The Monk | True Ghost Story | Paranormal

August 15, 2019 0 By William Hollis


It had been a strange and scary a couple of
days since I encountered the dark figure that tried to snatch me from the bed. I also had two incidents that people allegedly
saw a woman around me at work, one kid saying that the woman was scary. I really freaked out and finally accepted
that I couldn’t be alone anymore. And although my mom and I were still in difficult
term, I swallowed my pride and went home. A year after my dad passed away, my mom and
I moved to a single-storied house with two bedrooms in a quaint neighborhood. My brother lived with his friends, but he
often visited just to check on Mom and collect free dinner. I reached home around 6pm and saw my mom in
the kitchen. I didn’t say anything to her and went straight
to my room. I felt safe and protected right away in my
own space, but mostly it was because my mom was right outside. Sadly, I still had some ego, so I avoided
her. And gradually, the exhaustion lolled me sleep. I woke up, perhaps a couple of hours later,
and found that my hands were all black as if they had been dipped in ink. I took a sniff at the stain, but it didn’t
have any odor. I carefully eased off bed to grab a towel
and wipe my hands. The blackness didn’t budge. Since my bedroom didn’t have a bathroom
attached, I slipped to the nearest sink which was in the kitchen. I washed my hands many times, but the stains
didn’t fade. At that moment, my mom walked by, and asked
what I was doing? I said something was on my hands and it wouldn’t
go away. She scoffed and said, “There’s nothing
You’re doing that thing you did when you were kid.” I didn’t know what she meant but continued
cleaning my hands. Right then, my brother Steve barged through
the door, yelling and telling my mom to call the police. My mom asked Steve what happened while he
was rambling and frantically searching for something in the house. From the look of it, even he didn’t know
what he wanted. Then he noticed me glaring at him from the
sink, and he stopped. “What?” he said. Steve explained through frustration that he
just saw a monk drag me away right outside a minute ago. “That monk took you, and I ran after you!” Steve said. “Monk?” I asked. He said, “Yes! He’s bald and wears yellow robe. I know what a monk looks like. And I saw him drag you out of the house and
through the street. I ran after you but never reached you, so
I screamed and called for help. Nobody heard me. So, I ran here.” I asked Steve if he was drunk or on drugs
again. He said he had a few drinks, but he was completely
lucid. Strangely, people around me seemed to be hallucinated. Then my mom asked what did the monk look like? Steve said, “I don’t know. Just like all other monks. And it was far. I never got close enough.” I brushed it off and told him that whatever
he was on made him see things. That night my brother felt a little jumpy,
but he was firm about what he saw. Deep down, Steve’s supposed encounter bothered
me, but since Steve’s a few drinks was more than the actual amount of a few drinks,I decided
to try to forget it. Mom heated some food for Steve, and they hung
out in the kitchen for a while. I didn’t join them, but their mumbling seeped
through my wall when I drifted into sleep. After that night, everything seemed to get
back to normal. I didn’t have a scary visitor at night,
and somehow my relationship with Mom began to get better. It wasn’t overly cheery like how it used
to be, but at least, we talked and sometimes had dinner together. Two weeks went by, and my life fell back in
place. I had enough sleep, and I even sat for dinner
with Steve and Mom almost every night. My fear of the unknown shrank, and when I
looked back at it, there were logics for everything. Stress– that was it. It all started when I fought with my mom,
and when we began to get along, all the strange incidents were gone. One evening while we were having dinner, my
big sister Hellen skype called us. She was surprised to see Mom, Steve, and I
in the same room. We caught up, made jokes, and even planned
a family trip to Thailand in summer. Then Hellen blurted out, “Monk!” Suddenly, Mom, Steve and I were quiet. I thought of that night when Steve stormed
in with his vivid delusion right away. After a long moment, Mom asked, “What monk?” Hellen said, “The one who has just walked
by. You had a ceremony today? But why is he still there?” I laughed bitterly and asked, “Did Steve
put you up to this?” Hellen seemed confused and said, “No, but
the monk has just walked by behind all of you.” Everyone was quiet again, and Hellen asked,
“Did I miss something?” Right then, I felt a chill crawling down my
spine, prompting me to turn around, just as Mom and Steve did. My heart dropped, and something hot sticking
in my throat, for I saw a man in yellow robe gilded inside my bedroom. I screamed, and so did Mom and Steve. We jumped to our feet and clung to one another. Hellen yelled at us, too, more anxious than
scared. It took a while for the four of us to calm
down and decided to look for what we thought we saw. We didn’t see anyone in my room, but it
was the first time that I had seen the unexplainable so clear and in detail as if he was right
there and real. And it wasn’t just me anymore. All three of us had seen it. Even Hellen, who was thousands of miles away,
had seen it, too. I told my mom about the dark entity and the
incidents at the cafe. This was the turning point in my life, because
I couldn’t imagine what my mom would say to me …
She said, “You’re the monk’s daughter.” I had never thought much about the unseen
until, more than two weeks ago, when I encountered the shadowy figure that tried to snatch me
from the bed. Several occasions, since I came home and things
seemed to get back to normal, I shrugged it off as sleep paralysis, an apparently common
condition which people could experience once since a while in their lifetimes. Another concerning matter, the one eerier
than the first, was people seeing strange characters around me. Something was happening, but I did my best
to deny it. But now, even Hellen had seen the monk as
Steve did. And that monk now was real to all of us tonight. He was clear and looked alive, walking by
as a monk would do in Thailand’s morning street. It was too quick for me to register his face,
but he was about fifty, tall and skinny, wrapped in the flowy dark yellow robe. “I knew it,” Steve said. “This is why you’re not like Hellen and
me. You’re adopted.” I was stunned as the possibility ran through
my mind. I wasn’t like my sister and brother who
would listen to my mom and get things done right. They are obedient, but I’m all over the
place and difficult. “You’re all my kids,” Mom said. “So how is she the monk’s daughter?” Steve asked. Mom looked at me but said nothing. It was impossible for my mom to cheat on my
dad, let alone with a monk. “I’ve been living with these things for
weeks, and I’m losing my mind. Now I would like to have a clear and honest
explanation.” I shivered. That was where Mom began to tell us about
the monk. One summer, when I was four years old, my
whole family was in Thailand. Most of the time, we traveled to different
parts of the country, but at least a week, we stayed at my grandparent’s house. When we arrived at Mom’s hometown, our relatives
were shocked to see how skinny I was. Mom said that I had become extremely picky. I wouldn’t eat, I woke up at night screaming
and thinking that my hands were black. I was rude and swore a lot although no one
in the family used that kind of language. That year was bad for Mom, and nobody really
enjoyed the visit because my behavior ruined everything. Most nights, I would yell that my hands were
black and curse horrid, mean demands until someone took me to the bathroom to wash my
hands. My mom grew frustrated, but my dad said it
was only a phase. Our conservative Thai relatives, however,
blamed my mom’s parenting, and said that perhaps raising children in the states wasn’t
a good idea. I didn’t know what got into me. To be honest, I didn’t remember that part
of my life at all. Mom said Grandma told her about the ritual
of pledging children to monks. In some buddist culture, trouble children,
kids who suffer health problems, or the ones that want good fortune are adopted by monks
or even offered to the sacred statues. It is believed that the grace and good merit
of the adoptive guardians will fix the unruly things and support good karma in the children. My mom agreed to this ritual right away, and
my dad didn’t say anything about it. All he wanted was for Mom to enjoy the vacation. One morning, while my dad and my siblings
went to a park, Grandma, Mom, and I headed to a temple. I didn’t remember what happened that day,
but I knew the temple, because it was only 100 ft from my grandparents’ home and we
went there many times. It was a nice quaint place with lots of trees
and a large ground. The archy roofs are gorgeous and painted with
gold color. While Grandma led us to the sermon hall, a
monk who was sweeping the leaves under a huge tree approached us and asked if we needed
help. Grandma said we came to meet the abbot for
the Child Pledging Ritual, and the monk informed us that the abbot was not at the temple and
