The Ghost Whisperer: A Real-Life Psychic’s Stories

This was, of course, a great shock to Kirsten. She already had three children and a fourth – well, that would make things difficult, she felt. Was I sure?

‘I’m very sure!’ I told her. ‘What’s more, it’s a little girl.’

In this respect I was proved right. Kirsten did have a baby daughter, just under eight months later. Naturally, she called her Alison. Even then, as she remembered what had happened on that Christmas Eve, she still had cause to wonder about many things. Had she really been as close to death as all that? Was what she saw a vision of heaven? Did her parents and grandparents really watch over her?

Eventually, as Alison grew into a lovely little girl, there were no doubts. ‘That’s granddad,’ she said one day, pointing out a picture of Kirsten’s dad, one that had been taken three months before his death. ‘He wasn’t well then.’

‘Yes,’ Kirsten was amazed. ‘But how do you know?’

The little girl smiled. ‘Because I’ve met him.’

The Man who Went to his Own Funeral

Old John McFarlane was a very determined man – so determined, in fact, that he went to his own funeral and was seen there by no fewer than four people. I got to hear of it when one of them came to me for a reading.

Since she was his daughter, it seemed natural that Shona would be one of the first to notice the man in respectful black, standing at the fringes of the crowd. He was only there for a second or two but, to quote her own words, ‘she knew her own father when she saw him’.

John McFarlane had been ill for some time and had died only a few days earlier. But it seemed he wanted to go to the funeral. Why? It was something I immediately wanted to know. Even before I had put the question, however, Shona told me. ‘He wanted to see who was there,’ she said. How did she know? Well, apparently, John came to her in a dream two days later and told her. He was a bit of a mischievous charmer. That much I certainly picked up on from the reading, where he came over to me and said there was no harm done, he hadn’t intended to frighten anyone!

Shona came to see me because she was worried about her mum. Since the funeral, this lady’s health had gone downhill – she had seen John that day but that was not the reason for her deterioration in health. With someone as strong-willed as John about, it seemed silly not to ask him. Clear as day, I heard him say, ‘She just misses me!’ He also kept using the word ‘dream’. I believed he was communicating through this medium, using it to tell Shona to get in touch with him, through me, if there was anything worrying her at all.

My own vibes, incidentally, weren’t bad. I could see many happy occasions for Shona’s family in the future, all with her mum there. This suggested to me that whatever illness her mum had, it was temporary. In this I was proved correct.

The next time Shona contacted me, she was in a state. Her dad had come to her, again in a dream, and explained there was nothing seriously wrong with her mum and she wasn’t to worry. But then he had told her he didn’t know if he would be back, although he would always watch out for her. It was almost as if he’d got himself into bother by attending his own funeral. I had to admit it was quite daring of him really. In all my work with the paranormal, I’d not come across it very often.

When Shona came for another reading, this time there was no sign of John. He’d quite clearly said his goodbyes to her, several times really, if the appearance at the funeral and the dreams were anything to go by. And, in its way, although his actual appearance at the funeral had been unnerving, it was oddly comforting too.

It had said to Shona that her dad was with her always and that death was only a veil between them. Knowing that had helped her through a difficult time and allowed her to help her mum. In many ways John’s appearances were a gift, one she had been grateful to receive.

‘Peter Put the Kettle on’

We’ve all heard of Polly and her little friend Sukey’s antics with the kettle, but this is the lesser-known tale of Peter who much preferred ‘teasmaids’ when it came to boiling up a cup of tea. Peter was the husband of a client of mine. He had been dead for sixmonths when she came to see me. Although grieving she had a secret that made it easier for her to accept Peter’s death. This was the belief that he wasn’t really gone. In fact, he’d never been gone. From the first time she heard him turning over in bed to switch on the machine for their morning cuppa, she knew.

The couple had always had a teasmaid, one of those little machines that makes the morning cup of tea. And they’d liked having one so much, they had one on each side of the bed. First of all, the radio alarm would go off; then Peter would reach over and put on both teasmaids and the teapots would start to churn. Regular as clockwork, every morning, he made this his first duty.

After Peter’s death, both machines stopped working! Obviously, this wasn’t normal and it greatly upset my client. That was why, having shed tears about it, she was so astonished a few days later when she heard the switch click on her own teasmaid and the chug chug of the mechanism as if it was brewing up a cuppa. She sat up but there was no one there. Her teasmaid was on – something she hadn’t done and it couldn’t have done itself.

