I’m Really Popular with Dead Men
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree Burn.
I’ve been socializing more with dead folks lately than living flesh and blood like myself, but then, some of them are pretty darned interesting. Throw in a few aliens, an elemental, and an unborn descendant and hey, who needs good fiction to read?
An hour or two of socializing on the Ouija board is definitely more interesting than the last guy to ask me out. At least the dead don’t slobber on their own shoes and they’re actually better at taking no for an answer. If all else fails, you can exorcize them, which is easier than getting a restraining order that’s enforceable.
So at a mini-Gathering, we pulled out the board and immediately the revolving door opened. We entertained (and were entertained by) at least a dozen personalities, some who just wanted to play and others with advice on careers, love, life missions. Oh, and almost all were male. What’s up with that? Must have been the short shorts we were wearing. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean they’re, um, dead. In any case, I didn’t put up a strong circle to keep anyone out this time and we didn’t specifically call in the higher energies. We wanted to see what we could get without all the added shields, whether anything alien would come in, and we had time to experiment.
First up was a little boy, JAKE, though we didn’t know at first that he was a small child. He wasn’t even sure how old he’d been when he died, but he told us all about a cat and a pig, possibly pets of his. He spoke fondly of his mother and his baby brother, and told us his mother was PREGUM, or had been. He told us about the baby and tried to spell his name. He made a rather astute observation about reproduction that had us laughing on the floor, telling me that I was an egg. Jake wasn’t alone, though. He’d brought an older entity with him, THOMAS. Possibly a grandfather.
But first, as Jake was leaving, another entity came into the room. We never did get the name because he was so busy giving us two quick messages. He had a familiar, cool, easy energy and rushed over us like a cool breeze, giving us chill bumps and a sheer rush of almost ecstatic energy, which reminded us of Crazy Wolf, the Cherokee medicine man we’d talked to at a channeling back in the Spring. He delivered a quick message for me regarding a man I’m genuinely fond of and then, U R HIPPIE.
Huh? I looked at my board partner and felt a little insulted. I vaguely remember the 1960’s, but I was far too young to know anything about hippies except what I heard from the Baptist preacher about drugs, music, and nudity and how it was okay for Jesus and Jesus alone to have long hair and wear sandals. But given that hippie means someone who thinks with a non-conformist mind and that we were sitting on the floor, with pillows, candles, incense, brightly colored bottles of herbs on the counter, and a purple yarn pyramid constructed over us as we “Ouija’ed”—um, okay, so maybe I am a hippie. Surprise!
As he brushed past us and away, along came a water elemental, with a blander energy. He loves the foam in the surf and hangs out mostly around the Okaloosa Island beach, stirred up by the recent Hurricane Dennis. He couldn’t answer many of our questions and finally told us his sole reason for joining us was to play. So we bid him farewell. There’s only so long one can sit cross-legged before the extremities go numb, and we weren’t in the mood to entertain someone who couldn’t tell us much of anything.
Then, whoosh! The next energy was strong and wrapped us in a pleasant chill that might have scared someone else, but was very, very cool to feel. But this one was only an annoyance. He taunted us with bits of previous conversations, repeating Jake’s observations and calling us hippies and then refusing to answer us. When we challenged him (yes, definitely a him, with plenty of etheric testosterone), he raced his energy all around us, giving us cold chills, calling out profanity, shaking the back door, and even rattling the chain on a hanging planter. Woooooooo, oh, yeah, get all Marley’s Ghost on us. So we suggested he go down the street to my ex’s house where he wouldn’t be believed in and have a little fun. Gave him the address but he said he knew it already. Show-off. Jerk. We weren’t amused—okay, maybe a little, but definitely not frightened—but I’m not having that attitude in my house. Not from my kids, not from the dog, and not from some supposed bad-ass disincarnate being. Mess with an Alpha Female witch, will ya! So I hung my flanged leather whip on the wall just to let him know not to cross my threshold again.
But for all that blustering, my guest’s grandfather—not related to Jake—arrived next, with lots of good career advice for my guest as well as a few warnings on how to stay out of trouble.
My sweetie showed up soon after that. My unborn descendant, a starseed who says I’ll call him my lamb. I can feel his love every time he visits, and it pains me that he’ll never know me as a young woman. By the time he’s a full-grown man, I’ll be an old woman. So I treasure our little conversations. My only complaint is that he’s a lousy speller, so I guess somewhere in the next generation, my bloodline’s going to be tainted with Y chromosomes and, as a result, syllabically-challenged.
Then Thomas finally got his turn. Also not the best of spellers, he did have a funny twist of the language. He had messages for me, as well as messages for a friend who’d quit his job over an ethical issue. He’d be okay, but he did need to CYA and that he shouldn’t worry so much. Thomas talked for quite a while, then explained my recent phone problems and, just to punctuate his point, my cell phone went off right on cue, but there was no call, no text, no reason.
We then called for someone who could explain a crazy weird astronomical phenomenon—what looked like a cloud behind the gibbous moon and subsequently a dark shape in the sky over hurricane-damaged Destin. Something claiming not to be human joined us then and talked to us for several minutes before clamming up. When our questions turned deeply inquisitive, the planchette planted itself and wouldn’t move, almost as if nailed to the board. I tried pushing hard on it, but it would not budge. We talked to a Pleiadean energy after that, but the information was few and far between. It was much more informative about starseeds and life missions as well as discreet information on a local woman who was interested in our men—in a purely non-alien and very sexual sort of way. It’s always fun to get names, birthdates…addresses.
When we could stand it no longer and had lost all feeling in our legs and hands and shoulders, we wrapped up with a short chat with my own grandfather, Alva. He warned me about a so-called friend who’d invented a promiscuous pastime for me and tried to drive away any potential suitors. He gave me quick news on good things arriving in my life in August, particularly a love interest who would sweep me off my feet, and that I shouldn’t stay at home if I have a chance to dip my feet in water. Then he asked what was wrong with my cell phone.
Other than the fact that it’s not ringing and I didn’t even follow through on smashing it against the wall when I had the chance?
Yeah, I’ve found a way to communicate with the dead. It’s the living who aren’t calling.