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Features Archive:

2007 Archive:
Table Tilting with the Witches of Salem, Massachusetts - Ghost Chronicles
December 26, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

A Sance in Salem - Paranormal Journeys
December 10, 2007

Paranormal Journeys - webcast

Psychic Vampire: Michelle Belanger - Ghost Chronicles
December 5, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Nazi Theocracy - by Lee Prosser
December 3, 2007

Column - regular feature

The Orb House - Ghost Chronicles
November 28, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Haunted Lighthouses - Ghost Chronicles
November 21, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Violet Road: The Grave of Michael Bashor - by Marcus Foxglove Griffin
April 6, 2007

Column - regular feature

Phyllis Glade and Fate Magazine - Ghost Chronicles
November 14, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Stone's Public House - Paranormal Journeys
November 12, 2007

Paranormal Journeys - webcast

The Ghosts of Dartmouth College - Ghost Chronicles
November 7, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Halloween 2007 - by Lee Prosser
October 30, 2007

Column - regular feature

Jeff Belanger's Halloween Spell by Jeff Belanger
October 26, 2007


John Kachuba - Ghost Chronicles
October 24, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Haunted Australia - Ghost Chronicles
October 17, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Stepping Into the Dark World of The Vampire of Sacramento: Richard Trenton Chase by Paul Dale Roberts
October 17, 2007


Madison, Georgia - Ghost Chronicles
October 10, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Halloween Special: New London Ledge Lighthouse - Ghost Chronicles
October 3, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

French Ghosts - by Lee Prosser
October 3, 2007

Column - regular feature

The Psychomanteum Chamber - Ghost Chronicles
September 26, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Ghost Hunters Spotlight: C.A.S.P.R. - Ghost Chronicles
September 19, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Jesse James - by Lee Prosser
September 18, 2007

Column - regular feature

Heritage Hall: Madison, Georgia - Ghost Chronicles
September 12, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Ghosts of the Knight House - Ghost Chronicles
September 5, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Ghost Children in Missouri and Elsewhere - by Lee Prosser
September 3, 2007

Column - regular feature

The Death of a Psychic by Tuesday Miles
August 31, 2007


Ghost Hunters Spotlight: The Spirit Light Network - Ghost Chronicles
August 29, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Paranormal State - Ghost Chronicles
August 22, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

A Look at Haunted Baseball by Dan Gordon
August 16, 2007


Gettysburg: Devil's Den and Sachs Bridge - Ghost Chronicles
August 15, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Russ Columbo - by Lee Prosser
August 15, 2007

Column - regular feature

Gettysburg: Investigating the Daniel Lady Farm - Ghost Chronicles
August 8, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

A Frightening Moment in Marysville, California by Paul Dale Roberts
August 7, 2007


Passing Wind - by Lee Prosser
August 2, 2007

Column - regular feature

Gettysburg: The Ghost World Conference Part II - Ghost Chronicles
August 1, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Gettysburg: The Ghost World Conference - Ghost Chronicles
July 25, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Andrea: A True Story of Unleashed Terror - Ghost Chronicles
July 18, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Shadow People with Thomas Durant - Ghost Chronicles
July 11, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Fort Revere with East Bridgewater's Most Haunted - Ghost Chronicles
July 4, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Ghostly Nighttime Visitor by Alexandra Holzer
July 3, 2007


American Western Film Ghosts: Audie Murphy, Randolph Scott, John Wayne - by Lee Prosser
July 1, 2007

Column - regular feature

The Haunted Queen Mary - Ghost Chronicles
June 27, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Moultonborough House - Ghost Chronicles
June 20, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Southern Ghosts - Ghost Chronicles
June 13, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Ghost Hunters Spotlight - John Speer and Leslie Boyce of the Southern Spirit Seeker Society - Ghost Chronicles
June 6, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Ghost in the Pantry - by Lee Prosser
June 4, 2007

Column - regular feature

Dog Town - Ghost Chronicles
May 30, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Classifying Paranormal Photographs by Josh Mantello
May 29, 2007


