Ghosts: All in the Mind? (part 4)

  

You Gotta Be Careful What You Wish For...

CONTENT WARNING:

This may distress some readers. You continue at your own risk. You are warned.

What He Imagined, She Became...

Hi again!

Welcome to episode four of my While He Was Sleeping background, inspiration and research. That's the book about a comatose teenager dream girl turning to reality and killing his bullies.

To recap the past three episodes:

1) I showed you the story of Philip the Ghost, a strange product of combined imagination and meditation that produced life or a ghostly form from pure thought in 1972.

2) Alexandra David-Neel, the first European woman to ever visit the secret city of Lhasa in the 1920s, who created a Tulpa -- a creature of pure thought that took form strong enough for other people to see it. It started to turn sinister, dangerous, rebellious, and had to be destroyed.

3) I confessed how I tried to create such a creature myself for my own selfish reasons. And succeeded to a point. I stopped concentrating on her, pushed myself to stop, when I realised something wasn't right. I thought she was gone. But I was wrong.

Just so you know. I tamed down the story last episode. I won't tell you the full story, just bits and pieces. Segments that I miss are purely for protection: mine, those who are close to me, and you. But beware, some of what I tell may distress you.

You continue reading at your own risk.

Since I wrote the last email, things started happening. Sounds in the wall. Raps. I'm not the only one who hears them. Or sees the shape.

But let’s get back on track…

In 1989, the year following last episode’s events, I was in my first year of University and studying for my Bachelor of Applied Science (Computing). It was a far cry from learning about ghosts, astral travelling, and the paranormal. Left brain studies into programming recursive code, how to write assembly and machine language, and mathematics took over.

I think it was about September. The diary I used to keep from that time became sporadic, but it's missing now. Destroyed. So I can't check the date now. My parents went away for a week's vacation and left me home. Alone.

At first, I thought it was great. Independence. My own space. A chance to show I could actually look after the place without breaking their trust.

They left at 3:30am on the Saturday morning. I remember hearing them move about to have a quick breakfast, go downstairs to the car which was parked in the garage directly under my bedroom, which was just a "sleepout". I even remember hearing the front gate shut with a muffled clang before they drove away in the dark.

I settled back to sleep. Then it happened. I could forgive you if you thought it was a dream.

An unseen hand grabbed me in the gloom illuminated faintly by the streetlight on the footpath that shone directly into my room. There was enough light to see there was nothing there.

Yet the warm fingers had gripped my left hand and almost yanked my arm from the shoulder. The pain was terrible, lancing. But I didn't have time to think about it as something pinned my right hand by my side. My eyes opened wide in the dark, straining to see my assailant. I even remember seeing the time on the clock, illuminated in red: 3:38am.

I struggled. Didn't dare call out. Why bother? My neighbours wouldn't hear me. I was alone in the house.

But who was my invisible attacker?

And a voice that sounded like a melody whispered in my ear. "Chris, my dear, did you miss me? I'm still here."

Mere words can’t describe my shock. The voice echoed not just in my ear but also in my mind. I still remember how silky-smooth it was, like honey and milk, but filled with something terrible that chilled me.

I struggled. Knew that I would fight and win, or die trying. The unseen whatever-it-was laughed. "It's me, Chris. Maerie. You wanted me to happen, remember?"

Invisible hands sandwiched my face, forcing my head to nod. “See?” the she-thing said, her voice alluring and tempting. “I knew you waited for me as I waited for you.”

Warm air wafted across my nostrils; it had to be her breath. Then something wet yet alluring pressed my lips, forcing them open. A primal instinct took me, and I accepted the tongue that pressed against mine as something stroked along my stomach towards my groin. I hate to say it. I enjoyed the sensation, but only for a second before the bile rose in my throat.

Anger flared inside me in a great ball of hot rage as I realised what had happened. Something told me whatever it was -- tulpa, ghost, demon -- it had to go. I dug from deep inside my gut, shut my eyes, and whispered, "Get the hell off me. I banish you and cast you out, you fucking bitch!"

Sorry for swearing. That's how it was. Don't blame me for who I was back then.

