Where Do You Walk?

By Jamie Dube

Author Jamie Dube had his first paranormal experience at the age of thirteen. From that point on, his life has been a journey of investigation into the spirit world. Along the way, he learned many secrets about not only spirits but also the living.

In Where Do You Walk? Dube shares narratives and insights from his lifelong connection and work with the paranormala gift given to him by the great white light of Christ. Through this knowledge, you can change your life forever by creating a living reality using perception and positive energy frequencies. With the help of knowledge of an angelic message received during a near-death experience, you can open your eyes to a sense of wonder that most people lose with their childhood. You can educate yourself, take control of your spirit light, and block the negative energies of the spirit world; these real-life tales of navigating the spiritual divide can help.

Including true stories of the paranormal and the insight gained from those experiences, this guide explores ways to change your life through positive energy from the spirit world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480823938

Jamie Dube

Jamie R. Dube is the cofounder of the East Coast Ghost Trackers, is based in Brewer, Maine. He works with a team investigating paranormal phenomena, and several families have been saved and returned to the light through his work. He also teaches self-awareness and protection from negative energies.

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Copyright © 2016 Jamie R. Dube

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2391-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2392-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2393-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015920033

Archway Publishing rev. date: 01/21/2016

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 Elizabeth

Chapter 2 Bad Love

Chapter 3 The Picture on the Wall

Chapter 4 Nathan

Chapter 5 Playing With Fire

Chapter 6 School of Spirits

Chapter 7 Behind the Broken Window

Chapter 8 Man's Best Friend

Chapter 9 The Maze Behind the Curtain

Chapter 10 Winning the Battle

Chapter 11 Levels of a Haunting

Chapter 12 Perception and Frequency

Chapter 13 The White Light of Christ

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Introduction

I was like any child afraid of the unknown. The dark and all things evil frightened me. Ghosts, demons, and especially the devil were unspeakable and ignored. Raised Catholic, I served as an altar boy for many years in a very small, quiet town perish. All the children in my family were encouraged by their parents to serve God in some capacity in the church. I didn't mind. The robe and incense comforted me. I enjoyed the activity and service came naturally. Although I thought I was God's problem child, as most children do, at one point I considered the enjoyment I found from this service as a sign that my future would be in the clergy. I didn't see myself shepherding the meek and preaching to the congregation, but even as a child I knew I would be the one they called to fight against my biggest fear, Satan.

My first paranormal experience occurred when I was around the age of thirteen. I was in my father's garage by myself making lawn ornaments. Content to be on my own this hot summer day, I occupied myself with my work. Suddenly, I saw someone in the corner of my eye. It was a man, and he was dark. I thought it was my neighbor's father who walked in to talk to my dad. Big Frank, that's what we called him. He was known to walk in unexpected to work on something or talk to my father. As I worked, I saw someone very tall and dark walk right behind me. When I turned to tell Big Frank that my father was not home, there was nobody there. Looking around the garage to see where he had gone, I found myself alone. I realized there was no one there at all and I dropped the jigsaw in fear as I ran out. Clearing the garage, I stopped down the driveway, panting heavily and realizing I had just seen a ghost. My mind raced as I reviewed exactly what happened. After I calmed down, I walked cautiously back to the house to look for my father. I avoided the garage for hours, watching it from a distance to see if my visitor would return. He didn't. I kept my experience to myself that night as I contemplated what it could have been. The next day I decided to face my fears and return to the garage to continue my work on the ornaments.

Years later, I spoke to my brother and father about this experience and, to my surprise, the same things had happened to them. My father had used that garage to reconstruct a Model A Ford. He had always wanted to put together an antique car from scratch and had devoted many years to gathering the different parts to accomplish this masterpiece. As we sat at the kitchen table after dinner discussing my childhood experience, my father shared his theory on what might have occurred in the garage. It was his belief that a spirit was connected to a portion of the car and lingered there until it was sold many years later. My brother chimed in that he had seen an old man watch him as he worked on the car. The old man never interfered or tampered with his work, just stood by simply watching.

