Angel of Light (A Zak Bagans Story)

Chapter 2: Painful Memories

Chapter 2: Painful Memories

After getting dressed, pulling my hair up into a ponytail, and putting on minimal makeup, I walked downstairs. I grabbed a simple pair of black, strappy wedges – I thought Cheryl might have had a point with heels. Considering how tiny I am, I needed some height – and slipped them on.

"I'll see you later," I called to Cheryl, who I could hear rummaging in the kitchen. Most likely looking for something to eat.

Lucky shit, I thought.

She could eat anything and still maintain her figure.

"Good luck! Give Zak a kiss for me!" She called back, giggling.

I rolled my eyes but laughed.

"Uh-huh, thanks!" I called back and after grabbing my keys and purse, slipped out the front door and to my car.

It wasn't an impressive car – a 2012 Ford Focus. It was black with dark grey interior. With the money I had from my previous job, I probably could afford a new car. But there was nothing wrong with this one, and it had some sentimental value. I first learned how to drive a car in a 2008 Ford Focus in my early twenties.

Plus, I had just moved from Santa Monica, California a few weeks ago. It was a spontaneous decision, to both quit my job as the Senior Motion Capture Specialist for "Naughty Dog" studios, a gaming company, and to move to Las Vegas to roommate with Cheryl.

Working at "Naughty Dog" had been a dream of mine as a teenager, and to quit a job I loved so much was hard, but I needed to get out of California. The society there was draining on me. Social Anxiety and California don't mix. Not that Las Vegas would probably be any better, but Cheryl was really the only friend I felt comfortable coming to. She knew everything about me, and I her. She knows my past – the loss of my parents in my pre-teens, the loss of my baby sister just 2 years after. The foster homes. And...probably my darkest secret, my experiences with paranormal activity since my sister died.

Growing up, even though I was the older sister by two years, I was the one terrified of everything, and terribly shy. I hated the dark. I hated meeting new people. I was afraid of heights. I was afraid of being alone, but I also hated being the center of attention. So when you take all that into consideration, of course I was also the sister afraid of monsters and ghosts and the bumps in the night.

But my sister, she was afraid of nothing. She went headfirst into everything she did without a worry or care in the world. Even though I was the older sister, she was the one often comforting me when I was upset or scared.

I never had any kind of paranormal experiences until my sister died.

Growing up, you hear stories of ghosts and of places being haunted, and you believe it, because it was smarter to believe in it and be cautious than to not believe in it and have something horrible happen to you.

But then my parents died. 

I was 12-years-old. My sister, Emily, was 10-years-old.

One particular night, my father - who owned a sporting cards shop - had to work later than normal. His shop was just starting to get popular in the city of Halifax, Nova Scotia – where we lived at the time – and he had gotten more stock in. Not wanting to leave it until morning, he decided to check the stock that night.

After feeding us dinner, and waiting for our babysitter to arrive, my mother went down to the store to help him, knowing it would make the task go more quickly. My sister and I were pretty well behaved kids, maybe a little spoiled, but we got along well.