The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but between them. They walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen.~ The Dunwich Horror by H. P.Lovecraft
I love a good ghost story.
This time of year lends itself so well to tales of things that go bump in the night. All Hallows and Christmas wouldn’t be the same without a spine tingling, nerve trembling, mind bending yarn about the unexplained.
The story I am about to tell you actually happened.
The College of Psychic Studies is like my second home. Over the years I have seen many people come and go. There are several others who are mostly unseen but every now and again make their presence felt. This story is about an incident that happened many moons ago and the perpetrator, to this day, still remains wrapped in the shrouds of mystery.
I hadn’t been a consultant at the College for very long.
Each day I was there was yet another moment to learn my craft. I do believe that there is a formative period when you first become a professional. This is where spirit takes charge of your development and you receive experiences that will encourage you to be the best version of yourself both as a reader and as a worthy ambassador for the world of light.
I think I am one of the most sceptical psychics on the planet. I am well known for being down to earth and I am certainly not given to flights of fancy. However the events that came about on a lovely sunny afternoon in springtime will forever be absolute proof of the existence of another realm that lies beyond our normal scope of recognition.
Strolling into reception, I picked up my appointments for the day and was assigned my room to work in. It was nice to see the smiling faces of the girls behind the desk and after the customary salutations I made my way to room 6. This was before there was a general refurbishment in the building and all the rooms were renumbered. Room 6 was on the third floor and had a reputation for being active. I had taught classes in this room and I was aware that there was a different energy in that room, different to the others; the space had a presence that could neither be seen or heard, only felt.
Room 6 was situated near the lift and there was talk that entities from a presumed nearby plague pit came up the lift shaft and ran amok especially in room 6. There was another theory that a deceased and unhappy medium, who once upon a time had been a ‘test’ medium, returned every now and again to claim her authenticity in the room she loved so much. There were other rumours of how the room had been used for planchettes, trumpets and trance.
All the rumours had no bearing on me and as none of it could be proved or substantiated, I chose to ignore it all.
So, on this particular sunny day in springtime, I set myself up in room 6. I opened the window to let some air in and I shuffled the chairs around and generally got myself ready for whatever was to come…
There was a knock on the door. A pretty young lady came in, she shook my hand, glanced around and pulled up one of the chairs and proceeded to make herself comfortable. I remember she had a bright froth of curls and an engaging smile and I warmed to her immediately. The sitting began as they always do, she outlined her situation, expressed her feelings and as it turned out she was keen to find another home as she had an intense dislike for her current place.
As the sitting got under way it became increasingly obvious that she was under a lot of stress which was taking a toll on her health. She felt stuck, her partner was unhelpful and she longed to return to her home town. The green of the country was calling her and she felt that the city was a prison.
The further we went into the reading I became more restless, something wasn’t right. At first I felt that I was over empathising with her story.
I began to sense that there was another ‘her’ in the room almost as if this lady had another body and it had stepped into the room.
I could feel an energy walking around the room. My eyes darted everywhere, the hair on the back of my neck bristled yet I could get no handle on this interloper.
I then realised that this roaming energy was in fact an aspect of her.
It was an aspect that had remained dormant and unloved for a long while and was reaching out for recognition. I knew that only something honest and deep would perhaps bring her the wholeness that she was seeking.
We spoke with her loved ones, her grandmother I think. The lady with the bright curls was given advice and encouragement on how to move forward but there was still this presence in the room...I hoped that by the time we finished these selves would once more be reconnected.
The consultation drew to a close.
We smiled at each other. I felt relieved. She stood up and got her jacket and went to open the door. It wouldn’t budge! We looked at each other nervously, how could that be?
I went to try, the handle still turned but the door was well and truly fast. For a whole moment I felt a panic rise in my throat. Was the lady’s other body responsible or was it something else?
I tried to open the door again and still no joy. The door would not open!
Fortunately for us I had my mobile phone. Yes! I thought, I can ring reception and get someone to let us out. A couple of minutes later I heard one of the girls outside, the handle turned and the door swung open...easily!
My client and I exchanged totally perplexed glances. We came out of the room and after thanking me she left and went about her business. I stood transfixed. What had just happened there?!
There is no doubt that clients are special teachers; they are conduits for what we need to learn but sometimes things are simply left as a mystery.
“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvellous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day."
—"Old Man's Advice to Youth: 'Never Lose a Holy Curiosity.'" LIFE Magazine (2 May 1955) p. 64”