Five Foot Nothin' of Guardian Angel by Dr. J. Lee Choron
May 25, 2007


Mark Nesbitt: The Ghosts of Gettysburg - Ghost Chronicles
May 23, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Spirit Children of the Fontaine Manse - Ghost Chronicles
May 16, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Borrowing Ghost - by Lee Prosser
May 15, 2007

Column - regular feature

Oak View: Time Port? By Richard Senate
May 14, 2007


Papal Knight and Author Charles A. Coulombe - Ghost Chronicles
May 9, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Signs - Messages from Beyond - Ghost Chronicles
May 2, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Beware of False Teachers - by Lee Prosser
May 1, 2007

Column - regular feature

Dungeon Rock - Ghost Chronicles
April 26, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Remote Viewing - Ghost Chronicles
April 18, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Investigating Tenney Gatehouse and Grey Court Castle - Ghost Chronicles
April 12, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Ghost Hunters Spotlight: The Ghost Stalker, Richard Senate - Ghost Chronicles
April 4, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Mark of Cain - by Lee Prosser
April 1, 2007

Column - regular feature

Bloody Mary: The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans - Ghost Chronicles
March 28, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Marija: The half-life of Resurrection Mary by Ursula Bielski
March 23, 2007


The Haunted Farnsworth House - Ghost Chronicles
March 21, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Aleister Crowley - by Lee Prosser
March 16, 2007

Column - regular feature

The Ghost Investigator: Linda Zimmermann - Ghost Chronicles
March 14, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Exploring the Tarot Cards - Ghost Chronicles
March 8, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Vodou - by Lee Prosser
March 2, 2007

Column - regular feature

The Ghost Bride: Lydia Carver - Ghost Chronicles
February 28, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Skeptical Learning by Rick Hayes
February 23, 2007


The Myrtles Plantation - Ghost Chronicles
February 21, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Ghosts of the Reyes Adobe by Richard Senate
February 16, 2007


How To Contact Your Guardian Angel - by Lee Prosser
February 15, 2007

Column - regular feature

The Eyes of the Mothman - Ghost Chronicles
February 14, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

The Mystery of the Ouija Board - Ghost Chronicles
February 7, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Ghost Hunter Spotlight: Brad Duplechien of Louisiana Spirits Paranormal Investigations - Ghost Chronicles
January 31, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Ghost Hunting and Dead Presidents by Vince Wilson
January 29, 2007


The Bell Witch and Witch Bonney - Ghost Chronicles
January 24, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Paranormal Investigator Profile: Derek Bartlett, Founder of Cape and Islands Paranormal Research Society
January 19, 2007


EVP, Featuring Tom and Lisa Butler of the A.A.E.V.P. - Ghost Chronicles
January 17, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Paul Bowles, Witchcraft, and the Supernatural - by Lee Prosser
January 15, 2007

Column - regular feature

Brian Leffler of The Northern Minnesota Paranormal Investigators - Ghost Chronicles
January 10, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

Homan House, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania by John Sabol
January 8, 2007


How To Photograph The Paranormal - Ghost Chronicles
January 3, 2007

Ghostvillage Radio - podcast

DVD Widescreen Format Contains Subliminal Occult Messages - by Lee Prosser
January 1, 2007

Column - regular feature



May 25, 2007

Five Foot Nothin' of Guardian Angel: A True Account

By Dr. J. Lee Choron

To understand what I'm about to write here you have to know just a bit about what happened in the beginning and about a very special person named Sherry. She and I spent our entire childhoods together well into our young adulthood. I was 20 and she was 17 when I went off to a place called Vietnam. We had planned to get married when I returned at the end of my tour. We didn't have much money and the promotion that I had coming then would have made a lot of difference.

I was wounded, and it was in a way that made me unidentifiable at first. I lost my ID when I was hit. I was reported Killed in Action (KIA). It was several months before the whole thing was sorted out -- just one of those things that happen in a war. Sherry has sworn she'd wait and she was. She'd have waited until Hell froze over if she'd known for sure I was alive. There were reasons -- valid reasons that I will not go into as to why she did not -- could not wait any longer than she did. The essential thing to know is that after I did get home, our only contact with each other was an occasional message through our parents or our grandparents, who were always close friends.

