As The Raven Dreams Podcast - ATRD Ep. 208 - Chilling Paranormal & Past Life Stories

Episode Date: January 12, 2026

Today, on the 208th episode of the As The Raven Dreams podcast, we have 10 True Chilling stories. These stories come from the shadowy corners of reality, where everyday life takes an eerie twist & ordinary people experience the extraordinary. Today we will be diving into some chilling Paranormal encounters & Past life Experiences. If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to like or rate the podcast, and leave me a comment with your thoughts if the platform your on supports it! I upload episodes every 3 days, so there are 2 days between new uploads. The podcast consists of new scary story collections, Glitch in the matrix collections, and also what I call the "Dark Dreams" collections (which are older stories, remastered and layered with rain sounds). If you have a story to submit, would like to find where to listen to the podcast, or want to find me on social media platforms, all of that info can be found at https://www.astheravendreams.com You can also send stories into my subreddit (r/theravensdream) or email them to me at [e-mail] Want to check out some ATRD Podcast Merch? ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Or for signed merch ➤ https://ko-fi.com/AsTheRavenDreams I wrote a novel, "The Insomniac's Experiment" by Raven Adams! Check it out on amazon (Or you can email me for a signed copy!) Join Patreon to get early access and support the Podcast! ➤ https://www.patreon.com/AsTheRavenDreams Check out my gaming channel with my pal Ghost_Ink ➤ @superNefariousBros On YouTube Thank you to all of the authors that have stories in todays episode... McKenna, Zephyr, Liz, Elle M, Taylor, SIDNEY HAAS, LookingForLikeMinds, Holly H, MaggieAndAda, TimelinesOfTwo As Well As Any Author That Has Requested Anonymity. TimeStamps… Ad breaks after Story 1 & Story 6 1 ➤ 01:12 2 ➤ 12:04 3 ➤ 20:31 4 ➤ 24:54 5 ➤ 35:58 6 ➤ 39:13 7 ➤ 42:34 8 ➤ 46:40 9 ➤ 1:02:40 10 ➤ 1:10:40 ----- Disclaimer ➤ Episodes include a content warning for language and sensitive/disturbing content. Listener discretion is always advised. ALL Audio and visuals on this podcast are copyright of AS THE RAVEN DREAMS / RAVEN ADAMS and may not be duplicated, in any format. Bless This Mess. None of my audio is AI Generated, I am a real person reading real stories into a real microphone. Note: The podcast nor the host endorses any advertisements played during the podcast, ads are not chosen by ATRD or Raven Adams, they are chosen automatically by the advertisement systems by the platforms that host the podcast. I do not endorse, support, or promote any opinions or statements made in any adverts played during the show. #ScaryStories #UnexplainedMysteries #PastLives Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's never too early to plan your summer story in Europe with WestJet, from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter. Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. Hey there, friends. Hope you're doing well on this Monday. I had to think about that for a second.

Days get really mixed up whenever you do this stuff, honestly. I hope you're doing all right. um, in spite of things that are going on out in the world. I hope that you are personally doing okay. And if not, I hope things do get better for you. I don't really have much to say. Just kind of wanted to wish everyone well and say that today, we have a collection of some paranormal and some past life stories.

These are always interesting, and I wanted to pair them together, because I feel like paranormal and haunts and ghost stories, kind of mixed with past life stories well. they're not always scary. They're more chilling and, I don't know, chilling, just chilling. They make you spy and go ooh, or something, I don't know. Anyways, hope you enjoy the stories. Hope you have a good rest of your day and a good rest of your week,

and I hope I see you again here soon. But until then, my friends, please remember that the world is a better place with you in it. And of course, enjoy. I wanted to share my story with you in the hopes of finding some like-minded people, those that may understand what I experienced more than I do. I'm not someone who believes in the paranormal stuff, nor am I religious. I'm a software developer, so I tend to approach things logically, and I generally look for rational explanations for just about everything.

But there was something that happened to me as a child that I've never been able to fully explain, and being the person that I am, it's one of those itches, I can't scratch. So it tends to live rent-free in my mind. I'm showing itself at odd times for me to think on it more, and part of me wonders if there is something more to it. From as early as I can remember, until about the age of 12,

I had the same recurring nightmare, at least twice a week. It was always the exact same, too. I would find myself in an extreme, cramped, enclosed space. Like being inside of a metal box, barely big enough for my body. I could see out through what seemed like a very small and thick window, but everything outside was dark, like it was always nighttime.

But the area around me, wherever I was, seemed very advanced and technological somehow. There were a lot of switches and panels around me. but I remember reaching for them and knowing exactly what they were and what they did. While the panels weren't daunting to me, it was the claustrophobic feeling that I always paid too much attention to. I would see the panels and be fine, but then I almost felt like I couldn't breathe when I realized how small of an area I was actually in. Then the nightmare would always end the same way. There would be this sudden flash of orange light outside, the window, followed immediately by this intense heat that seemed to come from everywhere at once. I remember feeling like I was being burned alive. It was that bad. Then I would wake up screaming

and drenched in sweat. I remember having these dreams before I even really talked, so it was so hard to explain how I felt to my parents. I just let them hold and comfort me and tell me that I must have had a bad dream. And that's what I led myself to believe as well. But this nightmare was always so incredibly vivid and terrifying that waking up screaming became a normal routine. And I even had accidents in my bed sometimes. My parents even took me to a child psychologist. I was their first kids, so I think they took everything that could possibly be wrong with me very seriously. Unfortunately, they weren't much help. They told my parents to restrict what I ate or drank a few hours before bed.

They gave me a Benadryl, which, yes, helped me fall asleep faster, but the nightmares were always there. They happened so often, and were so consistent that I could describe every detail of the cramped space, down to the texture of the wall and the feeling of being strapped in somehow. When I was able to talk a bit more fluently, I tried explaining to my parents what it was about. I know they were expecting me to say that I saw a monster or I was falling or something you would expect a kid to have nightmares about, but by the look on their face, I could tell that they didn't know what to think of my description. The nightmares continued throughout elementary school, but I learned to cope with them to some extent. I rarely woke up screaming and crying like I used to, but I was still jolted awake and drenched in sweat. I would have to look around and remind myself that it was just a dream.

