Destiny's Gate

by Lee Bice-Matheson

  I took a shower trying to scrub the markings off, and eventually came to the conclusion that the tattoo was permanent. I washed my scraped knee with soap and flinched as it burned, so raw and fragile. Collapsing onto the shower floor, weak from exhaustion, I wondered if I had crossed a permanent line into the world of the supernatural.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Hanna’s Premonition

  Waking up on the bathroom floor on All Saints’ Day was not the best way to begin the month of November. Although I felt strangely rested, I grew increasingly anxious as I remembered the tattoo on my body and began shivering from the cold. Bolting upright, I sat back down again, unsteady and light-headed. Note to self: must eat soon. Once I regrouped, I stood up and gazed in the mirror — the tattoo was gone! Had I imagined it, or was someone playing tricks on me? Sighing relief, I quickly brushed my teeth and changed into my pyjamas. I guessed it to be after six in the morning as I heard chickadees chirping and robins singing. No one would be up early after last night; sleeping soundly in bed was the perfect thing to do. Fluffing my pillows and straightening my sheets and duvet always made me feel better before I threw myself onto the antique daybed. I needed some down time to relax, without having to think about events of the past four days.

  As I said my protection prayer before falling asleep, I was asked to close my eyes and envision the room in which I had first seen the man in the white robe seated at the rectangular desk. It was now full of black robes and He pronounced: No one has ever transitioned this many souls as a human — look at how many you have transitioned! And he pointed his finger from left to right at a football stadium sized room, jammed full. I watched as these souls marched forward and walked into the light. You were their beacon of light in the darkness. Well done, Paige. Now you must rest.

  I faded into a deep slumber and had a beautiful, peaceful dream. Hanna and my grandparents were laughing and dancing in the dining room, and when I awoke, I felt joyful.

  Remembering the night grandpa shared about our heritage and All Saints’ Day or Souls’ Day and his explanation that depending on which religion one belongs to, it falls on November first or second. I decided to Google it and found the two remembrances merged onto the first day of November, through history. It did not surprise me to be asked to continue praying for lost souls walking the earth, to transition through to the white light for the good of all Humankind. And this, in fact, I did for the next two days and into the third, to ensure as many lost souls as possible, or earthbound spirits, walked into the light. When it was done, I felt exhausted. On the fourth morning, I was shown inside the football stadium sized room again and the numbers of lost souls had dwindled. I eventually witnessed the room full of white robed people, clapping and waving at me, as the last lost soul transitioned. The man in the white robe with the white beard stood up and said, Paige, you have empathized with people who have sinned and committed crimes. Based upon your belief that if parents had given the love and respect to their child as they should have, instead of trying to control and oppress them, these children may have become better people. That belief translated into your empathy for lost souls who endlessly walk this earth — souls who choose not to leave and transition through the white light. You were their beacon of hope, their white light — your aura attracted them and they transitioned because of your help through the light to the Other Side. You will be exhausted and we will remain here to protect you in case there are any stragglers that try to attach to you and avoid transitioning. Do not try to speak to any spirits from the Other Side until I inform you it is okay. It could permanently harm you, if you try. My child, you have done a great thing for humankind.” And He smiled.

  It took several weeks for me to feel myself again. However, it was a vacation of sorts. I did not hear anyone communicating telepathically with me, whether it was Peggy asking me to come and visit her, Mackenzie warning me, Conall leading the way along the path in the forest, Grey Owl requesting me to go heal by the babbling brook, the man with the white face and white hair braided over each shoulder guiding me, or the commanding voice requesting I pray for lost souls. I did not see nor hear from Allan Brewer, and Dexter seemed to have disappeared altogether. Carole was wrapped up in helping her father with their home-based wellness business with First Nations’ medicines. There was stillness and I felt peaceful, knowing in my heart that I had made a difference for the future of humanity, and saved my friends and family in the process.

