How Jen Became Clairvoyant (And Why Ghosts Keep Following Her Around)

Some kids grow up with imaginary friends. Jen grew up with ghosts.

It started on Ralston Road, in a creaky old house with chickens in the yard and horses in the pasture. At age four, Jen met her first spirit—David Kong, a little boy from the 1800s swinging from the branches of a weeping willow. He warned her not to climb the tree. “It will kill you like it did me,” he said, eyes like black holes and voice like wind through a graveyard. Most kids would’ve run. Jen ran home, told her sisters, and got teased for having a “wild imagination.”

But the ghosts kept coming.

By age eleven, Jen had moved into another old house—this time on Grandview Avenue, built by a man named Comstock who repurposed haunted hardware from old Denver homes. From her attic window, Jen could see Crown Hill Cemetery glowing in the dark. And inside the house? Let’s just say the spirits didn’t knock—they waltzed in.

Jen wasn’t alone in her ghost-hunting adventures. Her niece Dannah, two years younger and perpetually skeptical, became her reluctant assistant. Their team also included Tipper, a little black dog with a nose for the paranormal and a bark that could chase off even the creepiest of cold spots.

Together, they explored attics, creaky hallways, and the haunted grounds of Crown Hill Cemetery. They wandered the Tower of the Dead, made wishes in the Wishing Chair, and searched for Masonic ghosts with flashlights and snacks. Jen would get that familiar tingle—the one that meant a spirit was near—and Dannah would sigh, “You’re tingling again, aren’t you?”

As Jen grew older, her gift grew stronger. She toured castles in Prague and Bavaria, unaware that her ancestors had once lived in those very stone halls. The tingles returned—spectral echoes of long-dead grandparents whispering through the walls.

Her addiction to ghost-hunting blossomed. She chased orbs, shadows, and oddities in photos. She felt vibes, chills, and the unmistakable pull of the other side. Back in America, she was drawn to cemeteries and abandoned places, filling albums with ghost shots and stories. Museums and historical events became her playgrounds. And she always—always—lived in old haunted houses. On purpose.

Then came Central City. In her 30s, Jen found a place that felt like home. The ghosts weren’t shy. They were family. And Jen? She was finally where she belonged.

So many encounters, so many stories. Friends begged her to write them down.

And thus, Jens Stories was born—a portal for the haunted, the curious, and the brave. A place where folklore meets survival, and every ghost has a tale to tell.

Jennifer Vaughan Black

aka J.R. Black

🎸 Meet Dannah: Musician, Photographer, and Ghost-Hunting Sidekick

If Jens Stories had a soundtrack, Dannah would be the one playing it.

Dannah is Jen’s official photographer and lifelong partner-in-paranormal-crime. But before she ever picked up a camera, she picked up a guitar. A natural-born musician, Dannah began strumming as a child, learning alongside her parents and brother—each of them fixtures in Denver’s local music scene. From garage jams to stage lights, she’s performed across the metro area as a solo artist and songwriter, weaving soul and story into every chord. Her music carries the echoes of those she’s lost—her Mother (Jens Sister) as well as many others—whose legacy lives on in every note she plays.

When she’s not on stage, Dannah’s behind the lens, capturing Jen in all her haunted glory. From cemetery strolls to attic investigations, she’s documented years of ghost-chasing, storytelling, and theatrical mischief. Jen’s never been camera shy, and Dannah’s never missed a shot—whether it’s a spectral orb or a perfectly timed eyebrow raise.

Together, they’ve explored haunted houses, historic landmarks, and the occasional cursed chair. Dannah brings the rhythm, the eye, and the grounding presence to Jen’s whirlwind world of folklore and phantoms.

🕯️ The Devil’s Bargain: How Sir Robert’s Magic Found Its Way to Jen and Dannah

Long ago, in the misty highlands of Scotland, there lived a man who danced with shadows and dined with secrets. His name was Sir Robert Gordon, 3rd Baronet of Gordonstoun—scholar, scientist, and, as the whispers go, wizard.

They say he traveled to Italy to study the stars and numbers, but what he truly sought was forbidden knowledge. One stormy night, beneath a moon that refused to shine, Sir Robert struck a bargain with the Devil himself: thirty years of brilliance, power, and arcane mastery in exchange for his soul.

He returned to Gordonstoun changed. He built a round house—so the Devil could never corner him—and filled it with strange devices, glowing potions, and the scent of sulfur. He played cards with demons, danced with witches, and spoke in tongues no priest dared translate.

But when the Devil came to collect, Sir Robert fled—racing toward consecrated ground at Birnie Kirk. The hounds of hell nipped at his heels. Lightning split the sky. His horse screamed. And just as the church bell struck midnight, Sir Robert was thrown from his steed, landing within the sacred soil. His neck broke. His soul, it’s said, was spared.

Or was it?

The body vanished. A coffin of bricks was buried in its place. And somewhere in the ether, Sir Robert’s magic lingered—unclaimed, unfinished, waiting.

Generations passed. His daughter Lucia carried the bloodline forward, her descendants scattering across continents. And then, in Colorado, two girls were born—one the youngest of six sisters, the other her niece. Between them stood centuries, but through them pulsed the same strange energy.

Sir Robert’s magic had found its way to Jen and Dannah.

Jen, the flame-haired storyteller with a knack for attracting ghosts. Dannah, the musical mystic with a camera that seemed to catch more than just light. Together, they explored haunted houses& cemeteries. Jen unknowingly retracing the footsteps of their ancestor, while n Prague and Bavaria, Jen felt the tingle. The pull. The whisper of long-dead grandparents calling her home.

They were not just ghost hunters. They were heirs.

Sir Robert’s pact had not ended—it had evolved. His magic, once traded for knowledge, now lived in the laughter of two women chasing shadows. In the songs Dannah played. In the stories Jen told. In the tingles, the orbs, the uncanny photos. In the way haunted places welcomed them like old friends.

And so, the legend continues—not in dusty tomes or cursed towers, but in Jens Stories. Where the Devil’s bargain became a family legacy. And the magic? Well, it’s still very much alive.