Again, yes.
Holding the rosary in front of me, I slowly moved toward the mirror. When I got about six inches away, the cross jerked violently toward the mirror, repeatedly banging the glass in an excited motion.
Randy and I exchanged quizzical glances; why was the cross hitting the mirror?
Perplexed, I backed up and again walked toward the mirror, and the cross dangling from the rosary repeated the same action.
“Zack,” I paused, almost afraid to ask the obvious, “are you trapped inside the mirror?”
The rosary swung back and forth wildly in excitement.
I knew that mirrors could act as portals between the earthly plane and the other side, but I wasn’t aware that a ghost or spirit could become trapped in a mirror.
“Okay, Zack. Hang tight and I’ll get you out of there,” I promised. “Randy, can I talk to you for a minute in the other room?”
Randy switched off his video camera and followed me into the living room.
“So, what’s the plan?” Randy asked when we were safely out of Sam’s earshot.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I’ve never had a ghost trapped in a mirror before. I mean, I’ve heard of it in theory, just never ran into one.”
“Right, mirrors can act as portals between this world and the other side, but how could a spirit get trapped in the mirror? I mean, just come through the portal, right?” Randy asked.
“You would think,” I shrugged. “Quite frankly the only explanation I can come up with regarding how Zack got trapped is that the portal closed before he got through, or someone intentionally sealed him in the mirror through some kind of magic.”
“Okay … so what are you going to do?” Randy looked at me expectantly.
“I’m going to try to draw him out of the mirror, I guess,” I said.
“And what if that doesn’t work? What’s Plan B?” Randy asked.
“There isn’t a Plan B,” I answered, walking away from him and back into Sam’s bedroom.
Randy sighed heavily and followed behind me, pausing only long enough to switch on his video recorder.
Having to totally focus on the task at hand, I decided to forgo the rosary to communicate with Zack, and have him communicate with me through telepathy. It required less energy for Zack to talk to me telepathically, and he would need all the energy he could get if this was going to be effective.
“Okay, Zack,” I said aloud. “This is the deal. You need to communicate with me telepathically—it will help save your energy. I’m going to get you out of that mirror, but you have to promise me one thing.”
“What?” I heard Zack say.
“You have to promise me that you will go directly into the light and not hang around here or anywhere else. Okay?” I said.
“I promise. Please help me,” Zack pleaded, desperation filling his voice.
“Okay, this is how it’s going to work, Zack. I’m going to put my hands on the mirror and force my energy into the mirror. When you feel that energy, I want you to follow it and come out of the mirror through me, then you must leave my body the second you are free. Agreed?” I said. I knew this was a risky move, but I didn’t know any other way to get this poor ghost out of the mirror.
“Agreed, I’m ready.” Zack answered.
It’s not very often that I open myself up in this manner when dealing with spirits. The main reason is that some spirits can pretend to be one thing, when in reality they are something totally different. For example, a demon can take the shape of a child spirit or a loved one who’s passed away, in order to gain your trust.
While I was really quite hesitant to do what had to be done, there really wasn’t any other way that I knew of to get Zack out of the mirror. I had to take extra precautions to protect myself and keep myself grounded. In addition, I was stalling for time to figure out what I was going to do if Zack didn’t hold up his end of the bargain.
After taking a deep breath to ground and center myself, I placed the palms of my hands on the mirror, allowing my energy to flow freely from me and into the mirror.
Almost instantly, I felt Zack’s energy begin to merge with mine. My hands started to tingle and the feeling swept rapidly up my arms and soon engulfed my entire body. Within just a few seconds, I felt Zack’s energy leave my body and felt him standing next to me.
“Do you see the light, Zack?” I asked.
“Yes, I see it. There aren’t words to even begin to thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Zack. Go in peace,” I said quietly.
“I see my family!” Zack exclaimed. With those words, I felt his energy completely leave the room.
“He’s gone into the light,” I told Randy and Sam, who were looking at me expectantly.
“Will he come back?” Sam asked.
“No, he won’t come back,” I promised. “Now, it’s time to clean house.”
I walked out of the bedroom and over to my briefcase, which I’d set on the kitchen table. I extracted a smudge stick and my bottle of holy water.
After lighting the smudge stick, made of white sage, sweet grass, and frankincense, I walked around the entire apartment making sure the smoke from the smudge stick got into every nook and cranny. As I smudged the area, in a calm but assertive voice I ordered any negative energies or spirits to leave immediately.
Once I finished smudging, I opened the holy water and systematically made my way through the apartment. I kept dipping my index finger into the holy water and making the sign of the cross on every window frame, jamb, and door I could find in the apartment.
As I worked, I commanded that any type of ghost or entity leave the space in the name of God. I could feel the energy in the rooms begin to lighten and feel less heavy.
“The house is clean. You should have no more trouble,” I announced to Sam.
