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A few years ago, when I was a young'n I walked out of my room, down the hall, and when I turned to go into the kitchen I caught a figure in a tall top hat (which I described as Lincoln-ish) from the corner of my eye.
I only have one other one, but its the only thing that convinces me that the supernatural isn't so super... and I think it's a good story.
I was seven years old, living in a pretty large house on Spring Rock Circle in northern Oregon, right near the Washington border, we could see Mt Saint Helens from our back porch. Anyways... The one night I had a dream. Satans head (the stereotypical red face and horns) appeared, alit with flames, right above my bed. I ran out into the hallway. My bathroom (lucky seven year old with his own bathroom) was across the hall. I looked into it and saw the Virgin Mary rocking Baby Jesus. I stood there, looking from my bathroom to my room, and I ended up walking into my room/Satan and the door slammed shut behind me.
About three years later I went to visit my mom in Oregon (me and my grandparents now lived in Florida). We decided to go visit our old house, and the current owners remembered my grandfather. We walked around the bottom floor, noticing the interior decor-differences. Then we made it upstairs, and I found my room was.... just not there. I asked the lady of the house what had happened to that room, she said that when the house was being remodeled, a construction worker apparently had lit the curtains on fire with a cigarette, and just my room burned off the house.
Crazy shit.
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