However, it didn't make them less intense or frequent. I just remember being so frustrated because I was too embarrassed to stay at any friend's houses, afraid that I may wake up from a nightmare and be made fun of. Then, in sixth grade, our science team. teacher was doing a unit on the history of space exploration. I was looking forward to this, because I had a weird love-hate thing for space and space travel and astronomy. It fascinated me. I loved using the cheap little telescope that I had bought with my birthday money to look at the stars. I even had a little book that helped locate and identify the larger stars. But at the same time,

if I spent too much time stargazing, I would get this existential dread creeping up on me, and I would have to do something else to distract my brain. And I had no idea why it was happening. Anyway, for our space unit, the focus was mainly on successful missions. Mercury, Gemini, the moon landings, and we even watched a documentary on it. But she also covered some of the setbacks and disasters.

explaining how they shaped and changed what we know, and to put it basically, how we learned from our mistakes. One of the tragedies that she brought up was Apollo 1. Something immediately felt different when she showed the pictures of the craft and those three astronauts, Grissom, White and Shaffy. She explained how while they were doing routine tests in their command module, a fire broke out in the cabin. The spacecraft was filled with pure oxygen, which caused the fire to spread incredibly quick. The tragic part of this was that they couldn't escape. The hatch design made it impossible for them to open it quickly from the inside. Sadly, they all perished there.

She went over this and how this taught them that the hatch was not safe and caused them to redesign it so that it opened outwards. I remember the mix of emotions I felt as we discussed this. I felt incredibly sad for those astronauts and overwhelmed with this feeling of guilt and remorse, and I didn't understand why. That night, I went home and asked my parents to go to the library over the weekend. There was no assignment for us surrounding it, but something just pulled me to it, telling me to look into it myself.

This was the early 2000s, so we didn't have a computer with Internet to just look it up freely like today. So, that's Saturday, we went to the library and I tried to get some books and an encyclopedia to read as much information about it as I could. And somewhere in all the information I read, I saw something that triggered something in my mind. I read the final transmissions, as one of them said, were burning up. I didn't mention this earlier, but in my dreams, I kept hearing that. Right toward the end, right before I would wake up, I could hear it, like I was thinking it. We're burning up. What the hell did any of this mean to me?

I started getting that same feeling when I watched the stars too long and had to put everything back. I remember telling my dad I wanted to leave and he asked me if I was okay, saying I looked like I was about to be sick. I told him that was why I wanted to leave, but didn't explain what I had found. We went home, and I went to play with my younger brother, and tried to completely forget about what I read, not wanting to think about it. But then, that night, I slept peacefully, not waking up once. It was fine.

I didn't have the nightmare every night, but then the next night, and the next, and the next two weeks, and then a month passed by, and not a single nightmare. I was sleeping through the nights, and if I dreamt at all, they were just normal dreams that I would expect a kid to dream about. It is now 2025, and I have not had that nightmare since. Now, I had something new to think about. Was it related? Did I see or read something that caused the nightmares to stop? I thought it was just some irrational fear of small spaces, the dark, and maybe even fire, but,

Is there more to it? Like I mentioned in the beginning, I'm not a religious person. My family never has been, and I certainly didn't know anything about past lives as a kid, but... And I even feel silly for asking this, but could that be what I experienced? Was I having flashbacks of a life previously lived? Was I experiencing their final moments, and did researching it give me or them some kind of closure as to what happened? I don't want to claim that I was one of those astronauts because part of me feels like

that might be insulting to their memory. Those guys were real people with families and documented lives that had nothing to do with me or my family line. I did my best to look into that too, but the idea that consciousness somehow transfers from one person to another is the only thing that is making any sense to me. Since then, I've told my therapist, my now fiancé, and you about my experience, which is why I'll keep my real name out of this. But I felt the need to share it. I'm not looking to be convinced of reincarnation or anything like that.

I'm just trying to understand this experience that has puzzled me for decades. I'm more open to hearing about people's experiences like this, because I'm more open to hearing about people's experiences like this, because it makes me feel less alone, but part of me is still torn. Was it really related? Or was it just a coincidence that they stopped? I don't think I'll ever find out. At least, not in this lifetime. Lazzang sur-joled, puissance-mojointed, for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Pre-to-joo? Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo, the casino in-line, that's the most recent machine-a-sou

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you help. Hi, Raven. I've been a long-time listener to your stories, but I've never submitted any stories myself. Although I've

experienced some unexplainable events throughout my life. The point is, I'm not a good writer, but also very self-critical, so I've never,

I know it's going to take me some time to write this story. Let me start by saying that I'm a 30-year-old woman from the Netherlands, and so my first language is Dutch. Therefore, I'm not a native English speaker, but I'll try my best to write this story as understandable as possible. I'm certain you're going to do just fine. So let's go on to the story. This story happened about 31 years ago in 1994,

when my mom was pregnant with me. At this point, my mom, my dad, and my brother were a family of three, and my brother had just turned two years old. They had two dogs, which were still around when I was born and lived for quite a few years during my early childhood, and a goldfish. I promise the goldfish will be important to this story. My mom worked part-time,

so that she could take care of my brother, as many hours the day as possible. The hours my mom was at work, my grandmother babysat my brother, but on occasion he went to daycare for a few hours. The day in which the story took place was one of those occasions. My mom came back from work

and she noticed that she still had some time left before she had to pick up my brother from daycare. She decided to do some ironing in the meantime, when she noticed that the goldfish suddenly had black spots all over its body. She thought this was strange since the fish was perfectly fine when she fed him before going to work that morning. She brushed it off for the moment and planned on discussing it with my dad when he would get home from work later that day. My mom then went on to go upstairs to get the laundry out of the dryer and iron it.

While she was ironing the clothing, she started having this feeling of someone standing behind her. so she turned around to check just in case. Much to her surprise, there was indeed a person standing behind her, but it wasn't a person. My mom described it as a shadow shaped as a human. My mom is a pretty down-to-earth person, so she thought that she was imagining it. She decided to turn back to her ironing board and ignore it, but as we all know, we as human beings are extremely curious, and of course, so was my mom. She told me that she couldn't help herself but look again.

Standing behind her was still this shadow figure. At that point, she knew that it was serious. She immediately went downstairs and, of course, got confronted with the goldfish again. She felt like something more was going on, something that she couldn't explain. My mom decided to call my dad who was still at work, and he reassured her by saying that he would come home early to be with her. So my mom picked up my brother from daycare, and when she and my brother came home, my dad was already there.