The hands gripped me tighter., resisting me as I fought back. Fury growled from inside me. Focusing on it, I pushed my anger at my invisible assailant in the shadows of my bedroom's gloom. With each curse I uttered, I felt the creature’s fingers loosen. Heartened, I fought harder until its grip disappear. Only its voice remained as I sat up, swinging my fists at empty air. Then her words melted into nothingness.

Alone at last.

Despite the relief sweeping over me, I jumped from bed and fumbled for the light switch.

The room was empty. The only other sign of life came from my clock as it changed to 3:43am.

Shaking, I muttered the Lord’s Prayer over and over as I listened to the occasional car drive by. I left the lights on, not daring to turn them off until the sky turned a light grey. Even then, I waited... careful to breathe quietly... in case I was wrong... until... At last the sun rose above Mt Archer.

I know it was real. I stayed awake. Never went back to sleep. Even read Phantom and Batman comics afterwards to try to forget it. And the traffic sounds of the passing cars tyres making the sssh sound on the wet bitumen road was present even during that hellish five minutes.

You probably think it was a dream. No, it wasn’t. The hand prints on my wrists and ankles remained for a week. A couple of friends from Uni joked about them. “Got into some rough stuff, did you?” one said with a wink.

Now as I write this email to you on my blog, I take a breath. Outside, the clouds mask most light from the nightscape. The streetlamp has just flickered out, the bulb dead. Darkness has enveloped the street, reminding me of the quietness, the strangeness we felt in this place when we first moved in. And I can hear my wife’s quiet snoring from the other room as I type at my laptop.

Hmm. The rapping sound from the wall just started. Whatever is there sounds bigger, its body thumping as it finds space, claws scratching. At first, I assumed it a mouse or a gecko. But something about its intensity has brought a chilling thought to mind as I prepare to hit Publish...

Could Maerie be... back?

Copyright © Chris Johnson, 2022.

Names have either been changed or omitted to protect the innocent.

PS: Like strange tales like this? Be sure to check out my supernatural thriller, While He Was Sleeping. Available now on my Payhip store.

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Ghosts: All in the Mind? (part 3)

Welcome back!

Here's the third installment in my series about the story and research behind my novel -- While He Was Sleeping.

Let's recap. First, I told you about how psychic researchers in Toronto created a fictional ghost in 1972 that actually came to life. When I first read about that in a library book, I wished I had seen it on television as described. Imagine my surprise nearly 30 years later to find that video of the original broadcast!

But of course the researchers gained their idea from somewhere. I believe that came from Alexandra David-Neel who I described last time. That post ended with a warning. Don't try to interfere with the unknown unless you have received heaps of training.

Well... let's go back to December of 1987 when I read the library book that described both of the above situations. I was a tender sixteen years of age and thought I knew everything. I wanted to try it out for myself of course! Should I have ignored the obvious warning? No. Did I? Yes.

So my idea to create a ghost or a tulpa seemed pretty wild back then. I had a Dungeons and Dragons book at the time, borrowed from a school friend, called Drums on Fire Mountain. One of the characters in the adventure was named Maerie. If you've already read While He Was Sleeping, these aren't spoilers. If not, well, I'll tread carefully for you.

I created a fictional background for her, just like Philip the Ghost, and even gave her a special home. An interdimensional doorway that could be accessed at a certain point of my yard. There was a secret method to reaching this gateway and if it had worked, that would have been awesome.

Guess what? It didn't work as fast as I wanted.

Did you know I had a really fanciful imagination at sixteen? Neither did I.

I was already a student of hypnosis from library books and had developed an ability to hypnotise myself, which I realised was self-guided meditation. I could save time by meditating in my sleep, lucid dreaming, and utilise that slumber to create Maerie. Did I mention I secretly wanted this girl to have a crush on me? Like a mental pygmalion? Well, not much of a secret now, I guess. And yeah, I had it bad.

My summer holidays finished and there was no sign of Maerie. Not even a shadow. School started again. My senior year.

By March, 1988, I was studying something else which actually did experience success. Astral travelling. I'll write about that another time. But something else happened that month.

A strange presence appeared in the corner of my eye. A slender girl always waited on the outer edges of my peripheral vision. The first time was at school in Chemistry class. It started as the strangest sensation, like someone was staring at me. You know the feeling, right? I turned to see, but nothing was there.