What you are about to read is an account of something that happened in August of 1991. Keep in mind that when this event occurred, Sherry wasn't dead and it was still ten years before she was even diagnosed with the cancer that killed her. We had always had a very strong psychic bond. It was always something that the two of us thought was funny, and other people would laugh about. We always seemed to sort of think in "tandem" or in a close parallel. We could and most often did, finish each other's sentences and we knew what each other was thinking. It was more than just "reading" each other's body language and things, although we could do that too. We actually knew. Even after being physically separated for half our lives we seemed to communicate with each other somehow. There was always a kind of "signal" in the back of my mind that I knew came from her. It was like a radio playing softly in the background -- there but not obtrusive -- letting me know that she was "okay." It would change from time to time, I found out later that these changes indicated stress, or that something was wrong somehow, but it never stopped. It never went away. I found out after she was gone she had always felt this too. It was one of the things that made it tolerable for the two of us not to try to contact each other for so long. There have been several times, that I have felt her near although I've never actually seen her. It seems to be a form of astral projection. I've learned since she "died" that we were both unknowingly doing the same thing. This is an account of the first time I ever had her physical presence brought to my attention

That "signal" is still present. The only difference is that after her crossing over, the signal has changed slightly. Even though it's still at the very back of my mind it's understandably different. It's still saying "I'm okay", but now it's letting me know, in no uncertain terms that "I'm waiting." It's like a radio beacon at an airport. It keeps a pilot from getting lost. I'm certain that she is making sure that when my time comes I can find her, or that when it's almost my time, she can find me quickly to come and lead me to wherever she is. I don't hear that in words, It's not a "voice" but it's a feeling that is much deeper than words can ever be.

I suppose that I should also preface this account with just a bit of background about myself. I am 53 years old and am a PhD Optical Engineer. I was born in Texas, the name of the town is not terribly important except to point out that it was, and still is, one of those quaint, tiny little towns where everyone knows everyone else. I have lived well over half of my life abroad. It has been well over 30 years since I was last in my "home town." I was raised a Roman Catholic, but for the vast majority of my life I have been what most people charitably call an "agnostic." To be perfectly honest, that is rather like saying "marginally pregnant" or "slightly dead." I went through the motions at times, usually on holidays and people's birthdays or anniversaries that were significant to me. I felt somehow drawn to do so, but for the life of me I could not understand why. In spite of that, for all intents and purposes I gave up my belief in a charitable and loving God and an afterlife in what was literally a blinding flash in mid 1973. It was at that time that the God that I had always worshiped spared my life, but tore out half of my living soul. There are many scars that a man can bring home from war, some of them can, in fact, be waiting for him when he gets home. And, as Bram Stoker allowed in his famous novel about Count Dracula, there are many things in this world that are worse, far worse, than death. It was not until eighteen years later that I had a portion of the faith that I had lost so long before renewed, although not in any "traditional" sense of the word. It happened like this.

A few weeks after the August Revolt of 1991 ended and all of the excitement had died down or mostly so, Alexander Savanov came into my office at Kodak A.O. in Moscow. Sasha seemed to have something on his mind.

"Sit down and take a load off Sasha," I beamed as my old friend and comrade in arms came through the door.

Savanov seated himself across from me and smiled thinly at me. He looked concerned. No, not concerned, perplexed. I opened my desk drawer and took out a partially used half liter bottle of vodka. I tossed it across the desk to Sasha who caught it in mid air. "What they don't know won't hurt 'em. After what we went through a while back, they can't bitch. We deserve a shot every now and then."

Sasha nodded. He opened the bottle, took a drink, then closed it and tossed the "Russian Standard" back to me.

"Jim," he began. "Something's been on my mind. I've been meaning to ask you about it ever since things settled down, but... Well, you know, we haven't really had time and it's not that important. I'm just curious."

"What is it Sasha?"