At first my client thought she was dreaming. The next morning, however, she heard the ping of the switch, then the chug chug of the cuppa brewing itself. Again, she sat up and, as she did, she also heard footsteps going down the stairs. For a moment she froze. Was someone in the house? The sound was very like Peter. Then she heard the hall window being opened and she smiled. Peter had always done that when he was alive. Now she was certain. He hadn’t really gone.

My client has continued from that day to this to hear Peter. There isn’t a morning that goes by without the teasmaid clicking into action. His has still never worked, which makes it all the more strange that hers always switches itself on! After a few moments, she hears him going down the stairs.

On other occasions, too, when she has been unbearably lonely, she says, ‘I have felt him snuggle into my back and put his arms protectively around me. I know some people will say this is wishful thinking, but it’s not. I know he’s there.’

I think it would take a particularly cold-hearted cynic to disagree. I can tell you now I’ve always believed her. Not just because of the business with the teasmaid but because of the amount of letters I’ve received about similar experiences – the presence of a loved one continuing to carry out all the little tasks they did in life.

In my opinion, this is ample evidence that our loved ones are still very near to us indeed.

The Persistent Papa

When Stephanie first came to see me, she brought someone along – her dad. As I’ve said before, there’s nothing unusual in that and, yes, before you ask, he was dead. But what was unusual and causing trouble was that Stephanie had no idea this was her dad. Her mother had been hiding a secret. Stephanie had always believed her dad’s name was George, but the man with her, who wasted no time telling me who he was, was called Charlie.

Stephanie’s mother had never been happily married and had known Charlie only briefly. But Stephanie had no idea of this. To be honest, neither had I. When I told Stephanie about Charlie, she didn’t know who I was talking about. In fact, she even thought I was a fraud! We had a bit of a disagreement, which in many ways wasn’t unnatural. I suppose I put my foot in it to some extent.

However, I could see Charlie so clearly. It was almost as if he was waiting for the opportunity to tell Stephanie how he felt about her. And that was proud. He hadn’t always been able to be with her. He was honest about that much. But never having achieved that much himself, he was glad to know that Stephanie had worked hard and become a teacher. She had been one of the top students in her year and was well respected by her colleagues. Charlie was also proud of Stephanie’s son who was nine. He knew she couldn’t have more children and was therefore devoted to the boy. Like her mum, Stephanie’s marriage wasn’t especially happy or secure but she still put all she had into it, and he admired her for that.

These were all the things Charlie wanted me to tell Stephanie. But, to be truthful, she didn’t want to hear them. Her parents had finally separated when she was 12, and the man she believed to be her dad had died eight months previously. When I first started to talk about ‘her dad’, she was delighted. But the moment I said his name, she lost interest. As things went on, I decided it might be better to stop talking about Charlie. I’m sure you can appreciate why. This was a delicate situation and I wasn’t entirely clear about it myself.

When Stephanie left, I felt an immense sense of relief, but this was followed by a deep feeling of sadness. I could sense that Charlie was still with me and I felt he was saying, ‘You’ve failed me. I thought this was my chance. I’ve waited years for this, watching that girl. She’s mine you know.’ And this upset me. I don’t like to think I’ve let anyone down, especially those spirits who have come along to see me with a special purpose in mind. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ I had to say in this instance, ‘But you only gave me half a story.’

I don’t know whether this reproach had anything to do with it but a week or so later I had a letter from Stephanie. She hadn’t felt able to phone me. It would, she said, have been too traumatic. But she wanted to make another appointment because there were things she had to discuss.

Soon after, Stephanie came back to my office and I was fairly mesmerized. After she’d left me the first time, she had gone to see her mum and asked her outright who Charlie was. At first, her mum was unwilling to tell her, which was hardly surprising as it was still a painful subject for her. But later she told Stephanie everything, about her unhappy marriage and how she had met Charlie. It had been a brief affair. Charlie had wanted Stephanie’s mum to leave her husband, but as she had a son of three – Stephanie’s half-brother – she wouldn’t leave.

It wasn’t until after they parted that Stephanie’s mum found out she was pregnant. There was nothing else she could do, she felt, but stay as she was. In those days, it didn’t do to admit you had been having an affair.

Charlie had been killed in a road accident when Stephanie was a year old. But Stephanie’s mum had never forgotten him. In many ways, her marriage ended then, but she kept things going till Stephanie was 12.