  It was ‘Movember’ — the guys at my high school brandished their interpretation of a moustache or beard, or both, to raise money for prostate cancer. Even our teachers joined in the fun. A week into it, a girl named Ginger, decided she would join the cause as well. Each day, Ginger came to school sporting a moustache borrowed from the drama department. And one by one, the senior girls showed up wearing plastic, or paper, or the wildest looking moustaches made from other materials. There was even one made of straw. I was beginning to like this school with its small town charm and the support they demonstrated for each other.

  One day Ginger caught up with me in the hall and asked, “Where did you move from, Paige?”

  I answered, “Scarberia.”

  “Oh, I’ve never heard of that place — is it in Russia?” Ginger asked earnestly.

  I laughed aloud and replied, “No, sorry, I’m laughing because it’s a nickname my mom gave to the city where I was born — Scarborough. You know, part of Toronto.”

  Ginger laughed with me. “I get it. That’s funny — like Scarborough plus Siberia equals Scarberia. I guess you didn’t like the place too much?”

  “Oh, I loved it...my mom didn’t. She was born and raised here.”

  “You’re kidding? What’s her maiden name?” Ginger’s electric blue eyes dilated.

  And on that question, I hesitated. I studied her face with lily white skin, noticing her curly blonde hair and those eyes. They seemed so familiar. Could she handle the truth? Do I tell her it’s O’Brien, or do I make something up? Was this leading to — a friendship? Then she would become part of my life and get dragged into my complicated world. I started to panic and blurted out that I had received a text and must leave immediately for home.

  Ginger looked disappointed at my response and I felt horrible inside. Something told me to walk away from her. It was not often that happened to me though I had learned to pay attention to my gut instincts.

  “Paige, you’re home early. Is everything okay?” Hanna asked.

  “Sure, I’m fine. Just a bit of a sore stomach,” I replied as innocently as I could.

  “Paige, are you sure? Is there something wrong?” Hanna persisted.

  “Well, if you must know, I met a girl at school named Ginger and I got a weird feeling about her. She wanted to know about our family name and I just shut right down and told her I had to leave. It’s strange. I’m not usually that private…” I sat down on the kitchen nook bench and folded my hands on the table.

  “Hmm... That’s interesting, all right. You probably were right in what you did. Don’t worry, Paige. Remember to always trust your gut.”

  Hanna exited the kitchen, and there, on the counter, was a tuna sandwich on whole wheat bread next to a note. I walked over and it read: Sometimes, Paige, we don’t know why our gut tells us to fight or take flight. Always trust in yourself. H.

  Oh my…Hanna saw what happened to me at school? It is preternatural living at O’Brien Manor and I feel like I am losing control. Can I handle this?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Haunting by Bradford

  My birthday was the nineteenth of November, and I was a proud Scorpio. When I was younger, I used to make a habit of reading my horoscope for fun. Lately, I had not had the time. As I walked home from school along the pebbled road, I decided to browse my cell for the local Camlachie Times’ horoscopes and there it was, in print, no less. Underneath the entry for Scorpio was — Happy Birthday dear Paige. Sorry to miss yo
u on your special day. Love Mom and Dad. It caught me by surprise. I began to cry and then my cell phone rang. I was never so happy to hear mom’s voice. She announced they were coming home for Christmas and would celebrate my birthday then. As she shared events about life in Italy, my smile widened. I could not wait to see my parents. By the time they returned to O’Brien Manor, it will have been four months since I last saw them.

  Overjoyed, I sprinted along the cobblestone drive and past the stone gate to O’Brien Manor. I heard loudly and clearly, Paige, we’ve got good news. Your parents are coming home for your birthday. And in my mind’s eye, I saw a vision of Conall and Mackenzie together, holding hands, giggling like little kids. I grinned and nodded in response not wanting to burst their bubble that I had already heard the good news, the old fashioned human way, via cell phone.