"Jim, who was that woman?"

"Which woman?"

"Well, you know, I hate to mention this, but, you know, you had your moments on the barricades. You'd catcall and curse at our "honorable opponents" and call them all sorts of names in three or four different languages." He grinned grimly at me. "It was, well, it was like you were begging for a bullet."

"What about it. Maybe I was?"

"Well, when you did, there was this woman... She seemed to just dog your steps and watch over you like some kind of grim avenging angel."

"Hell Sasha, you know who that was." I gestured toward the reception desk. "That was Vetta. She went there with us, remember?"

"No, the other one." Savanov said flatly and without inflection in his usually animated voice. "The one with the dark hair and dark eyes. The young one. "She's the one who had that old American army rifle. A real brute that."

My eyebrows shot up and I suddenly looked more thoughtful. I took the bottle out of my desk again, opened it and took a long pull. "What dark haired woman with an old American rifle?"

"I thought it was one of your daughters at first, then I remembered that they aren't in Moscow now, and besides, this girl was too old to be one of them. A real looker too." He chuckled.

Savanov picked up a pencil from my desk caddy and begin sketching on the back of an opened envelope. "The one with the rifle that looks like this. I've only seen a few of them. We got some in the "lend-lease" from your Mister Truman. They're a real beast. A full-house 7.62, more powerful than our old Myosin and the semi-automatic Tokarev." He passed his sketch of the weapon to me."

"That's an M-1 Garrand. It's a 30.06 caliber. Our General Patton called it the finest battle rifle ever invented. He was right at the time. It would punch a hole in a fourth of an inch of steel plate at close range and kill a man on the other side. It's a brute okay. You say a woman had one of them? That must have been one tough broad or a helluva big one."

"No, she was a tiny thing really, maybe a meter sixty, maybe not quite that. That hand-held cannon looked like it would kick her teeth out if she ever tried to shoot it, but she seemed to know the piece and how to use it."

"Jesus." My mind went back in time. Later, Sasha said that a smile flashed momentarily on my lips. I remembered the day that Gunny had taught me, and Sherry how to shoot his Garrand, the one he'd brought home from Korea as another of his "souvenirs" one piece at time. I'd been about fourteen years old and Sherry had been almost twelve. Gunny hadn't wanted Sherry to try it. She was only about five feet tall then and might have weighed ninety pounds soaking wet. Gunny, her dad, and I used to tease her and call her "Miss Five Foot Nothin'." She was always tiny. She never did get much bigger than that. That Garrand was almost as big as she was, but she was determined that if "Jimmy can do it, I can do it." I did, and she could.

While my mind drifted to the past, Sasha continued to talk.

"She would walk up behind you and to the right, raise that monster rifle to her shoulder and wrap the sling under her left elbow. Then she'd plant her right foot behind her to brace herself for the recoil..."

I saw the scene in my mind, except it wasn't on the Moscow barricades; it was in an East Texas cow pasture. It wasn't in 1991, it was... When was it? Half a lifetime ago? More?

"She gritted her teeth and squinted her eyes and then ratcheted that first round into battery..."

I could see it plainly in my mind, just as if it were yesterday.

"Then she'd begin to slowly sweep the troops on the other side. She's go slowly, from left to right, like she was watching for the first sign of one of them trying to fire at you."

I remembered Sherry and the Garrand. She'd done exactly as Sasha described. She'd done it just like she'd seen her father and me do it first. Then she'd squeezed the trigger. The rifle boomed, the barrel jumped upward, and Sherry rocked and slid backward a good six inches from the recoil, but she never let go. She recovered and wouldn't yield the piece to either me or Gunny. Six more rounds boomed out through that long ago East Texas summer. Every time that old rifle barked, Sherry took a beating from the Garrand that would make most grown men flinch in pain just thinking about it, but she never stopped. Hell, the words "give up," and "quit" just weren't in her vocabulary; never had been and never would be. When the magazine was empty we went and checked the target. Neither one of us, me or her dad, thought she'd even come close to it. We were amazed that she even kept shooting after that first brutalizing round. But, when we looked at the paper bull's eye, there were seven rounds in a space that Gunny could cover with a cigarette pack. And, Sherry stood there with one arm around me, holding the big gun cradled in her other arm, laughing.

