THE Hale-Bopp comet had been of closest proximity to Earth on March 22, 1997, and consisted of a variety of elements: ice, rock, carbonatious crondites, methane, as well as organic chemicals such as ethanol, carbon and silicates. However, Hale-Bopp’s run passed Earth apparently had been of greater substance than that perceived by hundreds of millions of Earth folk. Indeed, at its closest point to Earth while passing our way, our planet was engulfed by the contents of the comet’s three, potent tails — one of which consisted of ions, the second of dust and the third of a thin tail of sodium atoms.
Due to the relatively close passing by this comet and its tails (not due to come back our way for about another 2,370 years), an extremely small quantity of Earth’s populace comprised of psychically orientated people had their varying abilities (some even greatly) enhanced and for some non-psychic-majority folk to witness.
Very few psychics could actually manipulate universal temporal reality and thus foresee future events — both of a good nature or bad, the latter being perhaps an approaching natural disaster — while some psychically talented people could sense the presence of spirits, be they residual or sentient, or see in their mind’s eye the exact location of a missing person — dead or alive.
As such occurred, it was recalled by some folk that about three centuries prior to the near passing of Hale-Bopp, one prominent and credible German psychic stated that her “spirit guide” — a proclamation that had gotten her hung by the neck — communicated “a knowledge” to her that on this precise date such a significant comet would pass, more specifically the zenith of its proximity to Earth, during which its three tails’ variety of unique non-Earthly elements would engulf the planet, thus settling onto Earth’s surface, though for no more than 60 seconds. This would enhance the psychic abilities held by an extremely small number of people who’d just by chance come into direct contact with the tails’ elements during that brief 60-second period. When asked by her fellow villagers why only these few psychics will be affected by the comet’s three tails’ elements, the renowned psychic replied that her “spirit guide” revealed to her that those few psychics had endured severe mental illness and then died an untimely, unnatural death in their previous life as a result of the mental illness. Unfortunately, they’d once again be afflicted with severe mental illness during their current incarnation.
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“It seems that I’ll never really get used to it all,” said the renowned psychic, “to the spiritual infestations, and the hairs on my arms standing on end.”
Patric Walsh closed his eyes and slowly took in a very deep breath; in through the nose and releasing it between his lips, as though he was attempting to inhale the residence’s entire atmosphere, spirits and all. He was standing at the foot of the mansion’s oak wood staircase, carpeted in poppy red.
“It’s here,” he whispered. “They’re here; and they’re immense in energy — very strong energy. May I walk through all of the rooms and spaces within the entire mansion?”
“Yes, by all means,” eagerly replied mansion owner Stockwell Phylmyg (pronounced as fil-mij), also owner/operator of the local ten-acre silver mine.
A slight echo emanated from his wife of forty-seven years, Myra, who added, “You can go as you please, Mr. Walsh. Shall we … ?”
She was just beginning to lead him up the stairs but was cut off by her overly assertive, interruptive husband. Although she came across as one with an inferior demeanor towards her husband, she nonetheless was truly the bravest of the two (and Patric required no ESP to realize this fact), yet she suppressed the fact for the sake of her rather pompous husband’s ego, basically getting her own way without any confrontation.
“Dear,” she asked of her husband, “please allow me the privilege? … This way, sir,” she casually asserted, guiding the psychic slowly up the stairs to the first floor. “I’ve actually seen them float up and down these very stairs, and I’ve observed their details — they appeared to me very much like light-blue, translucent mist; I’ve also seen them, again, float up and down the staircase but at the east end.”
On its exterior the mansion was egg-shell white. It offered a crescent moon shaped introduction, consisting of a driveway entrance half circling into a driveway exit. Within this curvature was a piece of well-kept grass that surrounded two small pear trees, all taking up about fifty-five square meters. The only noteworthy aspect of the mansion itself are the two jade-green-marble angels stationed just up above the main doorway with their stature of apparent prayer, perhaps attempting to stir God’s will to rid the mansion of its non-corporeal inhabitants.
“Please, Myra,” Patric softly requested of her, raising his hand respectfully. “Please, do not tell me where or when you witnessed an apparition or any other ghostly phenomena. I need to not be, in a sense, contaminated by direct knowledge of a residence’s corporeal inhabitants’ experiences with the supernatural.”
She immediately fell silent, allowing him to climb the stairs up to the carpeted hardwood of the first floor, followed closely behind by Stockwell.
It was with his first step onto that floor that the forty-year-old Patric sensed something that he’d sensed on other such occasions, as both a spiritual and residual haunt psychic. There was something about the place, specifically the haunting, that was to do with him, personally and directly; something like deja vu, yet it wasn’t. He had been there before, though not in this lifetime but rather many decades before, maybe centuries (for it’s been around for ages, though no telling for certain the extent). More so, while he sensed both entity and residual haunt, he psychically knew that he was inter-dimensionally linked and even familiar with not only the mansion’s current haunted floors, walls and present spirits; in fact, he somehow knew of everyone who had lived there over its countless years.