  Walking along the driveway and entering through the oversized front doors, I remembered the first day that my family and I had crossed the threshold into the manor. How much I had changed since then! Moving back to mom’s childhood home was the key to my destiny. Destiny’s Gate popped into my mind. I had ‘woken up inside’, to the gifted part of my soul, when I first walked into the O’Brien Manor. That’s when I awoke to who I was. And I was beginning to love it. Coming home to Conall and Mackenzie and being able to communicate soul to soul with them was amazing. It made me feel safe and warm inside much like a big, energized, sunshine-filled-hug full of love. And if people wanted to judge or dissect gifted people like me, I understood in that moment, it was not my problem, it was theirs. I would never want to operate solely on the human plane. I lived between two worlds now, and was comfortable with it and just beginning to understand the wonderment of it all.

  Distracted by my revelation, I almost missed a presence in the foyer until I hit the hallway leading towards the dining room. I then backed up, and there on the staircase landing was the boy from my visions clad only in his torn black pants. I felt an overwhelming urge to follow him, and as if under a spell, found myself being lured by the boy to the pull-down stairs for the attic. It was peculiar to be led to mom’s favourite hiding place by this spirit. Curiosity won as I pulled the stairs down and methodically climbed up. I popped my head up into the attic, and spied Bradford, waiting for me. Shutting my eyes reflexively, I was terrified to open them. There stood Bradford right next to my head. I felt so betrayed by the boy but accepted that perhaps he had no choice in his destiny other than to lead me to his uncle. I said a hasty, In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, please bless and protect me as I walk in my path today, Amen, while crossing my chest.

  I commanded, “You are not welcome here. You must leave my family alone — my grandparents, parents and Hanna! Leave at once.”

  I boldly entered the attic and likened it to entering a meat butcher’s locker. The room felt frigid, and there was a whirling of energy spinning around me. It became so forceful; I closed my eyes and spoke confidently, “No matter what your sins are or this family’s, you will be forgiven and accepted by Creator to transition through the white light, easily and efficiently. If you need me to call on any of your family to come and help you leave this earthly plane, I would be happy to. Just give me a name.”

  The swirling energy encircled me at top speed. I remained calm for the first time, and knew once again, this was my destiny; to help stuck spirits move on through the light, regardless of their sins of the past. Creator would forgive them and they would live in a better place with family members.

  Above the noise, I cried, “I am calling upon all good spirits to help me remove Bradford and his nephew. Creator, our guardian angels, and any family members that can help these two poor lost souls who are suffering, please come forward.” Then I spoke directly to Bradford, “My family is not to be blamed for your nephew’s torture. It was done generations ago and all must be forgiven and forgotten, including your hatred of the O’Brien’s. And you must forgive yourself.”

  Without my consent, Bradford entered my body, and shared his rage and hatred. As I peered around, it felt like someone had put a yellow veil over my eyes; everything looked distorted as viewed from another realm. I heard a whisper, Oh my, you’re stronger than I thought. It only made me become more insistent, “I am coming from a place of love to help you and your nephew to get past this tragedy by forgiving those who have sinned against you.” When I finished speaking, he left my body and I began to say the Lord’s prayer; light flowed into the room. It felt as if a hurricane vacuum swirled around Bradford and his nephew, sucking up both spirits. I was relieved and fascinated by this. The most beautiful, peaceful energy filled with grace, warmth and love surrounded me like a cloak. It was a blessed feeling, and it dawned on me — I was overjoyed to have helped two lost souls who had been stuck here roaming this good earth, unsure how to leave or let go of their hatred and agony. I sat down at the small table with the china dolls, and was immediately comforted by my mother’s positive energy as if she were right there in the room. I began to cry happy tears as I knew something paramount had happened; a miracle. Little did I know what a difference I could make, with the guiding hand of Creator and my spirit friends.