There were so many things Stephanie wanted to say to her mum. But she knew at this stage that she couldn’t. She had no idea how she would get used to the idea of this other father, but somehow so many things from her childhood now made sense, including the fact that the man she thought of as her dad never had any real interest in her. ‘I just thought he didn’t love me. Now I see why,’ she wrote.

I never heard from Charlie again, but I know with absolute certainty that his spirit would have been with us that day, listening and feeling proud of his daughter, and smiling with such fondness.

Not One but Two!

As you know by now, my office often plays host to a spirit during readings, but there have been occasions when more than one has come along. In fact, I can think of several instances, but the one I rather liked was the story of Elma and Elaine, two sisters, both dead, who liked to keep an eye on their niece. Her name was Sophie and she had come to me for a reading.

Elma and Elaine had obviously liked to party, but as that was during the 1920s, their idea of a dance was quite different from ours. But they were unabashed about doing it. Elma even showed me some of the steps of the charleston! They were delightful ladies and had had sad lives, but that didn’t stop them looking out for their niece. What was more, she knew they did. When she came in for a consultation, she told me she’d probably brought visitors with her. And sure enough, within about five minutes, I was aware of the almost overwhelming presences of these ladies. ‘They’re supposed to be my old aunts,’ Sophie said. ‘But they don’t behave very much like it!’

The strange thing was that although it was Sophie who had come for the reading – and she was perfectly open in talking about her aunts – they were the ones who wanted to speak to me. Elma in particular. She’d had an unhappy love affair, just after the First World War, and been forced into marriage with a much older man she didn’t love, who was cruel to her. There had been a baby with her lover, whom she had also been forced to give up. It was something Sophie’s mum didn’t know because she had only been a small child at the time, and Elma had never spoken about it. She wanted Sophie to know this, however. She had never been able to be with her son or have other children, so that was why Sophie was so important to her and why she spent so much time hanging around her.

Sophie didn’t dispute this story. She had always felt there was a secret unhappiness about her aunt Elma. Sophie shed quite a few tears at her story because she had always been fond of her. When Sophie was a little girl, Aunt Elma had been a ‘great pal’. Her sense of fun was immense, and even as an old lady she had been young at heart.

Elaine, on the other hand, had never married, and she was honest about the fact that she was what at that time was known as ‘simple’. Her life had been one of drudgery and she had looked after her mum. But she had adored Elma, and that was why she wanted only to be where her sister was. The pride she had in Sophie was clear – if for no other reason than that Sophie had done the things in her life Elaine would have liked to do. She had married and had children, then gone on to train at college. If only Elaine could have had these chances, but she hadn’t.

But what she wanted Sophie to know was that, no matter how she had been viewed in life, she was entirely different now. In fact, she went as far as to say she had gone to college with Sophie and trained too!

‘I can believe it!’ said Sophie.

The ladies didn’t stay. They understood Sophie’s need to discuss some things that were private, and at that point they vanished. Sophie wasn’t worried. She knew that when she arrived home they’d probably be waiting for her and that they’d make their presence felt by switching the kettle on for her when she got in.

I could believe this too. These were fascinating ladies, with the right modicum of respect for their charge. It’s not always true of all spirits, but Elma and Elaine were certainly in a class of their own.

The Mum who Wanted to be Remembered

Let’s face it, isn’t that what most people want? To be remembered? To be known and appreciated by their loved ones? Well, spirits are no exception. Their longings are usually very much the same, only theirs have the added poignancy that they’re gone, often leaving loved ones behind in terrible situations.

When Yvonne came to see me, I thought that such a spirit had to be connected with her. I instantly had a sense of the most beautiful young woman with her – a really refined girl, with naturally curly auburn hair and sparkling green eyes that seemed to shine. She had such a calm, quiet aura about her and was determined to follow Yvonne in.

Before I began the reading, I felt I just had to know who this woman was. Her presence was so clear to me, I actually thought Yvonne herself must be aware of it. But she wasn’t. When I told her what I could see, she looked surprised. No, she hadn’t lost her mum, or an aunt, or sister, or anyone that close to her. But as I described the lady, and how exceptionally pretty she was, Yvonne did become thoughtful. She opened her handbag and fished in it for a moment or so. Then she produced a photograph. It was of a very handsome young man. The hair was dark but the eyes were entirely the same as the woman’s.