Our large French family originated in Northern Maine. Mirroring the Waltons*, we filled our large farmhouse with the rollercoaster of life as is typical for many American families. With over one hundred acres of land to roam, my father would share ghost stories from the past. One such story remains in bits and pieces in my mind. As a young child, my father shared how the windows in our house used to slam up and down on their own while he watched. I also recall a story of a fire in the barn that killed all the horses and it had seemed as though something unseen held the barn doors closed, not allowing the horses inside to run free. Although I have not verified the accuracy of these stories, the stories lingered in my mind as I ran around the property playing and growing through the years.

As a young teen, while staying overnight after a long exhausting day, I climbed the many stairs to my second floor room and listened to the familiar creaks in the wood with each step I took. Collapsing in bed, I reviewed the activity of the day as I looked at the stickers my aunts had placed on the mirror across the room when they were children occupying this same room. Shortly after I laid down, I heard footsteps come up the stairs and turn down the hallway heading for my room. I became more alert, watching in the dark for my uncle or my grandfather to appear in the doorway, wondering what they needed. As the footsteps got closer, I became more scared as no one appeared in the doorway, but the footsteps kept sounding. The floor was creaking with every step. They got louder and faster until it seemed someone should have been standing beside my bed. No one was there, only darkness. Watching the doorway for someone to appear, I realized it was not a human who was visiting me. I froze with fright. I pulled the sheets over my head and squeezed my eyes shut as I cried myself to sleep in fear, knowing someone was standing over me that I was unable to see.

Having survived the night, I woke before the sun and darted downstairs to tell my grandfather about the encounter. After seeing the fear on my face, he sympathized and offered to allow me to sleep with him that night. Even with the thunderous snoring, I happily continued to sleep in the safety of his presence. Beyond that summer, regardless of the hustle and bustle of our growing family as we got older, I never worried about where I would sleep because my spot was reserved away from the eerie footsteps on the second floor.

I did not have another paranormal experience until my mid-twenties. When I was studying and practicing medium-ship, I lived alone in a small apartment in a very old building. At times I would lie in bed and meditate, trying to connect with my spirit guides. On one occasion, I heard a crash in the closet. I got up and opened the closet door. I saw on the floor a picture I had received from my sister laying in a mess of broken glass. This picture had been stored on the floor in a way that the glass could not have broken like it did on its own. It looked as though it had been picked up and dropped with great force in order to shatter the glass in such a manner. I never understood how it could have happened. A few days later I was meditating in bed, trying to hone my skills. My eyes were closed as I laid in the stillness of the room.

Suddenly, something picked up my right arm and held it suspended in the air. When I realized this, I opened my eyes and my arm dropped back to the bed. It was at this moment that I realized if a spirit wants to levitate you, they have the power to do so. I was so freaked out by the experience I never asked the spirit to do it again. A short time later, I moved from that apartment. I have always felt that spirit was malevolent and disliked the idea that I was trying to make contact with the other side.

As an active police officer, I worked on a Native American island located in central Maine. One night around 3:00am I was patrolling the island and doing my routine checks. As I was passing the pond, I noticed an old woman walking up from the pond and heading for the road. She was dressed in all white and looked to me like someone that worked at a hospital. When I pulled up to her, I called into dispatch to advise them of the stop. I was concerned this wandering woman might have missed her medications and needed assistance. Waiting in my cruiser as she approached, I watched her fabric blow in the breeze through the fog. I squinted to make out her face, but could not get a clear view. Her slow gait should have given me time to get a glimpse of her features, but despite her proximity to me, I never could see her face. As she moved within a few feet of the cruiser, I looked away for just a second while I was putting it in park and took my foot off the break. When I looked back to ask her what she needed, knowing she would be at my door by now, I looked up and she was gone. I looked all around thinking she fell, or turned away, but she was nowhere to be found. I slowly stepped out of my vehicle to look for her, but there was no one there. She was gone. I stood searching the fog alone for quite a while. Did I see a ghost? I closed the call and told dispatch I would be at the station soon. Embarrassed, I drove back to the police department to speak with the dispatcher about the incident. After sharing the experience, he laughed at me and told me that I had seen the legend of the white lady.