  Manoeuvring my way down the flimsy pull-down stairs from the attic, I absent-mindedly turned around and pushed them up, remembering to close the latch, and delightfully descended the beautiful dark walnut staircase until I reached the landing. I remembered back to the day when I ran my hands along the carvings in the railing. If memory served me, there was a break in the pattern on the rose covered wallpaper and I ran my fingers horizontally along it until I discovered a small knob near the bottom of the wall above the trim. When I depressed it, a small half door opened. Gasping aloud, I covered my mouth as I was concerned my grandparents or Hanna might have heard me. I crouched down to enter a full-sized hallway leading to who knows where, determined to find out. As always, Hanna’s timing was unbelievable. She called my name to come for tea. I quickly backed out, shut the door, scrambled down the staircase and bumped into Hanna at the bottom.

  “Paige, where were you? I’ve been calling you for fifteen minutes! I heard you come in the front door.” Hanna looked at me suspiciously.

  “I was just hanging out upstairs and admiring the grounds. It’s our first snowfall of the year and on my birthday, no less. Mom and I always love the first snowfall.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. Yes...your birthday. Happy birthday, dear. I wanted to know — what would you like to eat tonight: beef, chicken or seafood? I think I have some shrimp in the freezer or I could run out and get something fresh for dinner?” Hanna smiled and tucked my hair behind my right ear. I thought it was odd because that was what mom did when she was sentimental.

  “Don’t make a fuss, Hanna. I don’t like it when people make a big deal about my birthday, honest.” I felt self-conscious on my birthday because I was not quite sure how to respond to the attention — must be an only child thing. Eyes seemed to always be upon me.

  “Okay, I’ll figure something out for you, Paige. Turning seventeen is a big deal in this family.”

  Hanna walked away and I grabbed her by the arm. “Wait, Hanna. Why?”

  “Because at seventeen you are spiritually more powerful and beginning to understand your gift. It’s a time when you become strong enough to counter evil forces around you. Didn’t your grandfather talk to you about this?” Hanna broke my hold and continued walking toward the kitchen. She was right. The person to ask was grandpa...or Peggy.

  With this latest revelation, I yelled to Hanna that I would be back in time for dinner. Not waiting for a response, I quickly fled the manor. Peggy was long overdue for a visit.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Paige’s Big Surprise

  The snowfall felt light and fluffy beneath my feet as I ran along the gravel road to Peggy’s house. Only a few inches had fallen, as I gleefully observed the flakes swirling around in the light wind. I felt invigorated with the crisp, clean
smell in the air. I sprinted to Peggy’s white picket fence and unlatched the old wooden gate. Collecting myself, it seemed odd that Peggy was not greeting me. Banging on her freshly installed red door, I became concerned, and tried the door knob, finding it unlocked. I stepped inside, calling her name. Upon entering the communications room, the antique lamp was not turned on and shadows were cast upon the bookshelves.

  “Surprise!” shouted Carole and Peggy.

  “Oh my goodness, you almost gave me a heart attack! No kidding. What are you up to?” I stopped to catch my breath.

  Peggy turned the table lamp on and there they were, hiding in the corner. Carole held a cake while Peggy lit the candles. I was very grateful for their friendship. Tea and double chocolate cake was just what I wanted. I shook my head laughing at both of them with delight.

  Carole shared, “I’m so sorry, Paige, I haven’t seen you much lately. I’ve been helping my dad with his wellness shop. I’ve been taking inventory of our medicines. He hasn’t been feeling well.”

  “No problem, Carole. I’ve been a bit...busy lately too. I’m so glad to be here with you both today. This is the best birthday yet.” I sensed it troubled her more than she was willing to express and because it was my birthday celebration, she did not want to go into any more detail.

  Peggy left the room and returned with a gift wrapped in gold foil and a rainbow coloured bow. I beamed as she presented it to me.

  “Our gift is handmade for you, Paige. Carole and I believe you are ready for this.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said, as I graciously accepted the gift.

  By this point, I was extremely curious to see what they were referring to. I predicted the content by its size — probably a large photo of some sort. Basking in their enthusiasm, I methodically unwrapped the gift, savouring the moment, and as it peeked out of the foil, I was surprised to see two needle-pointed poems side by each, in a wooden frame, which read: