‘You must go back. You will recover and you’ve much do to in your life before you can join us. You’re to go back for Alison, she needs you.’
Only at that point did Kirsten feel that she was being robbed. ‘But I don’t know any Alison,’ she said. ‘Please let me come with you.’
Her father shook his head. Kirsten felt the image fading. Then she must have fallen asleep. She was woken by her husband bringing the children in to show her some of the decorations they had been making for Christmas Day.
Kirsten had no idea whether what she had seen was a dream or not, but for the first time she felt better. The next day passed wonderfully for her and she went back into hospital to be told she was on the mend. She came to me because she wasn’t sure. There were things about what had happened she didn’t understand. Most importantly, she’d no idea who Alison was. She needed to find out.
‘Well, that’s not a problem,’ I told her. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know already. My vibes all tell me you’re pregnant.’
This was, of course, a great shock to Kirsten. She already had three children and a fourth – well, that would make things difficult, she felt. Was I sure?
‘I’m very sure!’ I told her. ‘What’s more, it’s a little girl.’
In this respect I was proved right. Kirsten did have a baby daughter, just under eight months later. Naturally, she called her Alison. Even then, as she remembered what had happened on that Christmas Eve, she still had cause to wonder about many things. Had she really been as close to death as all that? Was what she saw a vision of heaven? Did her parents and grandparents really watch over her?
Eventually, as Alison grew into a lovely little girl, there were no doubts. ‘That’s granddad,’ she said one day, pointing out a picture of Kirsten’s dad, one that had been taken three months before his death. ‘He wasn’t well then.’
‘Yes,’ Kirsten was amazed. ‘But how do you know?’
The little girl smiled. ‘Because I’ve met him.’
The Man who Went to his Own Funeral
Old John McFarlane was a very determined man – so determined, in fact, that he went to his own funeral and was seen there by no fewer than four people. I got to hear of it when one of them came to me for a reading.
Since she was his daughter, it seemed natural that Shona would be one of the first to notice the man in respectful black, standing at the fringes of the crowd. He was only there for a second or two but, to quote her own words, ‘she knew her own father when she saw him’.
John McFarlane had been ill for some time and had died only a few days earlier. But it seemed he wanted to go to the funeral. Why? It was something I immediately wanted to know. Even before I had put the question, however, Shona told me. ‘He wanted to see who was there,’ she said. How did she know? Well, apparently, John came to her in a dream two days later and told her. He was a bit of a mischievous charmer. That much I certainly picked up on from the reading, where he came over to me and said there was no harm done, he hadn’t intended to frighten anyone!
Shona came to see me because she was worried about her mum. Since the funeral, this lady’s health had gone downhill – she had seen John that day but that was not the reason for her deterioration in health. With someone as strong-willed as John about, it seemed silly not to ask him. Clear as day, I heard him say, ‘She just misses me!’ He also kept using the word ‘dream’. I believed he was communicating through this medium, using it to tell Shona to get in touch with him, through me, if there was anything worrying her at all.
My own vibes, incidentally, weren’t bad. I could see many happy occasions for Shona’s family in the future, all with her mum there. This suggested to me that whatever illness her mum had, it was temporary. In this I was proved correct.
The next time Shona contacted me, she was in a state. Her dad had come to her, again in a dream, and explained there was nothing seriously wrong with her mum and she wasn’t to worry. But then he had told her he didn’t know if he would be back, although he would always watch out for her. It was almost as if he’d got himself into bother by attending his own funeral. I had to admit it was quite daring of him really. In all my work with the paranormal, I’d not come across it very often.
When Shona came for another reading, this time there was no sign of John. He’d quite clearly said his goodbyes to her, several times really, if the appearance at the funeral and the dreams were anything to go by. And, in its way, although his actual appearance at the funeral had been unnerving, it was oddly comforting too.
It had said to Shona that her dad was with her always and that death was only a veil between them. Knowing that had helped her through a difficult time and allowed her to help her mum. In many ways John’s appearances were a gift, one she had been grateful to receive.
‘Peter Put the Kettle on’
We’ve all heard of Polly and her little friend Sukey’s antics with the kettle, but this is the lesser-known tale of Peter who much preferred ‘teasmaids’ when it came to boiling up a cup of tea. Peter was the husband of a client of mine. He had been dead for six months when she came to see me. Although grieving she had a secret that made it easier for her to accept Peter’s death. This was the belief that he wasn’t really gone. In fact, he’d never been gone. From the first time she heard him turning over in bed to switch on the machine for their morning cuppa, she knew.
The couple had always had a teasmaid, one of those little machines that makes the morning cup of tea. And they’d liked having one so much, they had one on each side of the bed. First of all, the radio alarm would go off; then Peter would reach over and put on both teasmaids and the teapots would start to churn. Regular as clockwork, every morning, he made this his first duty.
After Peter’s death, both machines stopped working! Obviously, this wasn’t normal and it greatly upset my client. That was why, having shed tears about it, she was so astonished a few days later when she heard the switch click on her own teasmaid and the chug chug of the mechanism as if it was brewing up a cuppa. She sat up but there was no one there. Her teasmaid was on – something she hadn’t done and it couldn’t have done itself.
At first my client thought she was dreaming. The next morning, however, she heard the ping of the switch, then the chug chug of the cuppa brewing itself. Again, she sat up and, as she did, she also heard footsteps going down the stairs. For a moment she froze. Was someone in the house? The sound was very like Peter. Then she heard the hall window being opened and she smiled. Peter had always done that when he was alive. Now she was certain. He hadn’t really gone.
My client has continued from that day to this to hear Peter. There isn’t a morning that goes by without the teasmaid clicking into action. His has still never worked, which makes it all the more strange that hers always switches itself on! After a few moments, she hears him going down the stairs.
On other occasions, too, when she has been unbearably lonely, she says, ‘I have felt him snuggle into my back and put his arms protectively around me. I know some people will say this is wishful thinking, but it’s not. I know he’s there.’
I think it would take a particularly cold-hearted cynic to disagree. I can tell you now I’ve always believed her. Not just because of the business with the teasmaid but because of the amount of letters I’ve received about similar experiences – the presence of a loved one continuing to carry out all the little tasks they did in life.
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