would be back in a few weeks. Mom was very disappointed because we only
had a few days left in the village. She really set her mind for this thing, hoping
that it would help me. The monk then offered to perform the ritual
himself. My grandma was reluctant at first because
the monk who was talking to us was quite new to this temple, but she believed in the yellow
robe and really wanted my mom to feel better, so we went along with it. To tell you the truth, I don’t remember any
of this, but Mom said we got to a private quarter where the monk stayed. He told us to prepare an envelope of cash
while he arranged some candles, incense sticks, and some white string in a tray. The monk began to chant, and Mom prayed and
set her intention of pledging me to this monk. Now before you freak out about the whole thing,
the ritual is only symbolic. The monk didn’t really take me away from
my mom. But it was like she gave me to him, so he
who was supposed to be a man of religion would rub his graceness on me and guide me to be
a better person. “Ah, now she is mine,” the monk said. Mom’s heart went to her stomach. She didn’t realize that it would get real. And when the ritual ended, as per the procedure,
the monk returned me to her for keepsake, telling her to take care of me for him. “You were noticeably different,” Mom said. “Better. You stopped swearing, and more than anything,
you’ve never cried about your hands being dirty again.” Everyone was surprised. The ritual worked. My mom’s face had no color. I didn’t know what to think of it, but unpleasantly
noticed the connection between these strange occurrences and my forgotten past. Could the monk we saw tonight be the one who
adopted me? If so, what did he want from me? My curiosity frightened me. I didn’t blame my mom. I knew she did what she thought was right
at the time. But I was confused and scared. “We’ll go to the temple tomorrow,” Mom
said. “To make merit and offer it to the spirit.” “Seriously?” Steve said and laughed timidly. “More monks? One is enough.” But I was desperate. I took anything that would get my life back
to the way it was. The next morning, we went to the nearest temple. My mom went there every other Sunday and knew
a lot of people. My siblings and I went there now and then,
when there were huge celebrations. Truthfully, we weren’t religious at all,
and the only person who took spirituality seriously was only my mom. Nevertheless, we were familiar with all the
buddist norms and cultures. Mom had arranged some stuff to donate to the
temple, we prayed, and finally, one of the most important parts of the whole deed was
to give the merit of my action to the person I owed it to. In Buddist’s belief, Karma follows you. When you did something horrible to someone,
you owe it to them to set things right. My mom thought something followed me, so I
should pay good merit to make peace. To do this, I had to pour a glass of water
on the ground, little by little, to signify that I was sending the good karma to them. So, I went to one big tree, Mom and Steve
next to me, and knelt on the ground and slowly let the water drip from the glass. I prayed for the entity to leave me alone
and hoped to have my life back. The water flowed out of the glass in my trembling
hands, but I began to feel heavy. Right then, I saw a hand, just hand– a black
hand as it smeared with ink, catching the water from the glass. My lungs exploded a horrible scream when the
glass dropped and the hand clutched mine. The grip was cold and tight– and disgusting–
so I shook it off and scrambled away on all four. The hand disappeared, but the chill and the
blackness were still on mine. I yelled and screamed like a crazy person,
so people in the temple came surrounding me. Mom and Steve didn’t know what to do. I was completely out of control at the point. I remembered, hazily, that people ushered
me inside the sermon hall. Two monks talked to my mom, while another
sprinkled holy water on me. I shivered and couldn’t stop crying. I could still feel that hand and its despicable
anguish on mine, so I rubbed my hand furiously. Right then, the monk said, “Stop.” He looked at me through his narrowed eyes. He poured a cup of holy water on my hands
and told me to be calm. I tried, and the chill and the darkness were
washed away. I continued to cry but felt slightly relieved. The monk said, “I saw, I understand, but
I don’t know what it is.” He shook his head and took a moment to form
a consultation. “This thing is beyond me. But my advice is you must go to the root of
the problem to solve it.” And there was where the chaos began. I’ll tell you more about it next time. Good bye for now. Angie