He said, If you see her face and make eye contact, she will grant you a wish. He laughed out loud, as he chewed on a fresh cigar. I left his office and took the cruiser back down to the pond hoping to see her again. I was going to see her face and make a wish! I was determined, but she didn't return. I waited, but nothing happened. Through the years as I patrolled the island, I never stopped looking for the lady in white.

It was a quiet night on the island. Routine building checks complete, I waited for the domestic calls to screech out on the radio. None came. The schoolwork piled up from neglect on the seat next to me, as I used the stolen hours to work on my criminal justice degree. It served as a good distraction. Working as a police officer is rewarding, but mids are exhausting. Too much time to think.

The conversation I had with her replayed in my mind, as I read the same paragraph three times. Focus.

I closed my eyes and shook my head hoping to shake the images from my mind. What was she thinking? Everything was different. The endless trail of words was now silent. How can silence be so loud? There was nothing left to say. What could be said? My bedroom was forever a crime scene in my mind. While I answered calls to keep the streets safe, she used her time to please him. The darkness rolls in. Five years gone. We worked to build a beautiful life together, for what? Now it's lost in the light of the truth. I feel the darkness take over my mind, swelling like the tide. What now? Numb. I didn't even care.

chapter 1

Elizabeth

F ort Knox, named in honor of General Henry Knox of Boston, is located in Prospect, Maine on the banks of the Penobscot River. The fort was constructed from granite taken from Mount Waldo beginning in 1844, and completed around 1869. The first inhabitants of this area were soldiers from the French and Indian Wars that settled near the fort. Fort Knox was used during the civil war by the 20 th Maine regiment. This famous group of soldiers was also known for helping in the battle of Little Round Top. The troops were primarily volunteers training for their future posts. The fort was built as a result of British infiltration of the Penobscot River during the war of 1812. The British had been using the Penobscot to make it to Bangor several times during the American Revolutionary War.

Fortunately, it didn't see much action, which is why it is in such pristine condition today. There were three documented deaths at the Fort, one of which was Leapold Hegyi, the caretaker who resided there for over thirteen years. The fort was eventually sold in 1923 and is now maintained by the state of Maine Parks and Recreation department. It has been renovated and currently hosts many groups for tours and visits.

I used to visit the fort as often as possible growing up. I was diagnosed with Leg Perthes disease that caused deterioration of the bone in my hip when I was seven. It is a rare disease that caused me to have full length casts on my legs. This made visiting the fort very difficult, and I was not able to explore like normal kids. I had to be carried by loved ones to certain spots, and always wished I could sneak around and listen to the unseen without being a burden to others. I always knew there were spirits wandering the many corridors of this massive structure.

Investigating on my own would not be possible for many years. I wore the casts for two full years and, after that, I had to use crutches for a year. Regardless of this difficulty, I felt a strong connection with the fort. I couldn't wait to be free from my bonds, so I could discover the mysteries behind the many ghost stories I had heard about this enchanted structure. I would have never imagined how life was going to take me back to the fort as an adult. Eventually, Dr. Woodcock healed my hip and, by the time I celebrated my tenth birthday, I had learned how to walk again.

In my late thirties, I met a very unique individual by the name of Ken Ort. When I met Ken, he had some ghost equipment and was pretty much working solo to investigate the paranormal world. Ken and I got along very well and over many years formed a successful paranormal investigation team. We armed ourselves with every piece of paranormal equipment known to man, and even invented some to help us on our quest into the unknown.

Fort Knox was always a place we liked to investigate because it was so close to the base camp for East Coast Ghost Trackers.