Then I noticed my friend next to me was looking there too. He looked back at me. "Thought someone was there," he whispered with a shrug. My jaw dropped upon realising what had happened.

"Did you see?" I asked.

He frowned, trying to recall. “I thought some chick was there. Didn’t see her though. Did you see where she went?”

We turned to look and found nothing. But I knew, or hoped I did.

Now this friend was the same who had taught me the knack for perfecting my astral travelling. I didn't expect this reaction from him. He wasn't too chuffed about it when he read about what had happened to Alexandra David-Neel's tulpa.

I was busting to tell my friend. The problem was, what would he think? Best to leave it, I decided. Then a voice spoke, startling me.

“Hello, Chris,” it said, distinctly female, sultry and alluring, its accent foreign. I just about filled my pants upon hearing it. My heart beat with excitement. Yes, it was working.

The secret proved too big to keep to myself. I had to tell my friend. So I brought my Tulpa diary to school the next day to show him. At first he was sceptical, then he saw her picture I had sketched.

"Hey!" he said. "That's the chick I thought I saw." Then a penny dropped with him as he saw the grin on my face. "What the hell do you know about her?"

“Keep reading,” I urged, and he did. The diary was voluminous. Fifty-three pages of my thoughts, research, Maerie's fictional biography. Everything I had planned and outlined on a slender young lady with auburn-coloured tresses who was devoted to me as a friend and advisor.

He knew it wasn't something I had made up overnight for him. There was too much, written so neatly. I couldn’t have rushed in the writing. It included photocopies of the book I'd borrowed from the library about Philip the Ghost and the Tibetan tulpas.

"Shit, Chris, what the hell have you done?" he asked, leafing through it. "Is this desperation for a girlfriend or something? This is sick shit."

"You have to stop it, mate," he warned me, handing the book back to me like it was poison.

But how? I hadn't concentrated and meditated on Maerie for over a month. Had my self-hypnosis done it? Had I subconsciously kept creating her even after concentrating on other things? Either way, it worked.

Of course, I made an effort to stop thinking about the tulpa and the plans. But I can't say that my subconscious listened. For she appeared at other times, and not when I was at school or with friends.

That’s when the idea for While He Was Sleeping came to me. Perhaps it was a mistake. By outlining a horror by the name ‘Tulpa’, based partly around my experiences, what had I conjured into being? There is a reason I took years before actually writing it…

That’s a story for next time…

Make sure the lights are on when you read it… next week…

Copyright © Chris Johnson, 2022.

Names have either been changed or omitted to protect the innocent.

Chris Johnson

https://www.larrikinbooks.com

PS: Like strange tales like this? Be sure to check out my supernatural thriller, While He Was Sleeping. Available now on my Payhip store.

Or subscribe to my newsletter for more behind-scenes glimpses at: https://chrisjohnson-writesamazingstories.eo.page/subscribe

Ghosts: All in the Mind (Part 2)

The Lady Who Created Life From Thought

Meet Alexandra David-Neel

Last time, I discussed the Philip the Ghost experiments of 1972 where scientists created a ghost that manifested itself. If you missed that email then check your junk folder, otherwise you can find it here.

Thanks for reading Chris Johnson - Amazing Stories Writer! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

In this issue, I want to tell you about someone else who did a similar thing. Perhaps the psychic researchers in Toronto found inspiration from this remarkable lady because their techniques were similar, but I can't find further evidence to corroborate it.

Born in France in October 1868 as Louise Eugenie Alexandrine Marie David, Alexandra David-Neel was the first woman to gain the title of a Tibetan lama. She was a committed Buddhist who lived until the grand old age of 100, was a noted traveller, and held a deep love for Asia -- particularly the Himalayas. But there's more to this fascinating lady. She was also the person who helped bring the Western world's awareness to the mysteries of Tibet -- including the Tulpa.

According to traditional Tibetan doctrines, a tulpa is an entitity created by a focused act of imagination. Kind of like a fictional character in a book, except tulpas aren't written down (like the ghost of Philip). A trained yogi could make one appear and disappear easily. The concept interested Alexandra David-Neel so much she decided to try to create one.

