It had been a long working day, and I was driving home in the dark, tired, and with plenty on my mind. I felt it coming before it hit me… or should I say passed through me. A rolling ball of negative energy, a spiteful torpedo, specifically intended for me.
I wasn’t surprised, or even frightened, but I did feel like hell. I knew exactly who the sender was, but I couldn’t be sure it was deliberate. The person in question considered herself to be incredibly ‘spiritual’, but displayed signs of emotional disturbance, played out through bizarre behaviour. I had stepped on her toes, not through malice, but through circumstance… and I suspected that her particular brand of spirituality had its roots in some pretty dark stuff. I was very, very low for a while after that – physically and mentally – and I felt trapped within a darkness in my own mind. I can’t remember how I got myself out of it, but I do know that if I had not been in a vulnerable state, if I had not been coming out of a very tough set of life experiences, the ‘psychic attack’ would have bounced off me. In fact I may not have even felt it at all.
On another occasion, a bolt of negative energy shot through my very core, but this time it was a warning – short and sharp – from what I would have to call a ghost! At the time, my family lived off the beaten track, in the middle of nowhere. Between the road and our house was an old run-down cottage, in which no-one had lived for years. I remember a lady, who came to me for a consultation, apologising for being late, and explaining that she had stopped at the cottage along the way to ask for directions… but that the ‘old man who lived there’ had stared at her from the window, making no move to open the door or speak to her. She didn’t want to upset him, so left, and managed to find us on her own. Her face was a picture when I explained that the house had not been occupied for years (and wasn’t even habitable)!
Anyway, one night I was desperate for a nap, but couldn’t get one ounce of peace from the family. So I took a pillow and a quilt, and drove down the lane, parking up outside the old cottage. I settled down on the back seat, for about 10 minutes – and then I felt it coming. I scrabbled into an upright position, intending to get the hell out of the way… but it shot straight through me, like a bolt of lightning. Have you ever tried to reverse down a muddy track, in the dark, at 100 miles an hour? I have, and I can tell you, it ain’t easy! “Okay okay, I am going!”, I shouted. Whoever or whatever it was clearly did not like intrusion. Happily, I can report that I was not left with any negative residue; as I said, it was a warning, rather than an attack… and I took the hint, clearing off, and back to my noisy family!
I have just remembered a similar kind of experience, but this time I was not alone, and the person with me felt the wave of negativity at exactly the same second. We were travelling along a country road, heading towards home, and it was as if we had driven into an invisible but antagonistic force field. I said, “ooh, I can feel something horrible”, and her head shot round, a look of horror on her face: “me too! What is it?”.
I couldn’t say for sure; maybe we just passed through some other poor soul’s s**t, or the residue of something that had been and gone. Limited by our human consciousness, there is more that we can’t explain than there is that we can! Healthy scepticism is good, and we should all definitely question and challenge that which does not make sense to us, rather than automatically dismissing it out of hand. Nevertheless, there remain many, many things for which I don’t have much of an explanation, and questions to which I can only hazard a guess!
I remember hearing a story from a woman I used to work with, maybe 30 years ago, and I absolutely believed her, in that she genuinely believed that what she had experienced was real. She and her husband had been walking home from the pub one night, chatting away, when they both became aware of what could only be described as a huge, dark shadow, moving silently towards them. She explained that they stopped in their tracks, terrified… but it passed between them, and disappeared off into the night. She believed that what they had witnessed was death – and luckily, it wasn’t looking for either of them that evening!
The Following is an excerpt from my book, How The ‘Dead’ Connect With Us – And Vice Versa:
I was 16 years old and had just started my very first job… in the mind-numbingly boring office of a large Manchester insurance company. I was a lowly junior, fobbed off with all of the duties that no-one else could be bothered with, and paid peanuts. And then Christine joined the team.
Christine was mischievous and she led me astray; rarely a day went by without us getting into trouble for this or for that (if I hadn’t landed a much nicer and better paid job, I probably would have been fired). However, one stormy, thundery day, our usually prim and proper supervisor surprised us by taking us down into the cellar beneath the big old building that housed the insurance company… to conduct a ‘seance’! To be honest, I can’t really remember what happened, except that it made a tedious day a lot more exciting, and it got us all stirred up. We wanted more!