I could see his jaw unclench, and the features on his face visibly relax.
“Thank you,” Sam said.
“You’re welcome. If you have any more trouble just let Randy know and we’ll come back out,” I assured him.
A few minutes later Randy and I packed up our gear and left Sam’s apartment.
It’s been well over a year, and Sam is still reporting that since we were there, all paranormal activity in the apartment has stopped.
The above story is one of the most interesting of my career as a medium and ghost hunter. It is one of those cases that will stick with me throughout my life— not because it was especially complicated, but because to find a spirit trapped in a mirror, to me, is extremely rare.
It wasn’t until Zack was already gone that I thought to ask him how he got trapped in the mirror in the first place, but it’s too late now. Zack is exactly where he’s supposed to be, and I can only imagine his anguish at being trapped in that mirror.
As I made my way home through the pouring rain, I thought about what just transpired. The entire case made perfect sense now—Zack wasn’t being destructive or malicious in his behavior toward Sam; he was simply desperately trying to get someone’s attention so he could be helped.
This case is a lesson—not just to paranormal investigators, but to everyone. Just because a ghost or spirit is acting in what you perceive to be a destructive way, it may only be the way some poor soul is crying out in desperation for assistance.
In retrospect, I wonder what would have happened to Sam and Zack if there wasn’t a psychic medium present to assist in the situation.
I suppose through a series of electronic voice phenomena, or EVP, sessions it would be possible for an experienced paranormal investigation team to figure out what was going on, but that process could be lengthy, time consuming, and in some cases, unsuccessful.
While I understand many people don’t necessarily believe in psychic mediums—and many ghost hunting teams don’t use them or use them spa
ringly because they may believe a psychic medium takes away from the legitimacy of the team—I can’t stress enough how sometimes using a psychic medium in an investigation can be efficient and, in some circumstances, more productive than not.
Many people who are experiencing paranormal activity in their homes or places of business don’t have any idea how to find a reputable psychic medium to help them with their problem. The best advice I can give on that topic is to find a trustworthy paranormal investigation team in your area, and ask them if they use psychic mediums as one of the tools in their arsenal when conducting an investigation of a possible haunting.
If you do this, don’t be afraid to ask for references, and please check out every reference they give you. If a paranormal investigation team will not give you references, then find another team.
Now before I get hate mail from paranormal teams who don’t release references due to client confidentiality, I get it, but at the end of a successful investigation, you should ask your client if you can use them as a reference for any potential clients—and get their approval in writing.
The most important thing to remember about this story is that sometimes not everything is as it appears when a ghost, spirit, or other type of entity is present. Every ghost, every spirit, every case is unique and different in its own way. Take nothing at face value.
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Chapter 2
Nathanial
Sometimes children have imaginary friends, and sometimes their friends are not so imaginary—they’re spirits. It’s not unusual for children to see ghosts and spirits more than many adults do, because children are more open to their environment than adults are.
As people get older, unless they are psychic, they learn to filter out certain things, which pretty soon becomes second nature, and they become closed off to things they are told are impossible or don’t exist. Children, especially small children, haven’t learned how to do this, so they are more accepting of everything around them—even if that something is a ghost.
Unless a child is frightened by a ghost or spirit, they will accept them for who and what they are as a natural part of life, which spirits are.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your individual point of view, I was born a psychic medium and, until the age of seven, assumed everybody could see ghosts. I couldn’t have been more wrong, but that’s another story.
I met Nathanial when I was at the tender age of five. He lived on the second floor of my great-aunt’s house, which contained two bedrooms and deep, winding closets that I was convinced held mysterious, wonderful things. Since my great-aunt only occupied the first floor of the house, the second floor was used mainly for storing long-forgotten antiques, books, furniture, and other items generally reserved for an attic. It was the perfect place for a ghost—and a curious child.
My parents were out of town for the weekend so, as usual, I was left with Great-Aunt Tote, a wonderful woman whom I loved as much as life itself. She laid down to take a nap, after making me promise I wouldn’t leave the house, which left me free to explore the second floor.
I made my way up the steep staircase and turned the corner at the landing to walk down the hallway. On my right was a huge bedroom that held boxes of books, furniture, and scads of other items just begging for me to investigate them.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I was eagerly emptying out a box when I felt someone enter the room. I looked up and saw the figure of a young man, not any older than eighteen, dressed in old-fashioned britches, suspenders, and a billowy white shirt. His dark hair was shaggy and mussed, and his keen eyes darted around the room nervously. In retrospect, I realize that he looked like someone out of the television show Little House on the Prairie. Yet, something seemed off about this man—something was not quite right. I could see through him into the hallway!
“Who are you?” I asked, looking at him with childlike wonder.
“I’m Nathanial,” he answered. Yet he didn’t speak the words, they just popped into my head.
