The Dark Side of Beautiful

The marsh and tidal creek lay just out front from the large plantation house, with its majestic oaks draped with Spanish moss . It’s a beautiful setting for a low country wedding, and a place I fell in love with and could stay forever. With the price of beauty comes the side of darkness of its past.

Last year I went there from a request from the owner to see what was there. I primarily concentrated on several areas of the house and got lengthy Evp’s from the still lurking around owner from the 1800’s. This year, it was different.

I asked to speak to the kind man I engaged with last year. A voice came back to me over Evp’s that said, “He’s dead.”

My reply was, “Do you know you are dead too?” I was irritated that a spirit decided to screw with me as a medium and thwart my endeavors as to why I came.

“What do you mean he is dead?” What kind of spirit says that? Not a good one that is for sure. I had to dig deeper. I asked for a name and I got it. The next day I went to the library to get information and found out that the name given to me over evp by spirit belonged to the man who was ruthless, making this estate the richest during his lifetime for the area. He lived during the 1700’s. It was him I heard. It only got worse from there. The night time cameras catching us sleeping showed our project manager sitting on the edge of the bed rocking back and forth in an unusual manner around 2-3 am and all of sudden the footage showed his back contorting into a balloon. It was not humanly possible to do so unless you have helium to blow your back into a bulbous round shape. His did. Then you see the same spirit come over to me when I was sleeping and yank the covers from my feet and lay down beside me. I was not about to sleep alone in that house and he was my best friend. For three days I watched my friend turn into a 80 something year old, a man I did not know. Even his voice changed and his eyes narrowed, shutting for most of the time. Who was he? Not my friend Joe.

Later, his back hurt so bad that I took him to the emergency room. The doctors came back in and said his back had a compression fracture and a cracked rib. I know what caused it. He kept saying he wanted to go back home. We were home and now over 500 miles away from the estate.  Apparantly, this home was not the one he intended.

I asked out loud over an evp session when we were at the estate “Who is the evil entity here? Can they hurt someone?” I never heard the answer at the time, and it was “Yes”

After we arrived back at the house a few states away, having gotten home from the hospital, Joe’s phone turned Siri on, by itself, and a message came across the front screen,  “You don’t know true evil yet.”

After I left the estate last year, I got a message on my phone that said, ” What do you call a slut in the ground?.”

Pure evil lurks behind the beautiful sometimes.



She wore a white cloth diaper with lots of safety pins stuck through it on her head, wrapped like a turbin surrounding her stubby areas of black hair that still remained., other areas with no hair. The thick glasses were handed down from the local eye bank or probably my father and she finally got a telephone in her wooden shanty when she was 90 years of age. Time stood still in Cameron SC and it still does.

Daisy imprinted herself on me as a baby, from the time our eyes locked, having lived over 70 years and counting when she came to be our “Mammy”. In the south, they were not housekeepers or babysitters but lovingly called Mammy’s. Today, even fourty years plus later, Mammy is not an appropriate term or considered politically correct when speaking of the hired “help.” She was not that, she was so much more. She was a boo boo kisser, a spanker when it called for it, a bean shucker, a flu shot giver, and a hugger, the most important quality of any good Mammy, a hugger.

To me Daisy was not hired help but my family. No matter what the white folks thought of her or how they treated her, she still was like my second mother and I am white, she was Black, but I am not describing the difference in our colors, rather the important difference in the mindsets that shaped these derogatory cultures that  spawned slavery. A dreaded curse for the south and having to relive it whenever I say I am from the South, that is the first thing that people think of. I get asked so many times, “Have you seen the movie the help?”  Yes, and Yes to what you are going to ask me.

There are fond memories of her sitting on the living room couch, or chair watching tv with a corn cob pipe in her mouth, the hair wrap, and her very thick coke bottle bottom glases, shelling beans or peas while we played with our toys. The moth ball smell never came out of her clothes and she had the “black smell” that only particular older blacks from the South had. It was in her skin and such a distinct smell that if she were to come around me now, I could pick her out of a hundred souls because of her skin’s smell.

I was known as the boy baby. Not because I am a boy, but rather a tom boy among girls. I had all the bumps and bruises on my body that my baby brother should of had. I was rough and tumble, tree climing, bush hogging female. So with that kind of nature, I was very accident prone. Mama threatened to name me Grace. That was how my parents and especially Daisy could tell me apart from my very feminine twin sister Amy, was that I was the wearer of plastic bandaids and the bearer of deep scars.