My dad told my mom that he didn't see the shadow figure, although he did indeed see the fish having black spots that he didn't have in the morning. My mom and dad decided to go to the pet store to ask if it's possible, for a goldfish to develop these kind of spots. When they arrived and asked the question, the pet store owner laughed at them, saying it's impossible, and that the fish must have had them all of its life

as part of its skin pattern and that they hadn't noticed it up until then. Of course, that wasn't the case. But the pet store owner clearly didn't take my parents seriously. Let me say that I googled it in this era, and according to Google, it is in fact possible for a gold store. to develop black spots due to health issues.

But that's not what the pet store owner told my parents back in the 90s. So, my parents went home confused. Confused about what was going on with their pet fish, but also about the circumstances. Because why did those black spots appear right before my mom saw the shadow figure? In the next few weeks, my mom would have her next doctor's appointment for her pregnancy. When the appointment came, the doctor told my parents that their baby, me, wasn't completely healthy. In fact, the doctor said that her baby would be born disabled due to spina bifida, a birth defect where a baby's spinal cord and backbone don't form properly in the womb,

leaving a gap or opening in the spine. Of course, my parents were shocked and devastated, and further nerve-wracking examinations would follow. examinations to predict the severity of the defect. After these examinations, my parents were told by the doctors that, although it wouldn't be without a fight, they expected their baby to be able to lead a decent life in the future. This obviously was a blessing in disguise.

Fast forward to the day I was born. In June of 1995, on the day that I was born, that miraculous little goldfish died. I was rushed into surgery immediately after I was born to close my spine and to place a cerebral spinal drain in my brain. Many surgeries would follow throughout my early childhood, my teenage years, and my 20s. Still, I would say that the doctors back in 1994 were right about me being able to have a decent life, because I absolutely do.

I went to regular schools and colleges, and have always had friends and have never been bullies. bleed from my disability. Like I said, I'm 30 years old now, and I've been married for eight years to a wonderful husband. We have the cutest dog and have created a beautiful home and life together. But back to the story. There is one last thing to add. A little after I was born, my mom met a woman at work who can be described as a medium.

I guess my mom and her got in touch about the events that took place. while she was pregnant with me, and after I was born. She told her about the goldfish in his black spots, the shadow figure, and that the fish died on the day that I was born. The woman was totally invested in my mom's story, and asked if she could share her thoughts about what could possibly have happened. My mom replied with, Yes, I absolutely would like to know your perspective on this.

What the woman said next, left my mom, speechless. She said, I think the shadow figure was your guardian angel, and they visited you to warn you about your baby's health. I think they used the fish as symbolization. The fish bowl represented your womb. The water inside the fishbowl represented your amniotic fluid, and the fish represented your baby. Since the fish suddenly had black spots, it represented that your baby wasn't doing okay. The shadow figure showed itself to make you pay attention to what it was trying to warn you about.

When your baby was born, the fish's purpose had been served, so it passed away. At that moment, my mom just knew that this woman was right. It all made sense now. As soon as I was old enough, my mom told me the story about our guardian angel that has protected me

and my mom since before I was born. and this story will forever live on in our family. Thank you for reading, Raven. I do have some more unexplainable events that I experienced, and also some that my mom experienced, but those are for another time. I've debated on sharing this story for a while, as it's not very long and not too scary per se. I've never found the story scary, more so just mind-boggling.

I've always been a believer in the paranormal. Well, for as long as I can remember, I have been. It may have been kicked off by this experience that I'm about to tell, or it could have been something in my memory that my mind just seems to not want to grasp on to. Either way, I do know that this experience is one of the reasons I truly believe in the paranormal. Let's give some backstory. When I was eight, I was put into the foster care system. It was a rough system, and has caused me,

severe amounts of trauma over the years. But when I was nine, I was placed with my aunt and uncle who had adopted my half-sisters, both girls who were about to graduate college. The layout of the house was pretty simple. Three bedrooms down one hall, and in that hall a bathroom and a laundry room. And that hall exited into the living room, which had one hallway that had a bedroom at the end of the hallway, and then a door out into the pool room, and the kitchen was on the opposite side of the living room.

The really important part is the hallway with the three bedrooms. My bedroom was at the end of the hallway, across from my guardian's bedroom. I was home alone at the time of the event. I can't remember why, but I was walking down the hallway to go to the living room. I have a habit of looking around my surroundings even when I'm alone, So, this is what I was doing. Now, the room at the end of the hallway was one of my half-sisters,

and the door opened to where you could see an electric piano. It didn't have a chair as she had switched where the chair would be between the piano and the desk, on the opposite side of the room, hidden from view. What I saw when I glanced into the room was seared into my memory. A woman. I didn't see her face, nor was she wearing anything that could identify her. She had her hands on the piano, had pale skin, and was wearing a light blue dress that went down to her knees. Her feet weren't touching the ground, but they seemed like they were, in a way.

They weren't pointed down like how people tend to do when their feet don't touch the ground, like she was standing on some invisible box. She had brown hair. It wasn't too long, but it wasn't necessarily short either. If I can remember correctly, it was about shoulder length. Now, I definitely didn't see her for long. I was walking past the door and didn't think twice of someone being in the room playing the piano, because that's what my half-sister would be doing.

But, when it processed in my mind after passing the door, I immediately backed up to look in, trying to see who was in the house. But there was nothing. The room was empty. I've never been diagnosed with any mental disorder that causes hallucinations, and while I have had a slew of other diagnoses, but I knew this couldn't have been a hallucination, because I remember it clear as day.

And I, as a nine-year-old, had to do a double-take. It's not crazy, and the outcome was the fact that I lied about what the ghost woman looked like to try to make her seem more scary and me more cool to the kids in school as I struggled to make friends. But that lie didn't last for long, and that woman still plagues my mind at random times. Who was she? And why on earth was she in my half-sister's bedroom? I don't live with that family anymore, and that's probably for the better. But I wonder what other happenings I could have witnessed if I had stayed longer than just three months.