So once someone meditates on this entity for long enough, hard enough, it gains a life of its own -- breaking away from the "chains of the brain".

David-Neel created hers based on a jolly Friar Tuck monk like the one in the old tales of Robin Hood. It took months. Then at last, it emerged into the real world, this reality. At first, she only perceived it through her peripheral vision as a shadowy figure. But this is where things turned a little hairy.

In her book, David-Neel writes: "He became a kind of guest, living in my apartment. I then broke my seclusion and started for a tour, with my servants and tents. The monk included himself in the party. Though I lived in the open riding on horseback for miles each day, the illusion persisted. It was not necessary for me to think of him to make him appear. The phantom performed various actions of the kind that are natural to travelers and that I had not commanded. For instance, he walked, stopped, looked around him. The illusion was mostly visual, but sometimes I felt as if a robe was lightly rubbing against me, and once a hand seemed to touch my shoulder."

But the friendly friar was not all he appeared. He began to change.

"The fat, chubby-cheeked fellow grew leaner, his face assumed a vaguely mocking, sly, malignant look. He became more troublesome and bold. In brief, he escaped my control."

She realised that if she allowed the creation to continue living, it could pose a real threat to everyone and everything that crossed paths. There was only one thing to do. She had to reabsorb it into her mind, then banish it to her subconscious where it would eventually turn to nothingness. Then its life would be forever over.

It took her more than half a year for the creature to lose its form and return to her control. Then a little longer before it also disappeared from her imagination, a difficult task considering it was still a part of her memory. And like any living creature, the tulpa fought back hard, tiring her, almost killing her through exhaustion before she finally won.

Now you would think this tale was enough to warn off a sixteen-year-old from trying it in 1987. Right?

Well, that's another story I'll tell you next week...

Happy Reading!

Chris Johnson

PS: Like strange tales like this? Be sure to check out my supernatural thriller, While He Was Sleeping. Available now on my Payhip store.

Or subscribe to my newsletter for more behind-scenes glimpses at: https://chrisjohnson-writesamazingstories.eo.page/subscribe

Ghosts: All in the Mind?

A few of you asked how I came across the idea for While He Was Sleeping. Here is part of what I came across years ago in my research (when I was a lad growing up in the 1980s).

Imagine sitting around a heavy antique Victorian-era table and holding hands with everyone else present while watching the tall ominous shadows dance against the walls in the flickering candlelight. All is quiet as you wait for the answer to a question. Then suddenly... a rap! And another one.

The noises come from no particular place in the air. No one is there.

Or consider the same large table moving. This wooden creation is huge. And very heavy. Yet it moves as though it possesses a mind of its own and even seems to tip and tilt by itself!

Or you're at home alone when your eye catches a movement in the hallway. There you see a young child in the clothes from a past period standing there and watching you.

Are they examples of ghosts? Some would say they could be manifestations of your mind. But how can that be?

Quite a few paranormal researchers believe (or at least suspect) that poltergeist activity (objects flying through the air, etc) and even ghostly sightings are products of the human mind. After all, the moving objects could actually be a case of overactive telekinesis or psychokinesis.

To test the idea, a group of Toronto investigators conducted a fascinating experiment to create a ghost. They assembled a group of people who would create a completely fictional character then conduct a seance to see if they could contact him and receive messages and maybe even see its apparition.

The Toronto Society for Psychical Research, under the guidance of Dr. A.R.G. Owen, assembled a group of eight people culled from its membership, none of whom claimed to have any psychic gifts. The group, which became known as the Owen group, consisted of Dr. Owen's wife, a woman who was the former chairperson of MENSA, an industrial designer, an accountant, a housewife, a bookkeeper and a sociology student. A psychologist named Dr. Joel Whitton also attended many of the group's sessions as an observer.

First, they wrote their fictional historical character's short biography, naming him Philip Aylseford.

Here's a summary of that biography:

- Philip was an aristocratic Englishman.

- Lived in the mid-1600s at the time of Oliver Cromwell.

- He had supported the King and was Catholic.

- He was married to a beautiful but cold and frigid wife named  Dorothea, the daughter of a neighbouring nobleman.

- One day, he came across a gypsy camp where he met and fell in love with a beautiful dark-eyed girl with raven-coloured hair: Margo. He instantly fell in love with her.

