my dream last night! After death she might had known about the secret replier of her love-letters and had come to meet me. I prayed for the peace of Madhumita's soul. Later I found that as a writer and poet my writing skill had become brighter. Perhaps it was blessings of Madhumita. [This story is from my eBook Good, Evil & Supernatural available on Amazon, Apple, Scribd, Smashwords, Google Playbook, kobo, Barnesandnoble etc] https://www.amazon.com/ENCOUNTERS-GOOD-GHOSTS-SPIRITUAL-EXPERIENCES-ebook/dp/B00BECNTT2/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=good%2C+evil+%26+supernatural+anurag+pandey&qid=1625045049&sr=8-1

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My life is so weird. It's always been weird. That's probably because I was born in 1949, the 3rd child of a family that wanted to stop at two. I was constantly told that I was worthless and was always costing my family money. In those days, children had no social security numbers and if somebody had the right connections they could sell an unwanted child in a black market adoption or even worse, sexual slavery. I think I was three at the time but my parents left me with the baby-sitter on Christmas. The baby-sitter, I found out later from my older sister was also the contact for back-street abortions and black-market adoptions. The babysitter who was an older woman, left me alone with a book filled with Christmas stickers. In those days, there was no self-stick stickers. You had to lick them glued back to make them work. This was the first time I was away from my parents and I was scared. My anxiety increased as I stuck stickers everywhere, hoping my parents would return soon and be proud of my handiwork. Instead a young couple arrived. I remember the woman had long blonde hair and a red dress under her fur coat. My babysitter picked me up so she could hold me when all that anxiety and glue backed up on me and I threw up all over her red dress. She yelled something like "How dare you give me a sick baby!" and pushed me back into the babysitter's arms. I was put into a crib in a dark room after a lot of angry talk and I stayed there until my parents picked me up. I don't remember much of what happened next, but I was very sick because the next thing I knew was that I was in a hospital, being stuck with needles by angry nurses. The story I heard later in life was that my parents left me with the baby-sitter so they could attend my sister's Christmas pagent and was sick with something that was called "glandular fever." My mother said I spent eight days in the hospital. The first seven days I was given sulfa drugs that had little effect on my sickness. The end of that week, the doctor told my parents that he could give me a new drug that was still largely experimental, but my father would have to sign a permission slip because the new drug could cure me or kill me. My father signed the paper and they gave me another giant needle of the new drug. That night I flew. I flew around the hospital. I saw what looked like a woman having an operation. I saw lines of cars and trucks on the roads outside. Finally, I was back in my crib I was coloring in a coloring book and throwing crayons back and forth over the tops of our cribs which lay head to head with a kid named Mikey. The next day, I stood up in my crib and tried to see over the huge wooden top, but I was too short. When the nurses came in, I asked where Mikey was. The younger nurse burst into tears and said "Mikey's dead!" I went home that day. When my mother told that part of the story to my sister and me, she asked "Guess what that medicine was?" We shook our heads. "Penicillin." Our life was rough after that. My father had a successful machine shop but he drank all his profits. My mother took in ironing. Later, I found out she was also turning tricks. When she wanted to insult me, she'd tell me I was "just like my father." For a long time I wondered what she meant by that because weren't we supposed to be like our parents? It wasn't until much later that I found out about the visiting "insurance men." We had dogs but the one assigned to me suddenly disappeared. My mother said it was all my fault because I didn't take care of her and she ran away. Years later my sister told me that she wasn't going to keep a female dog that wasn't spayed. The male dog was never the same. He always kept to himself and never wanted to play. My mother did some darker things to try to "turn me out" but I was too defensive and would say I'd jump out into traffic before I'd go along with that scheme. And I said it while in a moving car going down the Long Island Expressway. My parents bad habits were backing up on them. I got into constant fights at school. Nobody wanted to be my friend. My mother kept trying to get into the local social scene by joining a church but the gossip got about and she was shunned. I was shunned too. Finally, my father lost his temper one last time and decided to move from New York to Florida. In Florida, he bought a bar and had my mother help him run it. I had always wondered why they stayed together for so long. She said it was because he was the only man who offered to marry her. I always wondered why a man would stay with a woman who fooled around. I found out later, he fooled around, too--with other men. The whole marriage thing was one big made-for-social-acceptance sham. My mother liked playing the diva at the bar and my father spent a lot of his spare time fishing. My brother only stayed for the first month when he turned 21 and flew back to New York to stay with friends until he got a place of his own.