As a child, I had an unusual affinity for machines and mathematics or computer science. My dad was an English teacher and my mom was a homemaker. She would occasionally take on cleaning jobs, but otherwise she didn't work. So neither of them had a background in math or science, but they were always incredibly supportive of what they saw as my brilliant imagination or inventive mind. When I was around six or seven, I would draw these diagrams of some kind of machines or devices. While other kids may have been coloring or drawing these cute pictures of their families, I would take my scribbled papers to my parents and explain in near gibberish, I'm sure,

what they were and what they did. They'd always look at me with curiosity and ask how I came up with this and I remember telling them that I made it, it was my idea. I remember at the time not being able to describe it to them either or having any idea how to explain why I knew what this was. I think they just took it as it was my drawings,

told me I did a great job on it, and we all moved on, having no idea that part of what I drew resembled real, historical devices. In elementary school, I continued drawing these machines like it was a normal thing. I had an intuitive understanding of mathematics, to the point that my teachers would tell my parents that I was pretty advanced for my age. We even had this assignment where we had to, quote, invent something.

We had to show the problems, our solution to said problem, and any examples or diagrams explaining how it would work and help. I had drawn this machine and explained how it could follow instructions based on what looked like cards with holes punched in specific patterns. I remember this because the teacher asked me what problem the machine was solving, and I explained how the hole punched cards gave the machine the instructions to do whatever we asked of it. I remember getting frustrated because she was talking about how something like that already existed, and I told her that I knew because I had helped create it. I ended up getting a passing grade on it because I followed the instructions,

and she agreed that I was thinking more broadly, which was unusual for our age group. At the time, I didn't know how to explain how I knew I made the machine. It made sense in my head, but I had no idea how to put it into words. My parents began to notice that whenever these old machines came up, whether it was something I may have drawn, maybe in something my dad watched, or even this old-looking computer that we saw at a yard sale,

I would explain to them how it worked and often that I knew this because I had helped create it. They thought it was just an odd way for me to explain that I knew what it was, not necessarily that I actually created it. I mean, how could a child have helped create these machines that had been around for much longer than I had? Throughout middle and high school, I maintained that passion for mathematics and computer programming. My parents were proud of my achievements, and while they didn't mind,

they couldn't understand how I was so knowledgeable on mechanical systems, something that I had never studied. I know they just accepted it as part of what made me unique. It only made sense that I would major in computer science, too. When I started college, my professors often commented on my intuitive grasp of programming and concepts. I also became known for asking questions about the historical development of computing that went beyond what was typically covered in coursework.

Thankfully, most of my professors enjoyed it, and we would continue our discussions after class. But I think I finally got some clarity in who I was and why I was so drawn to computers during my junior year in a women in STEM course. We had an assignment to research and write an English. in-depth report on either an important woman in science, or one who made significant behind-the-scenes contributions to scientific advancement. The professor provided a list of suggested figures, but also said that we could choose our own subject if we had someone specific in mind. I remember scanning

the list, but nothing really jumped out at me. So I decided to do my own research. I started looking for lesser-known names that made large impacts in science. and I scrolled through link after link. I then stopped at a name that stood out to me. I clicked on her name, and as I read about her, I just had this profound moment of clarity. Her name was Ada Lovelace, and the more I researched her,

the more my life seemed to make sense. She was a mathematician in the 1840s, who worked with another one that became one of her friends. The thing about Ada is that she helped her friend in the creation of this analytical engine, or a type of computer. And the more I read, I learned that she had written what is now recognized as the first computer program. She was one of the first computer programmers. I learned about her vision of programmable machines that could go beyond pure calculation.

She had written about machines that could compose music if given the right instructions. This is what really stood out to me. Besides my love for computer science, I'd always been fond of poetry. My parents always assumed it was because of my dad being an English teacher, and, in fact, they appreciated it, especially him. The older I got, I would talk about how numbers and words were connected, and how similar they were, and while I was close to both my parents, I seemed to favor my father and his education and career, but had so much respect and love for my mother and daughter. that she did for our family, and I always expressed my gratitude to her. As I researched deeper, I saw some of her notes and it gave me chills.

The way that she organized her work on the page and some of her quick drawings and connections were so close to what I had drawn. I remember one particular drawing I made as a kid that looked almost identical to hers. I'm an only child and my parents kept just about all of my schoolwork, so I'm still trying to find it between all the folders and tubs in their basement, but once I find it, I will share it too. But then I learned that a lot of her contributions had been shadowed or overlooked by her male colleagues during her lifetime. Her friend, Charles Babbage, who she worked on the analytical machine with,

took full credit for it, claiming that she had very little to do with it. Even though her algorithms and insight were crucial to making this, machine actually functional. I found myself becoming angry as I read more about her and the controversy, and I knew that it was all wrong and that she did not get the recognition she deserved. I threw myself into this report, and as I did, I found myself writing with the level of passion and personal connection that surprised even me.

I had to stop myself because I noticed several times in the report that I would put I instead of Ada. And I remember just staring at the sentence for the longest time. Why did I put that? Then I started thinking about everything I knew. Everything I drew as a child. My passion for this machine that I'd never even seen before but somehow knew what it was and what it did.

What if I was Ada in a past life? What if that's why I became so emotional reading about all the recognition that was stolen from her? I turned in my report, and a week later my professor stopped to talk to me about it. She told me that this was the first time someone had ever written about Ada. She knew a little about her, but not much, and after my report, she even went to look into her more. She joked partially to make sure that I wasn't making it up. We talked about her for a good hour after class, and she asked me how I found her.

I started explaining how I wanted to find someone in computers when I found her and was drawn to her. She asked me what I meant by that, and if I knew her somehow, like an ancestry thing, because she said I used some first-person dialogue in my paper. I apparently missed some when I went back to edit it. I told her that I didn't and swore that I didn't copy it from somewhere, but that's what I meant by being drawn to her. I felt like I knew her, even though I had only just recently learned her name. So, I explained to her my childhood drawings and interest,

and how I always would say that I made those machines. But as I talked, I realized how crazy I probably sounded to her. She seemed accepting of my explanation and said that my paper was very thorough and that I did a great job on it too. Maybe she just wanted to be done with the conversation, though. But that research and conversation really seemed to open the floodgates for me. Learning about her made me feel like I knew myself better. Being obsessed with computers, mathematics, and even poetry, which was something Ada also enjoyed. My relationship being so strong with my dad, much like her.

