Claiming Her. Marilyn "Mattie" Brahen

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СКАЧАТЬ said a voice not physical, sounding like a whisper in my inner ear.

      I responded with my own inner voice: —No?— And more cautiously: —Who is this?—

      At first, just silence, outer and inner. Then, —One who’s waited. For you. Waited far too long, but willingly.—

      I attempted to probe the spirit, to pick up his appearance. He blocked me, but not before I visualized coal-black, opaque, almond-shaped eyes. They seemed to have neither pupils nor whites. Only a wall of black, and I knew instinctively I could not see through them to the core of his soul. That, too, he had blocked.

      I shivered, the kitchen suddenly cold, sitting there in my nightgown with Daniel asleep against me.

      This spirit frightened me. I had neither courage nor curiosity to probe him further. My mother, who also had the psychic gift, had warned me of its dangers shortly after my first clairvoyant experience.

      I had just turned eleven. My father, mother, sister, baby brother, and I were picnicking in the Pennsylvania countryside and decided to tour a nearby eighteenth century manor. I had spied a small girl, silent and alone in an upstairs alcove, dressed in period garb. She gazed directly at me, but no one else in the tour group, descending a staircase, seemed to notice her.

      The tour ended in a drawing room below, and there on the wall above a fireplace was a portrait of the girl. When I questioned having just seen this child, Mother hushed me, making light of my comment.

      Even during the drive home, she refused to discuss it, my father silencing me further with his admonition to “learn the difference between imagination and reality.” It was only later that night, when Mother entered my room and sat down on my bed to talk, that I learned the psychic facts of life.

      Rule 1 was never assume other people will believe the supernatural, let alone in your psychic ability. Rule 2 was to keep a sharp yardstick of judgment and control during any seemingly psychic incident, to rule out physical and psychological causes and stay in charge of the experience. And Rule 3 was to keep a Godly light—an aura of protection against evil—around oneself whenever dealing with the spirit world.

      Mother admitted to her own psychic talent and warned me that my father had not a shred of belief in any of it. And so we became our own secretive, helpmate society, Mother and I. My sister, at six years old, was still too young for us to tell if she’d inherited the trait. As it turned out, she hadn’t, and since then Ginnie and I have had long sisterly talks concerning the paranormal, agreeing to disagree, but twelve years ago, Mother deemed it wise to keep Ginnie well out of it. And now, as that brooding male spirit flitted purposely about me in the kitchen late that night, I fervently wished my mother were with me. Even Gin’s blunt skepticism would have been welcomed if it served to drive him away.

      I clutched Daniel to me and began to mentally build a halo of protective light around both of our bodies. Auric colors, invisible to the mortal eye, surrounded us, blue, gold, and white. The spirit made no move to interfere with my psychic defense. I sealed the auras and felt immensely calmer. I stood up to take Daniel back to his crib.

      The spirit’s psychic voice intruded again, soft now, soothing, but carrying a possessive, chauvinistic edge. —I would never harm you, nor your child. Nor would I allow any other to harm you.—

      “Who are you?” I whispered.

      The velvet tone of his answer almost stroked me. —One who loved you long ago and has returned.— I sensed a wistful smile, a small, upward turn of his lips.

      I gave no answer, unwilling to involve myself until he gave more answers. I knew he was the same spirit who had earlier disrupted my rest, still slightly sinister in manner and aspect, and I put no trust in him at all.

      I laid Daniel down in his crib, and returned to the bedroom.

      My husband was asleep. I crawled into bed and curled up against his back. He didn’t stir.

      I lay awake, wondering if the dark spirit had left, abandoning whatever purpose had brought him here, and then felt the slightest touch upon my head, as if soft fingers ran though my loosened hair.

      I lay still, the touch gentle, that which a woman receives from a man who cherishes her.

      I quieted my thoughts, waiting, drawn to this mysterious male presence who would not reveal himself.

      But only silence greeted my curious vigil, all sensation ceased, and I nodded off, sleeping undisturbed till morning.

      * * * *

      The next day Richard went out to the Department of Public Welfare, and the dark spirit returned.

      I could sense a bit more of his appearance, envisioning black hair, a long, angular face, and his tall and trim figure clothed in a black, tailored business suit. I distinctly felt that he was allowing me to see this, revealing himself a little at a time. I wondered if he chose this pacing because he was unsure of himself, afraid I would reject him, or simply due to his owning a recalcitrant nature.

      I was in the kitchen, once more, when he reappeared. My hands were greasy from stuffing the roasting chicken. Daniel lay in his baby carrier, which I’d placed on the table beside me, watching me work and playing with plastic rattle-keys. The radio on top of the refrigerator broadcast pop tunes.

      I reinforced the psychic auras around myself and the baby and tried to ignore the dark presence.

      —Leigh Ann,— he murmured, seeming quite at home with my name.

      I gave no response.

      —Leigh Ann . . .— More insistently.

      On rare occasions, when I was alone—Daniel too young to understand my words—I spoke aloud to spirits. Now I did so deliberately, to emphasize that this spirit had violated my mortal territory and had broken my standards of psychic courtesy, but in doing so had merely gained my anger and disdain, never my fear. “You know my name,” I said softly, “but you’re impolite. You haven’t told me who you are.” I waited a minute for this to sink in, then said, “Go away.”

      He, too, paused. —I cannot.—

      This ambiguous answer puzzled me. “Cannot go away, or cannot tell me who you are?”

      —Cannot tell you who I am.—

      “Then leave, please.”

      I finished stuffing the bird, rinsed off and dried my hands, and began selecting my poultry seasonings, unscrewing their caps. Daniel watched me, lifting his pudgy little hand to make his keys rattle.

      —I have something of importance to tell you.—

      “Then tell me and leave.”

      —You must not make love with your husband anymore.—

      I said nothing.

      —He will hurt you. He will bring you pain and illness. Do not let him lie with you!—

      Jealousy edged his words. My face reddened, and my anger flared. “You’ve delivered your message! Now, leave!”

      A tense, responding anger chilled me, prickling my skin.

      —Remember,— СКАЧАТЬ