That night, Christine travelled home with me on the bus to my sister’s house, where I was staying until I found my own flat. We had our tea and then sat down with paper, scissors, and a pen. We cut out lots of squares upon which we wrote the letters of the alphabet and the words ‘yes’ and ‘no’. We set up camp in the kitchen, arranging the squares in a circle on the table, with an upturned glass in the centre.
Now, before I go any further, I need to explain something; my sister’s name is Kate, and on the evening in question she was hosting a tupperware party (or suchlike) for a group of friends, one of whom was called Kath. They were going to be using the living room, leaving Christine and I to our own devices in the kitchen.
So, there we were, seated at the table, each with a finger lightly resting on the upturned glass, giggling like idiots… until it started to move. Backward and forward it went, in slow jerky movements, and so we decided to ask ‘it’ some questions. “What is your name?” It spelled out ‘Gill’. “Is there anything you want to tell us, Gill?” The glass slid across the table; “tell K come to me”. Fascinated, I quickly asked, “Which K do you mean? My sister, or…”, and before I’d even finished, the glass shot across the table to the square upon which was written the word ‘yes’.
“It wants Kate!” I shouted, dashing into the living room, almost tripping over my own feet. “Kate, it wants you! Come on, hurry up!”, at which point the blood drained from my sister’s face, and she threw out her hands as if to ward me – or it – off. “No! I’m not coming! Tell it to go away!”
Disappointed, I returned to the kitchen and dropped into my seat. A terrified Christine was pressed up against the back door, ready to make a dash for it if anything ghostly suddenly manifested itself – but I was determined to carry on. I placed my finger just above the glass this time, and said, “I’m sorry, she doesn’t want to talk to you. Is there anything I can help you with?” Again, before I’d even finished speaking, the glass moved swiftly across the table, and spelled out, “No, K says go away.” And then, the glass touched the letter T, followed by the letter O, and moved towards L. “It’s going to say ‘too late’, I whispered, and the glass whizzed across to the word yes. Wow. There was a weird, dense atmosphere in the little room that was almost physical, as if you could take a knife and cut a hole in it. “Okay,” I said, strongly sensing that it no longer wished to carry on with the communication. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t help you. Goodbye.” The glass moved slowly toward the letter g and then stopped… and the pressure in the room immediately dropped, returning the air to ‘normal’. I realised that I had either been holding my breath, or the density had been making it more difficult to breathe. I was also struck by the sense of sadness that had accompanied ‘Gill’s’ words, as she (?) explained that it was too late (although misspelled); Kate had said no to her, and that was the end of it. My sister was not impressed, and in hindsight, I can understand why! She had no memory of ever knowing anyone named Gill, and we never did find out who she/he/it was, or what they wanted from Kate.
But, I can tell you one thing; Christine and I almost scared ourselves to death! She was so afraid that I had to travel with her on her bus for home, and then make my way back… on my own. For days, I was sure that something shadowy was following me, and every little sound and movement made me jump. However, the worst thing was the dream. I had been sleeping with my bedroom door open, and one night I fell into an unsettled sleep, still a little disturbed and anxious. As I drifted off, I found myself watching a man as he climbed the stairs – and then all of a sudden he was right in front of me, laughing wickedly, as if he found it highly amusing to terrify me! I shot up in bed, heart pounding, stifling a scream. And that was the last time I dabbled with the ouija (well, almost the last time). But here’s an interesting little fact: remember the dark-skinned guy who cheekily raised a glass to me in the pub, giving me a shiver and causing me to disconnect? It was the same man! I recognised him instantly, even though I hadn’t thought about the ouija incident for years. It seems that he had been keeping an eye on me… possibly for my own good! I have to laugh when I remember what he was wearing as he climbed the stairs: a sheepskin coat, with the collar turned up. He reminded me of a used-car salesman! I don’t know… he was scary, but there was also a dark kind of humour about him. So, as I say, maybe his job has been to keep me in line. Or maybe not…
How The ‘Dead’ Connect With Us – And Vice Versa is available on Amazon kindle and paperback.