- He smuggled her back to his home and hid her in the gatehouse near Diddington Manor's stables.

- For some time, they had a lovely little love-nest until Dorothea discovered Margo and accused her of witchcraft and stealing her husband.

- Philip did nothing to speak up for his lover who was eventually tried and burned at the stake.

- Later, depressed, he wandered the battlements of his home... and was one morning found dead after jumping.

September 1972. The group met informally a number of times to discuss Philip and his life. They meditated on him to visualise their "collective hallucination" in greater detail. They did this in a fully lit room over the course of 11 months without results. Occasionally, some group members claimed they felt a presence in the room, but there was no result they could consider communication from Philip.

They started duplicating the atmosphere of spiritualist seances -- sort of like you see in horror films -- in darkened rooms, sitting around a table, singing songs and surrounding themselves with pictures of the type of castle in which they imagined Philip had lived. They even had other objects from that period of time with them.

It worked. One night, they received their first communication. A distinct rap on the table!

Soon Philip was answering questions asked by the group. One rap for yes, two for no. Then they went for other methods to communicate.

How did they know it was Philip? Well, he told them, of course.

From there, things grew more interesting as Philip exhibited more stunts. He elaborated on his life for them. He displayed a personality through his likes and dislikes, and displayed strong views on various subjects, which were made plain through either hesitancy or enthusiasm in his knocks. He even made the table move, sliding it from side to side despite its immense weight and the shaggy carpet upon which is sat. At one point, the table even "danced" on one leg.

But there were limitations. He could only answer questions to which the group already knew the answers. They did create him, after all. The answers came from their subconscious -- their own minds. But some did claim to hear whispers in response to the questions although the tape recordings revealed nothing.

Yet he could dim the lights when requested, cause breezes to blow in the room (and stop them), and other strange things. They interpreted it as evidence of group psychokinesis.

The experiment's climax was recorded live for a television documentary, which you can check out on YouTube by clicking here.

VIEW THE SEANCE

Apart from a fine mist that appeared on the table, the group never succeeded in making Philip materialise. Such a shame.

I first read of the above in the mid-to-late 1980s in a book on psychic phenomena. The idea intrigued me, but there is more to tell in next week's post---set in the early 1900s.

Until then...

Happy Reading!

Chris Johnson

www.larrikinbooks.com

PS: Like strange tales like this. Be sure to check out my supernatural thriller WHILE HE WAS SLEEPING at my store now

Or subscribe to my nesletter for more behind-the-scenes gimpses at https://chrisjohnson-writesamazingsotries.eo.page/subscribe.

From “The Journey to Ekka” to Cow Dung and Code: How I Became a Writer

 

I wrote my first “book” in 1983 — a gloriously illustrated, wildly unoriginal adventure called The Journey to Ekka. I was in primary school. The plot? A blatant rip-off of The Wizard of Oz, but Aussie-fied. A boy goes on a quest to find the great “Ez”, accompanied by a clockwork man (who could shoot lasers from his hat and fly via a retractable propeller) and a superstitious bloke named Joc.

It was scrawled into an exercise book, never finished, but it got a surprising amount of attention from classmates for the illustrations. The writing? Let’s just say it was enthusiastic. But the seed was planted.

Fast forward a few years to 1987. I had an Atari 800 and Antic magazine was my bible. One issue had an article that hit me hard — something about using your home computer to write a novel. Not just games or code, but actual books. That was the push I needed. I fired up the keyboard and started writing seriously.

Then came 1988, and with it, one of my most grounding experiences in tech.

I was on work experience with the Department of Primary Industries, and someone handed me a box of punch cards. My job? Deliver them to the other lab. The shortcut? Straight across a paddock filled with cow dung.

Now, if you’ve never done the punch card shuffle through a landmine field of cow crap, I don’t recommend it. I tripped. The cards went flying. They landed out of order in a steaming pile. I arrived at the other lab covered in shame and fragments of the 1970s, only to discover it was all a setup. A prank on the work-experience kid. Good times.

And yet… somehow, through all the missteps (literal and otherwise), I kept writing.

From scribbles in an old school notebook to hammering out chapters on an Atari, from dodging cow dung to dodging plot holes — it’s been one hell of a journey. But looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Even the Ez.