It all made sense. She died at a young age due to cervical cancer, which also seemed. seems like a small connection because, well, not the same, I have PCOS. I feel like between her death and not getting the recognition she deserves, we became won in order to give her a second chance at life. And that's how I've chosen to accept it. I recognize Ada's life and her contributions, but I also understand that this is my life now. I do still love my career in what I chose, but I also remind me.

myself to follow other interests that I have, for both of us to experience. So if reincarnation is real, I can confidently say that we are both living a full and happy life, exploring everything we want, and standing up for ourselves to get the credits that we deserve. Hi, Raven. I'm a huge fan and a big-time listener and often share your channel with friends and family. Thank you. I hope you and patience are both doing great. you guys are awesome. I'm really excited to share my story with you for the first time. It was midnight in the middle of winter, and I was ill and needed painkillers.

I was awake, wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the north-facing edge of my extra-large twin-sized bed. Emphasis on the extra large. I was facing the window on the north-facing wall of my room, and my back was turned towards the southern wall. I was waiting for my mom to give me the medicine because she saw me in pain and didn't want me to suffer all by myself. Behind me there was a lot of room on the bed

because of how little space I was taking and how big the bed was. My mom had set down a glass jar that she was carrying in the center of the bed before she went out to get my medication. You know how when the room is small, the air feels very still? like even a little bit of movement or disturbance cannot go unnoticed. Now, it's important to understand the layout of my room. My back was facing the south wall, which had two doors.

On one corner was the door to my room, and on the other corner was the door to my bathroom. I have to emphasize that the doors were on either corner of the wall, and they were not close to each other. Anyway, I heard and felt my mom entered the room. walk past behind me toward the bathroom and go in. The movement stirred the air in the entire room, so she's got to go for a quick bathroom break. Cool. A few seconds later,

the jar behind me, being at least 18 inches away from any edge of the bed, shattered on the floor. That caught me by surprise. But I reasoned that my mom's clothing might have gotten caught on the jar while she was walking past the bed. But the more I thought about it, the more it didn't make sense. From what I estimate, she must have already been inside the bathroom when the jar shattered behind me. Also, it was way too far from the edge of the bed to simply get caught onto someone's clothing,

who might walk past it. But this wasn't the worst part. The worst part was, when I turned around to the sound of the jar shattering, and saw my mom run into my room asking if I was all. all right. What, but then, if she isn't in the bathroom, who just walked past behind me? Before anyone chalks it up to delirium, no, it wasn't. I wasn't sleepy and certainly spent enough time in my room to know how it feels when I'm completely alone there. There was also no wind coming in from anywhere. The only window was shut and in front of me. We never found out who it

was that walked past me that night. And that's wonderful. I recently stumbled upon your YouTube channel. What a great find. I recently retired and am working on various projects and I like a little listening background. Thank you for your exceptional narrations. Thank you kindly for listening. When my son Aaron was three years old, we would take nightly walks around the neighborhood when the weather permitted. One lovely spring evening, we were walking up a hill on a route that we had not taken for a long time. Aaron was a chatterbox from the time he was 11 months old, speaking in clear sentences.

As we were ascending the hill, we were chatting about the buds on the trees as we passed them. I explained to him that that was a sign that summer would be here soon. As we topped the hill, he paused and pointed to a neatly spaced row of pine trees by an early 1900s-era house. He said, I planted those trees when I was John. I was thinking, what?

And I said, I'm not sure that I heard you. What did you say? He pointed again to the trees and started walking in the direction that he was pointing and said, Mama, I planted those trees when I was John. He turned and looked me in the eye.

He then said, They grew up nice. I said, that was a great job, my heart thumping as if I'd seen a ghost. We started walking again, and he randomly said, we needed a wind break. I said pardon, and he explained. I planted those trees because we needed something to break up the wind on the top of this hill.

I remember cocking my head, smiling, and looking at him like a dog who's trying to decode an unfamiliar word or expression and said, wow, that was a great idea. In my head, I'm wondering how I could be hearing what I'm hearing. We then turned and started for home, and he started asking about hot chocolate. I never mentioned the trees or john to him again, and I kind of skirted around that route on our evening walks.

Until one evening a few weeks later, as we were preparing for our walk, he said, let's go check on the trees. I hesitated and said, Okay, we'll go see how far out the leaves are from the buds. He looked at me and laughed and said, Not those trees, Mama, my trees, the ones I planted. And so we did. After that evening, there was no more talk of the pine trees or john.

And we moved away the next year. We returned to visit family when he was about six or seven, and we were about to drive by those trees. He was talking about something else and I interrupted him. It was winter and the trees had snow on them and looked pretty. I stopped the car and pointed to the trees and said, Don't those pine trees look pretty with snow on them? He looked at me and said,

Mom, all trees look pretty with snow on them. So, apparently, he no longer remembered John. John. Hi. Embarked and profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet.

Publié. Subur. Ammere. And profite. Via Rae. The voice that we love. Hi, bro. So I don't know if this is a glitch in the Matrix incident or paranormal, but it was horrifying.

It occurred about 13 years ago. I'm L, now 43, and I'm Iranian. and I'm Iranian. At this time, I had been married for like two months. It was about 2 p.m. in the afternoon, and I was lying on the floor in front of the TV, chilling and watching some movie. I remember my eyes getting heavy, and I felt sleepy.

Because I had just eaten lunch and it was a pleasant and cool afternoon, it made me want to doze off even more. I must mention that I was alone. My husband was at work at the time. My eyes were closed, maybe five minutes passed, and then I woke up. And in the same state of sleep and wakefulness that I was in, I saw that the entire room in its furniture had been turned like 90 degrees. The room went half dark like the sunset time.

Everything was upside down and reversed, and somehow blurred and intertwined. I even remember the furniture as if it had merged into one another. or like fused together. It was horrifying, but I was thinking that, you know, girl, you are dreaming. When I suddenly heard a male voice, like a young man talking from behind me,

consider that I'm still lying on the floor, clear as day, saying, don't change the TV channel. I'm still watching the program. I literally frozen fear. I couldn't move even my fingers. I didn't even even. even touched the remote control, let alone change the channels.

I really didn't get why the voice was saying that, and I was struggling to manage this in my head. Like, WTF, who is talking? And then suddenly the clear voice that had said that sentence turned into a terrifying demonic voice right next to my left ear, like someone put their mouth right beside my ear, and started talking in gibberish. It slowly turns to... At this point, I gathered all my strength because my body was like cookie dough or jelly. I reached out my arm with difficulty, grabbed the DVD player remote, which was on the floor next to my pillow, and threw it in the direction of where the voice was coming from, behind me.

