My grandmother told me a story long ago, about one of her ladies bridge club meetings, back in the fifties. For kicks, they invited a medium in the mix to read palms. You can imagine, back then, giggling housewives in a circle, such a taboo thing. The medium taking each of their hands in turn, time etched, pan scrubbing, floor mopping, hard working hands.
When the medium got to my grandma, she looked up at her, held her gaze and said, "You have the gift.....why don't you use it?"
Maybe it was that story that always kept the door open that it was possible. Maybe it's my love for a spooky story and a haunted house. I believe that everyone has the power to "see". Some stronger than others. Some forget they have the power. Some don't have time for such silly things.
It's been said that, such a gift, is passed from generation to generation. When you've seen something that you can't quiet explain. When you've heard a whisper in your ear in an empty room. Or known a truth with just your gut, it's easy to believe that genetics are a powerful thing.
It had been a while since I had an 'experience'. Not since we lived in our apartment in the university area. We were house hunting and there was a house just a block from our apt for sale. It was adorable and quirky. Then the realtor took us in the basement.
That's when I felt it.....like a prickling feeling. Then an uneasiness. Then, sometimes, someone is there. A boy..standing in the corner. And horses. I kept seeing big brown horse eyes in my mind. Then the realtor explained that the house was once the stable and was converted when they divided up the expansive farm property.
My younger sister decided to start on a path of understanding these things. We call her the lovable kook. Always outside the box, that one. So it was to her I went when, at my second job bar tending, I felt something.
It was a presence of a man, watching me in the basement, as I was storing the bottles from my shift. I told him to stay his distance, and he did. But in my head popped the name Eugene and an image of a 1920's factory worker in bib overalls and Irish cap.
I left some of the bottles and hurried from the basement.
After asking the owner if anyone had "experienced" anything, and getting his excited answer in the affirmative, my sister went to the historical society with an address and the name. The historical society answered:
Eugene Riley lived in that building in 1917. His daughter was killed in a collision with a train downtown and the car she was in, driven by Eugene's brother.
You can't imagine the chills that ran through my body!
When the medium asked my grandma that question, way back when...I wonder what the medium's answer would have been if my grandma asked back, "But what do I do with it?"
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