She never learned to read or write always signing her name with an x when asked. Picking cotton in the fields of South Carolina were left to the blacks starting at the age of of a child, and no one ever knew how old she really was when the good Lord called her home because they did not give birth certificates to slaves or children of slaves. Daisy’s mother and father were what history books speak about, the chained African American’s of long ago, sold openly on the slave market in cities such as Charleston and she was one of many children in her family that grew up and lived in Cameron SC.

Married at age 13, Daisy had 9 children, some not making it out of the womb, or maybe she was 9 years of age when she married and had 13 children. I simply can’t remember that part. When she died, her alcoholic son Thomas, was there but most had already gone on to be with their Lord. Why did the almighty let her live so long? Daddy thought she was well, well over 100 years of age when she died but sadly, there was no way to prove it.

When Mama and Daddy had bridge club nights out, all of us children, four in total would line up on the couch and watch Daisy sleep in the leather chair. Her body would jump violently and we would start crying and screaming, never waking her up. She slept like the dead when she closed her eyes. We were afraid she was having a heart attack in her sleep or feared the worst, she was dead. Sometimes she did it to pull a prank on us. Doctors kids know everything about everything and we swore she was dying. Mama and Daddy would eventually come rushing home to find everything normal as it should have been and Daisy still alive.

When Daddy died, I gave Daisy Daddy’s wheel chair. I wheeled her upfront to be with the family, and covered her up with his blanket. She was family. She was my cherished Daisy and no one was going to tell me otherwise. Color didn’t matter to me. It never did. Even when the community of Cameron SC made my father build a waiting room onto his medical clinic for the coloreds, the blacks in the 1970’s or 1980’s, because they smelled funny, I never saw color.

Being the outcast, rebel and instigator, I enrolled in the Miss Black Orangeburg pageant. I did it to cut the stigma  between colors. The audience gasped when I walked out on stage. It was to prove a point at age 15. I did exactly that. Even though it was not the right kind of point to make, maybe it coming from a teenager who hated the segregation even in modern times, might have touched someone. I did it. I did it to prove there is no difference in color of a human being.  I can still hear that loud gasp from the hundred or so patrons and some certain members of the audience saying, “What in the hell is that crazy Lawton girl thinking?”

Today, my soul says go home, just go home Mary to the piece of history that few know about. To that special place that doesn’t exist today. I will, eventually, but I don’t think the time is right. The sad part is seeing what the South still believes in. If I could have given Daisy more, I would have because she gave me so much. She gave me the biggest hug of my life.