In a split second, everything changed back to normal. The room was normal and in order. I was suddenly freed from that state of paralysis and heaviness, and I could hear that. the TV and the birds chirping out clearly. I was beyond horrified. The next thing I can remember is I grabbed my keys and I ran like hell out of that house, in my pajamas and slippers to my mom's house, which is on the other side of the road. When I got there, I couldn't speak properly out of fear and was trembling like crazy.

I never experienced sleep paralysis and I know that I wasn't dreaming or imagining things. I am Muslim and we believe in some creatures called Jins. These creatures are made of fire according to the Quran and are so fast and quit. They have good ones and some bad and evil ones with bad intentions, like us humans. My mom said that it was a Jinn who wanted to scare me or play tricks on me, but I really don't know. To this day, I don't know what I encountered that day. Who the hell talk to me? why my vision was blurry and why my living room was distorted as I explained to you.

I have no idea. And I never experienced anything similar to that. With permission from my friend Casey, I wanted to share her story. She's given me some more information to add to this as well, but I think you would be interested in it. What I'm about to share is something that has been a constant part of her personality since I've known her. And according to her, it's been a part of her since she was a child. Casey has always had what can only be described as an obsession with the American frontier period, specifically the late 1800s.

Not in that romanticized cowboy way that some people are drawn to the Old West, but with the day-to-day reality of frontier life, especially when it came to education. She knows obscure details about homesteading, the small one-room schoolhouses, and even the struggle of the winters. She wasn't even majoring in history or something like that. She was going for elementary schooling and education. She wanted to be a teacher.

What makes this unusual is that Casey grew up in suburban Connecticut with a family that had no connection to the American West. Her parents were both from the East Coast, and her family history is entirely European immigrant. to New England. Yet she's told me that she's talked about remembering life on the prairie since she was a child. I met Casey when I went to her dorm room for a study session. I was majoring in psychology, and she and I had a class together, and we bonded pretty quickly.

Her side of the room looked like a small museum exhibit about frontier education. She'd collected this vintage slateboard, and she had a couple old primers, and even had this really old notebook that looked like it was falling apart. She told me how she found it at some old antique store and she used it sparingly, wanting to make it last. She used it as a special scrapbook in a way, keeping small flat items in it. She was very proud of her items like that and loved showing them off. For the longest time, our friend group just thought it was a fun little obsession that she liked. We thought it was a quirky thing about her, and we accepted her for it.

Our friend group in college consisted of four of us, Casey, myself, and then our friend Gabby, who was studying religious studies, and Rosa who was majoring in pre-med. We would often hang out in Casey's dorm room surrounded by her old-fashioned decorated room. Her roommate was nice about it. She didn't mind her stuff, but she also typically wasn't around. She was dating someone that lived off campus, so she was there more than the dorm. Casey's choice of decorations often came up when we were hanging out, too. She would start talking about 19th century teaching techniques with such passion. That's when Casey finally shared the truth with us. One evening, during our sophomore year, we were hanging out in her room when Rosa made a joke about an old candle holder that she had.

After all of us laughing, Casey said she wanted to tell us something, but made us promise that we wouldn't make fun of her. She explained that she believed she knows so much about this stuff, about the frontier, because she lived it. None of us said anything as she continued. She explained how she had these memories of teaching in a one-room schoolhouse. She explained how she dressed, how the kids... dressed. She explained the window she liked to have open on the warmer days and how it was difficult some days to keep the kids focused when there could be eight different grade levels in one room. I remember how it turned into this huge debate between us all. Rosa was pretty

skeptical, asking how that would even be possible and talking about her childhood, laughing that her dad liked to watch all those old Western movies. But Casey DeClaught. saying no one that she could recall watched that kind of stuff. Gabby, however, was quite intrigued. She explained how reincarnation was a central belief in several major religions, explaining how souls could return in different bodies to learn and grow through multiple lifetimes. She mentioned how she was actually pretty interested in studying more on it in her class. Casey was pretty excited to hear this from Gabby.

latching on pretty quickly that she believed her. She was asking her more questions about what she did know about it. I found myself somewhere in the middle. I didn't really have any experience or any reason to look into past lives, but I'd also like to think that I was more open-minded. Neither myself nor my parents were religious. I used to go to a church group as a kid, but it was more like a daycare,

but that was as close to going to church as we got. I found myself just sitting back and listening for the most part, asking a question here and there. I wanted to know more about these visions. Was it something like deja vu where the memories would just randomly pop up? Could she think of them on demand? Were they just dreams? Casey explains sometimes it was like someone telling you someone's name,

and it sounds familiar, but you just can't place their face. Or when a word is on the tip of your tongue, but you can't think of it. The memories sometimes came to her when she saw something that jogged her memory, like when you see a souvenir and remember when you got it. She also explained that she'd had a lot of dreams about it too, standing at the front of the classroom and all the kids greeting her by name. but the name she could never remember. She tried her best to remember it when she woke up to try and look into the person,

but she never could. And if I'm being honest, her explanation had some validity. She knew things about frontier education that seemed to go way beyond what you could learn from books or maybe even movies. The conversation that day opened the door for Casey to share more of her. specific memories over the years. She loved to share her classroom with us, and she even drew a diagram of it. It just became more a part of Casey, and we accepted it. Fast forward a little bit to spring break of our junior year.

Rosa was going home to join her family in Cancun. Gabby couldn't go with us as much as she wanted to, as she was working for the college. So while she had a break from classes, she saw her. still had work to do. Casey and I, however, did end up with plans. She invited me to go with her on a road trip to Kansas and Nebraska. I teased her how our friends were going somewhere warm and fun, and her idea of a vacation was flat old Kansas.

But then she explained how she was looking into visitor places that centered around the old frontier. She had found someplace, a museum and historical building of a preserved schoolhouse, where you could walk around an old classroom. I could see in her face that she wanted company, and I couldn't say no. I genuinely enjoyed Casey's company and found her passion for this infectious, so with all teasing aside, I agreed to join her. We drove to this tiny town in central Kansas

and checked out this one-room schoolhouse that dated to 1887. I'll never forget the moment Casey's. he walked inside that room. Her demeanor completely changed. She stood in the center of the room looking around with this intense recognition. But then she walked up to one of the student's desks and moved it. It made that loud screech sound when she did, which made me try and stop her. That's when she explained that the desks were wrong.