Apparently, a part of everything and everyone that had a connection with the mansion was left behind.
Almost simultaneous with this revelation-like sensation was an impression of spiritual familiarity, of souls, all of whom he somehow recognized, along with an environmental familiarity.
Following the sudden overwhelming sensation, he took but five steps along the reaching hallway before feeling dizzy and nauseous. But he didn’t even have a chance to vomit onto the Phylmygs’ expensive carpeting, for he lost consciousness, falling forwards to the floor like a wet dishcloth.
The couple was left stunned and bewildered. Nevertheless, Stockwell, a field medic during the Korean War, did his duty, confirming that Patric’s pulse and breathing were still safely regular or at least sufficiently near being so.
“Did the prestigious psychic just faint on our very floor?” said Myra, sarcastically.
“Indeed, he did,” replied her husband. “Well, we certainly won’t be paying his bill.”
Myra chuckled, as did he.
About five minutes lapsed before Patric regained consciousness.
“What happened?” he asked, with the couple standing over him with expressions of curiosity.
“Are you alright?” Myra dutifully asked. “No broken bones or anything?”
“You fainted,” Stockwell informed the psychic before reaching down to give him a hand.
“Thank you, kindly. That very rarely occurs, but when it does, it just overwhelms me so.”
“If you can’t go on further, to continue, with your … ” Stockwell intentionally began giving the psychic a way out of his job there, but he’d have none of such quitting-on-the-spot.
“No; no — I’ll continue. It’s what I do for a living, after all.”
The couple stepped back a couple feet to give him some maneuvering space. He again took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“To the spirits present — please, speak to me,” he requested, with naught but a conspicuous silence to follow. “To the spirits present — please, speak to me.”
The couple held their breath each time Patric called out for the spirits — be they good, bad or a bit of both — to connect with him, or better yet with them all. Again he stated, “To the spirits present — please, speak to me … ”
The air surrounding all three chilled to the point of exhaling vapor.
“They’re with us; here, right now,” the psychic noted, slowing turning full-circle. “They’re all about us, here.”
“But what do they want of us?” Myra anxiously asked. “What should Stockwell and I do?”
“Shush!” her husband sternly rebuked his wife’s interruption of Patric’s apparent success. “Let him concentrate!”
His eyes still shut, he smiled then said, “They really don’t desire anything of you two as the current owners of this place, except for your acceptance of them. They only wish to remain here, peacefully.”
“But they should know that they don’t need permission from us to stay,” said Myra, somewhat bewildered. “We can’t keep them away, keep them from staying here, with us.”
“Ahhh, but to them you do need to give permission,” the psychic corrected her. “The spirits here — there are four of them — they’re actually quite passive. You see, they’re aware that they’re in spiritual form, and in their corporeal lifetime they also lived here, so they know how they would’ve felt had there been spirit forms here with them in life. Yet these four souls were but a very small portion of the full, actual quantity of souls that have had contact with this residence. These four, each one of them, simply chose to not leave, to not move on ‘into the light,’ the hereafter, or to another incarnation.”
Patric momentarily went silent, closed his eyes once again while taking in and releasing another deep breath. He then continued explaining that, “Yes, there are four of them; four souls — one of whom was a teenager when he died from a chicken pox outbreak, along with his little sister. The other two are older women, seniors, and wish to keep the cause(s) of their deaths private. But they suffer not, they all tell me, and will remain here for as …”
“Well, I’m not at all surprised!” Myra rudely cut in, with her husband lightly nudging her with his elbow. Nonetheless, she added, “I’ve seen them — I’ve seen them all!”
Having left the Phylmygs’ mansion, Patric stopped at Starbucks for a large latte. There, seated with his soothing hot beverage, he slid over a copy of the day’s newspaper; and turning open the front page, spotted a notable headline.
“Psychics Seeking Hauntings For Ghost Busting See Sudden Business Boom.” Just below the headline-adjoining story was another headline and story about how the Hale-Bopp comet’s three tails have left some unknown elements directly within Earth’s orbit and thus contacting the planet surface.
Driving home from the coffee shop, he mused over the fact that his experience at the Phylmygs’ residence was far more than just the clichéd notion of de ja vu. He had been at that mansion before — many, many years ago — as though it was a powerful magnet for souls that were of the immediate area. Spirits of a time from as far back as pre-industrial society, though of exactly which year, decade or century, nobody was certain.
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Patric migrated to Columbia where he experienced fulfillment after becoming involved with that nation’s indigenous peoples, their cultures and religions, all of which worked wonders for his unrelenting chronic anxiety. Since he found peace of mind with the indigenous peoples there, he returned the favor by offering his psychic ability to extra-dimensionally connect the living with their deceased loved-ones and ancestors. He resides there to this day and enjoys a very healthy, happy way of life.
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