Copyrighted, TM 2000  from my book

Slave and Ghosts from The Past

Litchfield Plantation
I went there as a psychic and medium right after Ghost Hunters the tv show went there, trying to capture something out of the ordinary. My job was different in that, my abilities are not scientific based but rather a direct connection to the other side and the messages they have to send us. Specifically, I was to help the owner and to tell him what I saw. This was in late September 2015. Upon arrival to the grounds I exited my black car and suddenly, without warning, went down grasping my head in pain. Absolute pain. The kind of pain that makes you wonder if you are dying. I just kept holding it and saying to my partner in my business, my head, my head. In this case, someone did die and I was feeling what that person died from. An empath you say? Yes, I am that as well and a remote viewer, but it was also a spirit getting a message across to me. A spirit with no name or face. Incognito. It happens on occasion.
Just then a big just polished SUV pulls up and out of it climbs the most fit and handsome man with the bluest eyes I have laid eyes on. He was the owner of the plantation. Young to my oldness. But he was so kind as to have me there and Joe and I made ourselves right at home. It was going to be a long two days with doing our recordings into the wee morning hours.
I looked at the owner still holding my head due to the pain and said, Hi, I am Mary, Sorry but as soon as I got here I got the worst head ache and I dont get headaches. He just looked at me.
I told him, someone died of a head injury or brain injury and they had something to do with this plantation. He just kept staring at me.
I also told him he had a father figure standing behind him. He acknowledged his father indeed did die. I asked what he died from and he said, a brain hemorrage. Theres the proof there. It was his father who I was feeling. Still didn’t see him as clearly as I normally see spirits but it was his father who died of the brain injury.
A brain hemorrage or anuerism is one of the worst headaches you would every experience in your life. I know because my ex husband actually survived one.
While at Litchfield, I saw a slave cook at the outdoor kitchen, actually about 8 of them but one stood out. She was a very short and very overweight cook from the mid to late 1700’s or early 1800’s dressed in a head scarf, long dirty white apron to the ground, long sleeves and a long dress that she obviously made herself. I don’t know her name but she is still stuck to the plantation, perhaps a home she grew to love and admire. In one of our taped conversations, she said to me, “Good Life Here”.
Joe and I were visited by two little girls running and laughing. No sight of them but I heard them clear as day out on the balcony and Joe heard them at the same time while he sat on the front porch. They are probably the same children who died at an early age and both had the same name. A older girl accompanies them, probably Mona who is dressed in a blue dress, with dark hair parted down the middle, and dark eyes.
I never saw the full blown apparition of Mona but I saw her if that makes sense. I can see the spirits without the proverbial full apparition.
Then my encounter with Dr. or Colonel Tucker. On several occasions, he did not want to excuse me for the way I was dressed and he certainly did not like the music I was playing at 3 am, coming across loud and clear with his repetitive no’s when I asked him if he wanted to hear it again.
He first showed up on my bedroom threshold two months early when I said I was coming out there. I looked up and a man dressed in a beige confederate or maybe Bermuda uniform walked past my bed and turned and walked back into my kitchen at my tiny apartment. He kept doing that. When I say yes to going somewhere to do a reading or yes to reading a person, the door opens and there he was. Hat, pointed white beard, spectacles, larger mid area but it could have been his uniform. White hair. It was him. He carried in his hand a small black book, almost like a bible. I found out later he was very religious and had the church moved to his property so the slaves could worship easily.
Litchfield was the largest slave plantation, rice growing plantation in the South during those times and he had close to 150 slaves at any one given time working the rice fields.
I lost my temper with him one time when I got upset as to how he treated the slaves and that slavery was wrong and you can hear on one of the tapes Dr. Tucker carrying on a conversation. A full blown conversation.
He mainly stayed in his office and bedroom.
So many slaves on the grounds, one was a gate keeper who had a hidden agenda to a confederate soldier who hangs out under the oak trees guarding Litchfield. He doesn’t move. One bride who was walking under the oak trees for her wedding saw him so I know I am not the only one.
Sally and about eight other slaves are on the grounds holding the body of a humungous black man with no head. Massive slave man who died apparantly maybe by a gator attack. I cant see his head and it is not there. Just some of the things I saw. Another spirit, perhaps an older woman as it was really hard to tell asked me Who are you?
The one spirit that had to go and spoil a good time was Donald parsons. A not so nice man who stole millions from the plantation, just robbing it blind leaving others to hold the bag. He is there as well and hangs out in the cottage. Evil doesn’t begin to describe him. I searched all over Pawley’s Island for white sage to do a cleansing and when Sunday came, the day for me to leave and also perform the cleansing of the cottage, Joe got a telephone call saying his alarm was going off at the house. that was not possible. Why? Debora knew the code when she went in to take care of the cats. Then again. I never stopped to think it was or could have been the evil entity trying to get me off the property so i wouldnt have to do the cleansing. It was brought to my attention. Earlier that morning, I know I saw him wave at me, Red eyes, a wave from the cottage window from where I stood in the main house. A slow wave. Unbeknownst to me, I also captured him on video pacing back and forth in the window of the cottage. At least I have proof of him.
So we gave the owner the information we had, and had him listen to the tapes and watch a few. We captured more than any other team ever had simply because I am a medium, and I have no hidden agenda. I am not using it to make myself rich or for a tv show. Spirits know this and few will talk to you if they know they are going to be used for that purpose. Most are in touch with the living world. Shortly thereafter we left and arrived back in Florida around 10 pm. I had just gotten Joe a new iPhone for the business when Siri came on. The phone was turned off. Joe didn’t know what Siri was and how to operate the phone. It was brand new. Somehow Siri came on and clearly said, “Now Now” as if to scold me. Joe and I looked at each other in disbelief, horror. There was no way. No way that phone could have powered on by itself. It was still off.
Then Siri said, “What do you call a slut in the ground?” The obvious answer to this question was “dead” I knew the answer to the question but Joe and I were to alarmed to say anything but look at each other in horror.
I knew who this came from. I knew what he intended to do to me if I returned.
I totally understood the message he was trying to send. I wasn’t dealing with a typical haunting of a greedy ex plantation manager but now a full blown demonic entity that had to be removed by a priest. I alerted the owners admin assistant as to what transpired and she said to me, the phone calls for the alarm, the phone coming on when turned off and Siri speaking to me. It was an attempt to get me off the property immediately and it was a death threat.
It was indeed a warning sent to me by Donald Parsons.
Well, I have news for him. I will be back but in the meantime, I am surrounding him with lots of God’s love and white light. I am also doing the same for me as I walk in my eternal fathers white light and love. Oh, I am also praying for his soul. For any kind of redemption that can be had.
Mary, Othersidepsychic

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