She said that they should have been in groups. That's when someone else walked into the room with us, and confirmed she was correct. She then asked Casey if she knew why, and she explained that it was so the older students could help the younger ones. She nodded in agreement and explained that she was correct, but that they had the desks arranged the way they did for a more modern viewing. As I helped Casey put the desk back to how it was,

the woman asked us if we were learning about the 1800s, and then Casey took the lead. She coyly mentioned that it was something like that, and the woman went into more details about the building. She explained, or tried to explain, what the curriculum looked like, but Casey was practically finishing her sentences. Thankfully, the woman was amused by it and went with it. She had us follow her into another part of the building that was basically built on to this original building. It was like a candy store for Kate. It was filled with primers.

She got excited over seeing a McGuffie reader. There was an old dress and shoes, some school papers, and tons of photos and drawings. As we looked them all over, the woman explained to us some of the history of the photos, when Casey stopped at one in particular of a woman standing in front of a building. She asked the woman if she knew who she was. She said that she was probably one of the school teachers, but that they didn't have extensive records of the people in the photos. She pulled the photo out of the display and flipped it over to the back.

There was some writing there that included a date, 1889, but we couldn't quite make out the names. It was something like Walsh or maybe Washington, but part of it was missing. The woman explained that everything here was, either items found by the person that bought and owned the building or items that were donated to the building. So the information on them was limited.

I just remember how intently Casey stared at that photo. I didn't know if I should have said something to her or just given her the time, but the woman noticed too. She had asked Casey if she knew the woman, or recognized her, rather. And Casey smiled at her and said something like that. She said she definitely looked familiar, like she was part of her, and the woman just smiled back at her probably thinking we sounded crazy, I'm sure. Then, to my surprise, Casey explained to the woman how she felt connected to this way of life.

She explained how she believed she used to live back then, and was trying to find details about her past life. I don't think the woman was quite on board with us, but nevertheless, she was, was still very kind and helpful. She showed us some other items, an old attendance book with teacher's signatures in it, and asked Casey if she recognized them at all. She once again found a signature that looked like Walsh.

Then she pulled out a small notepad that she carries in her purse and immediately flipped through a few pages. What shocked me was the pages that she flipped past. I could see something in cursive being written that started with a W. It caught my attention because her name does not start with a W, not her middle nor last name. In fact, she doesn't even have a W in any of her names, so why would she have been writing it? But she flipped to an empty page and quickly scribbled out a signature, Walsh. It looked eerily similar to the one in the book. Everyone has this uniqueness to their signatures, but the way

the A was slanted opposite of the W, and the hard drop on the H was damn near identical. One might think that she saw it and copied it, but even after looking at it multiple times, I tried writing it, and you could see clear differences. You can see where I paused to redo it, or was just trying from memory. Casey had no pauses. She wrote it perfectly each time. Then she showed me the previous pages, explaining how she would sit just rewriting similar names because that's all she could remember. It felt right to her, but she didn't know why.

The woman seemed to find it pretty impressive too and began asking Casey more about what she knew or remembered. We left there, I think, convincing that woman that past lives were real. She gave us some options on trying to find people long gone. and where to look both locally or online. When we returned to campus, we told our friends about what we saw and found out. Even Rosa opened up to the idea just a little bit, having no explanation for the signature.

Casey explained how much that trip meant to her and how she thinks that it answered some of the questions she's had for some time. She did some more research and found out more about that specific location. Unfortunately, she didn't find anyone matching that last name, so she thinks that she taught elsewhere. She feels strongly that this Walsh holds a lot of answers that she's looking for. In the meantime, we've all since graduated and have gone our own ways. Gabby and Casey still hang out as they live close, and I've seen plenty of pictures of Casey's current classroom. While she teaches elementary school, and her classroom is modern, she starts her school year the same way.

She always shows up wearing an old school teacher uniform that the kids seem to get a kick out of. She's explained how it gets them to ask questions every time. She gets to talk about schooling back then, and it's really helping her to connect with the kids. She just doesn't mention the whole past life thing. It's just a remarkable thing. for me because since meeting Casey and knowing her story, I've been fascinated by past

lives, reincarnation, and I watch and listen to a lot of stories on it. The fact that she still remembers this stuff as an adult is apparently not as common, and part of me wonders if that has a bigger meaning. Maybe there's something

more to her story, and maybe there's a sense of closure that's needed. But at the same time, Casey also seems to be content with what she knows. She was able to get enough information to convince herself that it could be true, and she's able to live with both lives and be happy about it. And to be honest, that's really all that matters to me.

As long as it doesn't harm your current life, I think it's a special connection that someone can have with the past. I try to be skeptical when it comes to paranormal experiences, especially when it's just me experiencing something. My first thought is rarely ghost. I usually lean towards more realistic explanations like the building settling, something was unbalanced and fell,

cats getting into stuff, sleep deprivation, etc. But when other people are experiencing the same things, it gets a little harder to brush off. I've recently started a new job, as a night auditor at a hotel and everyone who works here has told me that the hotel is haunted. I initially thought they were just being dramatic until I started to experience things myself. So I wanted to share some of the experiences that I have had here.

I do stay up all night from my position, so I often will still shrug things off as sleep deprivation, even though I'm naturally, basically nocturnal. But these things have been experienced at all hours of the day, and not just by me. The most common experience my co-workers and I have had is the sound of keys jingling in the lobby, like someone is walking from one end of the room to the other, back and forth, right in front of the desk. We've all heard it, whether we were alone or other people were there with us. We've all reported the same thing. No one has seen anyone or anything there while this is happening,

and it never happens when someone is in that part of the lobby. And if we come out from behind the desk while we're hearing it, it stops. The other more common one is a tall man with messy hair who stands at the back of the office. The first time I saw it, I said something to my supervisor because I saw an unfamiliar man in the employee area. and he said, Oh, that's just Mr. Hammond. He died of a heart attack in one of the rooms, in room 2.18, six years ago.

We see him around all the time. He won't hurt you. As casually as if she was telling me about a stray cat in the alley. Mr. Hammond has also been seen sitting in the recliner in the lobby if the TV is left on. Sometimes we won't see him, but we will hear a quiet cough coming from that chair,

and I could swear he changed the channel while I was walking by one day. There are two people that we see in the lobby gym, a short man in a gray sweatsuit and expensive-looking sneakers, and a tall, thin woman in a tank top with a long ponytail. We've seen the man using the exercise equipment or standing in front of the mirror with what looks to be an iPod and wired headphones. But he never leaves the gym. The woman has been seen using the equipment as well, but she also walks around in the lobby.

