Yesterday evening I had to pick my 16-year-old daughter up from work. It was after 10pm as I sat in the car, in the dark, by myself.
Suddenly a song sprang into my head, a children’s song. I started to sing it out loud, though I was sure I didn’t know it, and even now, I don’t remember what it was.
With a start, it dawned on me that this is one of those ‘unusual’ moments ghost hunters are always waiting for. I realized that the song didn’t come from me, from my brain, but from something around me, outside of me.
I have been reading several books on mediumship—how to tap into your psychic center and communicate with the dead. Thus far, I had only been reading; I hadn’t put into practice what the experts were telling me to do. I figured that now was the perfect time, the perfect situation, to use the information I had been picking up from books—and a multitude of experienced mediums.
By asking an entity questions and using a series of mental images, you can receive the answers, other communication—often in depth, and even—if you are empathic—the emotional feelings of a spirit.
I began by speaking out loud:
“I know that I’m not alone. I can feel you here. Feel free to communicate with me, if this is what you desire. Are you an adult?”
A black rose instantly flashed in my mind, but also before my eyes at the same time, it’s a strange sensation to try and describe.
The answer was ‘no’.
“Are you a child?”
Instantly, a white rose appeared, in the same manner as the previous rose.
The answer was ‘yes’.
“Are you over ten years of age?”
The black rose again, another ‘no’.
“Are you under ten years of age?”
The white rose, a ‘yes’.
“Are you a boy?”
This time a blue sphere flashed before my mind. The answer was ‘yes’.
“Where are you from?”
In a split second a visual image of a US map appeared in my mind, and the state of Georgia seemed to leap from it. Again, there was the odd sensation of both seeing it in my mind and seeing it before my eyes at the same time.
“What letter of the alphabet does your first name begin with?”
White letters against a black background popped into my mind, and almost simultaneously the ‘R’ zoomed in before me.
I have experienced unusual psychic phenomenon of this type before—always white letters on a black background forming words.
“Is your name Robert?”
I’m not sure how to describe it, other than to say an instantaneous negative feeling came over me. I assumed the answer was ‘no’.
“Is your name Roger?”
Again, the only way to describe the sensation that followed is to say that it was like asking a living person if this was their name and receiving a positive response…‘yes’.
By this time I had been sitting in the car a good twenty minutes or so. My daughter would be coming any moment. They had turned out the lights in the building. I was tired and actually felt drained. I closed the ‘session” with Roger gently and positively:
“I’m going to stop for now,” I told him, “But I’ll talk with you again sometime.”
Later that night…
The girls and I had dozed off in my bedroom while we were watching TV. My husband had been watching a movie in the living room. He finally came to bed around 2am, and we shuffled everyone around, herding sleepy-eyed children to their own beds.
Of course, by the time we did this and then hubby had to tell me about the movie he had been watching, I was wide awake. And wouldn’t you know he fell asleep while I lay skimming through the channels.
I was just beginning to get drowsy when I heard it…
a crying, whimpering, sniffling child.
I had kids in various stages of flu and colds, so I immediately thought it was my youngest. I jumped up and threw my robe on so fast that I woke my husband.
“What’s the matter?” he mumbled from beneath the covers.
“Emma’s crying,” I said.
I went racing down the hallway to the couch, where she’d been sleeping the last couple nights while she was sick. Emma was sound asleep. I walked back to the hallway and paused ahead of two more doorways…Silence.
Then I heard it again, but this time it sounded as though it was coming from downstairs. I raced down two flights of stairs and stood in the family room listening for the two older children whose bedrooms are down there.
Nothing but silence.
I was so awake that I decided to sit down to the computer for a while. I spent between two and three hours blogging. And every so often I was interrupted by the sounds of a crying sniffling child.
I made several trips upstairs, even opening one of the bedroom doors to wake a daughter, just to be sure it wasn’t her. I even checked the cats—all curled onto the couches and easy chairs, warm sleepy fur balls.
I stood at the top of the stairs for several seconds to listen for the voice. Very faintly, as though from a great distance, I could hear it. Goosebumps rushed up my legs, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
About 5am, exhausted, I tried lying down to go to sleep. Intermittently, I would hear the crying child, until finally it stopped, or I fell asleep.
The next morning, after my girls were all awake and up, I asked them all how they had slept. No problems, they all declared. Everyone had a good nights sleep.
It didn’t dawn on me until then that the voice I heard may have belonged to the little boy from Georgia.