Sasha noticed that I didn't seem to be listening and that I looked somehow "far away." He let his story trail off. It's hard to describe what I felt just then. It was a mixture of disbelief and the fact that if I let myself believe, I wouldn't just be scared, I'd be terrified.

"Well, who was she?" He asked?

"I don't know," I told him. "I know who it could have been, once. But, that's impossible. It's just: impossible:"

After Sasha Savanov told me about this, I talked to two dozen other people who had been there through those three long tension-filled days. They all saw here too and thought that I did. I'm the only one who didn't see her. I didn't tell any of them what I thought... what I almost certainly knew. I've played dumb and innocent all these years. But ever since that day Sasha cornered me in my office and asked me "who was that woman," I've known that I have a guardian angel. I've got a little "Miss Five Foot Nothin'" guardian angel that came to watch my back when she knew that I didn't care one way or the other whether I lived or died as long as I went out fighting. She came with the most powerful weapon she'd ever seen, and certainly the most powerful one she'd ever used. She was there watching over me for three long days and two almost endless nights... and I never even saw her. I guess it was meant to be that way. They say that God works in mysterious ways. There was a time when I had stopped believing that sort of thing, but I do now. There is no doubt in my mind that little "Miss Five Foot Nothin'," the tiny girl with the big gun that everyone saw but me was there to watch over me. Looking back on it, I'm not real sure what the result would have been if she'd actually used that old gun. I'm not real sure I want to know.

Sherry died in late 2001. I found out about it a year and a half later in July of 2003. It took a while for me to work up the nerve to talk to her mother who is in her eighties now like my own mom. One of the things that I learned from that call was that when the August Revolt was in full swing, Sherry had seen some footage of it on the News. She actually saw who she thought was me on the barricade in Moscow. Her mother said that she began to complain of not feeling well and went to bed (she was recently divorced at the time and visiting her mother to sort of unwind). Her mother said that she pretty much stayed in bed and slept for the biggest part of two days and didn't really begin feeling herself again until (she did not know it, but I did) the day the Revolt ended. I told a friend of mine about this when I found out about it. He's doing research into this kind of thing and has a number of case studies. He's board licensed MD and Psychiatrist. He told me that the most logical explanation that he could see, since he knew me well enough to know I didn't exaggerate, and also knew Savanov and two other people who saw her on the barricades, was that Sherry was still so strongly connected to me that when she saw the real danger, as opposed to what was televised (by tapping into what I actually saw) she came to me through an astral projection, or some form of astral traveling, and brought the most powerful weapon she'd ever had any actual experience with along with her. He said that I didn't see her because I had conditioned myself to believe so completely that this kind of thing was impossible that I blocked out even something that was so strong that everyone around me could see it.

I found out something else too, and when I did, I cried my eyes out. I found out that when she had gotten her divorce, not six weeks after I'd gotten mine, she'd taken a wedding set worth several thousand dollars and literally thrown it into a dumpster then put a cheap little ring that I'd bought her all those years before, back on. She never took it off again. She was buried in it.


Dr. James L. Choron is a journalist and writer living in Mamontovka, a suburb of Moscow. Dr. Choron's latest book, Footprints in the Snow: Tales of Haunted Russia is a collection of true ghost accounts from the Russian Federation.



2014 Haunted New England Wall Calendar by Jeff Belanger photography by Frank Grace
Check out the 2014 Haunted New England wall calendar by Jeff Belanger and photography by Frank Grace!


Paranormal Conferences and Lectures
Don't miss the following events and lectures:

Jeff Belanger and “The Bridgewater Triangle” at Dedham Community Theatre - April 6, 2014 9:00PM

The Spirits of the Mark Twain House - Hartford, Connecticut - April 12, 2014

Paracon Australia - East Maitland, New South Wales, Australia - May 10-12, 2014