I've seen her walk from the restroom to the gym without opening the doors, walk down the hallway past the desk, or walk up to the desk like she was a guest asking for something several times. And I've walked around the corner to see her standing there and approached her apologizing for the wait, only for her to disappear when I get close. Once, I even heard her say, Hey, excuse me, in a bubbly tone, but she was gone a second later. There have also been complaints about the front double doors being haunted,

because it will open and close when no one is around. I've always assumed it was an electrical issue or something with the sensor. They replaced the door recently and the new one breaks every other day, and it's always something different. Sometimes it won't open. Sometimes it won't close. One day, one side wouldn't open, and the other just opened and closed for an hour straight. I locked it closed and it kept trying to open for so long that I just got used to the little click noise,

and I didn't even notice when it finally stopped. One day, the whole left side of the door was just off the track, and nobody knows what happened. I still think it's an electrical issue of some kind, and maybe someone ran into it with a luggage cart the day it was off the track and knocked it down or something. But my coworkers still say it's haunted. There is one thing that I have experience that no one else seems to, so I was hesitant to include it, but I feel like it might be interesting enough to share,

even if it's just in my head. One day, while I was still in training, I walked into the staff kitchen and closed the door behind me. I heard a woman's voice singing Unwritten by Natasha. a betting field. At first I thought it was the radio in the lobby. And then I realized that the song in the lobby was an older-sounding song that I was not familiar with.

So I turned around thinking my supervisor, who's my best friend and sings to me all the time, had followed me in, but no one was there. And then I heard a giggle in the same woman's voice say, Sorry, coming from the same direction. There's no speaker in that room at all, and the fans are so loud that you would not be able to hear it that clearly if there was. I assumed it might be a former employee who I had heard of who died about the same time that I started working there, so I started talking to her every day when I was in the kitchen. Part of me thought I was losing my mind, and part of me was worried that she might be lonely.

I didn't hear her voice again for a few weeks, but I always felt like someone was standing in the kitchen with me. One time my hands were too full to close the ice machine, and when I turned around to put down what I was holding, it closed behind me. And once when I couldn't find something, a cupboard door opened slightly and what I was looking for was in that cupboard. And those things I could explain away.

Maybe the ice machine just wasn't closed all the way and the lid fell. And maybe the fan moved the cupboard door, but there is something I can't explain. I was prepping for breakfast and went to get milk out of the fridge. As I opened the door, I forgot what I was doing and stood there for a few seconds, zoning out, with the fridge door open. And suddenly, I felt like what I could only describe as a fist punching my ear. The impact knocking me sideways. It took me a moment to regain my senses. I was shaken, but I just quickly finished what I needed to do and got out of the kitchen. As I stepped out of the door, I said, if you're not going to be nice, we're not going to be friends.

And as I walked away, I heard the voice say, hold on, hello? And I ignored it and haven't heard it again. I don't really know what to make of that whole situation, but I have no explanation. Every time I go into the kitchen, I look at the fridge door and stand in that position, trying to see if there was any way I could have hit my head, and I can't find anything. My ear felt bruised for a week, and I can't find any reasonable explanation. I don't know if any of this is really paranormal, or just a documentation of my descent in the case. into madness. Either way, I hope it was at least interesting, and thank you for reading.

Hey, Raven, I found your stories over a year ago, and they helped me sleep, or they just entertain me. Thank you for all your work. Here's my story. It was the first week of summer, and my mom was in the shower. Now, I was outside, so my mom was on the other side of my house anyway. I was sitting in a chair in my front yard. My sister had just come out and asked what I was doing. I said I was watching a video that my phone had sent me. She went back inside after I turned it off. She closed the door and did whatever she does.

All of a sudden the door opened and closed and I thought it was my sister's so I ignored it. But then I heard feet pattering on the floor and it sounded just like my sisters. I jumped up out of my seat and looked around, but I didn't see her. I called her name and no reply. I went back inside and went to her room, and there she was. Now, you would think she ran outside and snuck back in, but you can't get into the house unless you're unlocking the two gates with the key under the mat. I should have mentioned this in the beginning, but we live on a farmland,

so our closest neighbor is like four miles away. So as soon as this happened, I did some research, and it turns out that a kid died in this house from pneumonia in 1815. This explains the situation with all the toys when I came back from vacation, when I knew that I cleaned them all up, but that's another story. That's what happened. If anyone thinks they know what happened, if this gets on the podcast, let me know. Bye, Raven. Once again, thank you for all you do. Hello there, friends.

Raven here. Welcome to the end of this episode of As the Raven Dreams. I hope that you genuinely enjoyed this collection of scary stories, as I enjoyed putting them together for you. If the platform you're on has the option to follow the podcast or leave ratings or reviews, please do consider doing so as it helps the podcast grow. Of course, if you enjoy the content, that is. If you didn't enjoy it, then feel free to also leave a rating as honesty is important,

and I take all feedback seriously. Also, I do have a YouTube channel. It's a lot of the same content, but we do live streams on Saturdays around 6 p.m. Central, so if you're free one Saturday night and want to come over and say hi, I would love to have you there. We just kind of have a good time doing whatever we want for the few hours that I'm online. You can also join the Patreon, patreon.com slash as the Raven Dreams, for early access to all this content. Check out the website, astherravendreams.com for information and where you can listen to the podcast. find all my social media links, find the merch store,

and send in your own stories to keep the podcast going, as it pretty much exists on crowdsourced content at this point. All of you really do keep this show going, so a huge thank you for that. Also on the website is information about the book that I wrote, titled The Insomniacs Experiment by Raven Adams. It's a psychological thriller, and I think it's pretty good. You might actually like it. Check it out. It's available on Amazon,

Or if you want a signed copy, you can email me to see if I have any left, and I will absolutely oblige if I do. All that said, friends, I hope you have a lovely rest of your day. I hope I see you again here very soon. But until then, remember that you are loved, you are valid, you are important, and the world is a better place with you in it. Don't forget that. Until next time, much love and sleep well. Fan of soccer, you could assist a moment historic. You could gain these bier for the final of the Cup of the World.

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