“Hi, Nathanial, you’re a ghost,” I said as a matter of fact. I was so used to seeing ghosts practically everywhere I went and sometimes had a hard time distinguishing the living from the dead, but the fact that this spirit was so close to me that I could see through him left me with no doubt about what he was.
Ghosts never scared me, so the presence of another one did nothing to rattle my five-year-old nerves. I have to admit though, that because this was the first time a ghost communicated with me, I was thrilled.
“Yes. But please don’t be afraid of me. I’m so lonely,” Nathanial pleaded.
“I’m not scared of you,” I assured him. “I get kind of lonely, too. We can be friends!”
And so began several years of a unique friendship. When I was at my great-aunt’s house, I spent countless hours in the attic with Nathanial. He’d watch me while I colored, played, and explored the treasures hidden in the rooms. We shared secrets, like most children do, but mostly we kept each other company. I told him about what I’d done that week in school or with my friends, and he always listened with rapt attention.
Time marched on, and as I got older my trips to the second floor became less frequent. Eventually my great-aunt died and my dad sold her house. Even though I was no longer able to talk to Nathanial, I thought about him often throughout the years, and I missed him horribly.
About two months before I got married, the people who bought my great-aunt’s house called my dad and said they were divorcing, and they asked if he would like to buy the house back.
My dad jumped at the chance, and then sold it to my husband and me for a paltry sum. I couldn’t believe my good fortune! I’d be reunited with Nathanial. I’d learned so much about ghosts over the years and now knew that Nathanial belonged in the light, and I had to figure out a way to cross him over to the other side. No matter what, I had to help my first best friend and confidant.
Having Nathanial and two other ghostly occupants complicated things a bit, because I needed to explain to my husband exactly what I was and what I could do. While I’d told him about my abilities when we were dating, I doubt he believed me or took me seriously, but this time he was going to have to—he didn’t have any other choice.
I did, however, take the time to go up to the second floor and reacquaint myself with Nathanial. Just as I did when I was a child, I crept up the stairs to the second floor. As I turned the corner to walk down the stairway, I was immediately engulfed by a white mist and what felt like arms wrapping tightly around my body.
“I’m happy to see you, too, Nathanial,” I laughed. “Please let me go so we can talk.”
The white mist backed away from me and materialized into the Nathanial I remembered. It was then that I realized that Nathanial was mentally challenged. I had a cousin who was mentally challenged and recognized the oversized head, clumsy movements, and other symptoms of the disability. Nathanial cringed when he realized I knew about his disability.
“Now that you know, you won’t talk to me anymore,” he said telepathically, with profound resignation.
“That’s not true. You’re my friend and that’s all that matters,” I said. “When did you die?” I settled myself cross-legged on the floor of the hallway.
“1853, I think,” he responded tentatively.
“I don’t remember anyone in our family history who had your illness, with the exception of my cousin. Are you a member of my family?” I asked.
“No. I came to this house a long time ago,” Nathanial answered, and drifted off into the bedroom to the right of me.
I got up off the floor and followed him. He moved toward the tall, narrow window in the room that looked out the side of the house.
“I used to live over there,” Nathanial said.
“Over where?” I asked, joining him at the window.
“On the corner. They destroyed my house
to put up another building. I didn’t like it there so I came here because the attic was empty,” he answered.
“Where the gas station is?” I asked, knowing it was the only building not original to the area at the time Nathanial would have been alive.
“I guess.”
“Nathanial, this isn’t an attic. It’s the second floor to a house. This room is a bedroom. Why do you think it’s an attic?” I said.
“My family was afraid and ashamed of me because I was sick, so when we had company, or they didn’t want to deal with me, they made me go up to the attic so no one would see me,” Nathanial said sadly.
“I’m sorry they did that to you,” I said, knowing that what he experienced was customary at the time. “So why haven’t you gone into the light and crossed over?”
“Everyone laughed at me and made fun of me when I was alive. It was terrible. I just don’t want to go through that anymore. That’s why I came here. No one could see me and I wouldn’t be laughed at. When you were a little girl you never made me feel different. I’m happy here, now that you’re back,” Nathanial answered.
“I understand, but if you go into the light, you will be healed. No one will laugh at you anymore, and you can see your family again,” I said.
“I don’t want to see my family,” he said, his energy filled with anger. “I can’t talk to you anymore right now.” With that he faded away and I felt his energy was no longer in the room with me. Disappointed, I made my way back down the stairs to the first floor.
I knew from experience that Nathanial wouldn’t leave the second floor. The farthest he ever came was to the bottom of the stairway; he would wrap his fingers around the edge of the wall and peek around the corner to see what was going on in the rest of the house.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. I became pregnant and gave birth to my son, and then twenty-two months later to my daughter. Nathanial, while still ever-
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