Enjoyed that trip down memory lane?

I share more behind-the-scenes writing stories, old tech nostalgia, and new book updates in my newsletter. Jump on board here – it’s free, low-key, and sometimes mildly entertaining: https://chrisjohnson-writesamazingstories.eo.page/subscribe

The Beauty of Loose Ends (or Why the ChronoSpace series means so much to me)

The idea for ChronoSpace hit me during a 2am feeding when my daughter was just an infant. Sleep-deprived minds do strange things—sometimes wonderful ones. A flicker of a thought… and suddenly I had the bones of a story I couldn’t let go.

A year later I wrote it.

Book 1, Bootstrap’s Journey, was only meant to be a short story. But it ballooned into a novella. There was just more to tell, and I'd left enough loose ends. I based it in my hometown (for once), and while I’m not Tony Nowlan, his pushbike accident memory? That one’s mine.

There is a character in the series who’s a little bit me though. I’ll let you guess who.

Interestingly, the first story was supposed to be horror. It turned out very different—but depending on how you read it, maybe that darkness is still there under the surface.

Book 2, The Paradox of Buck Nowlan only took me a month to write... but it took three years to plan and another three to dare. At one point, I nearly abandoned the sequel entirely after a rough personal incident. But finishing it helped me reclaim part of myself. That book was a triumph of grit.

Book 3, The Titanic Connection, dragged me down a rabbit hole. I didn’t expect a novella to demand so much, but the more I researched the Titanic and conspiracies around it, the more the plot stretched its wings. I learned the value of loose ends—because they often point toward stories still to come.

And then came The Legacy Unwritten—Book 4, and my most recent. It took me somewhere new: into biblical myth, secret codes, and even a few tricks I picked up from my time as a magician. Yes, there’s a real secret behind Aaron’s staff from Exodus. You’ll see what I mean.

The ChronoSpace series has become a part of me. There’s more to come—I’ve glimpsed the end—but we’re not there yet.

Want to own a piece of the journey?

For the first time, I’m offering signed paperbacks—either the latest standalone (The Legacy Unwritten) or the entire series in a signed bundle.

These are exclusive author editions, personally signed and shipped by me.

Aussie readers only—orders close 23rd May.

Grab yours here:

For the single signed copy of The Legacy Unwritten: https://www.larrikinbooks.com/p/chris-johnsons-personal-bookstore.html

Or for the whole signed series (so far): https://www.larrikinbooks.com/p/signed-chronospace-paperback-bundle.html

Prefer digital? The ebooks are still up across all stores or direct from me.

Thanks for reading—and being part of the ride.

The Legacy Unwritten – Coming 2nd May 2025

G’day. legends!

I'm thrilled to finally announce that my next book, The Legacy Unwritten, is heading your way on 2nd May, 2025.

This one has been a wild ride to write. And for fans of the ChronoSpace series, it's going to hit hard in all the right ways. Expect time travel, ancient tech, secret cults, and the kind of chaos that only Tony Nowlan can walk into with his trademark dry wit, awkward timing, and stubborn sense of honour.

Set across multiple time periods (because of course it is), The Legacy Unwritten dives deeper into Tony’s past, his family, and the forces that have been quietly pulling strings behind the scenes since the very beginning. There's a war brewing—one that started thousands of years ago—and Tony’s just been handed the keys to a legacy he never asked for.

What you can expect:

• Conspiracies buried beneath centuries of history

• The return of old allies (and enemies)

• Time-jumping dilemmas with real stakes

• And yes… that character from book two is back 👀

• Oh, and a beast in a labyrinth. Naturally.

I’ll be releasing it via:

• Payhip (best way to support me directly): https://shop.larrikinbooks.com/b/thelegacyunwritten

• Amazon, Kobo, Apple Books, and more : https://books2read.com/TheLegacyUnwritten

I’m planning some launch goodies for newsletter subscribers too—early chapters, behind-the-scenes stuff, and maybe even a giveaway. So if you're not on the list yet, now’s the time to jump in.

Thanks for reading, supporting, sharing, and just being awesome in general. More soon!

—Chris

“Life’s an adventure, and so are my books.”