Tuesday, August 13, 2013


After seeing the objects rearranged in the craft room, and with the dream still fresh on his mind, Charlie grabbed his flashlight and went outside. He looked at the back right tire of his car and, sure enough, it was low—so low, in fact, it was nearly flat—just as Margaret had said in the dream.

He went back into the house, dumbstruck, unable to believe the evidence of his eyes. Never before had he believed in tales of paranormal activity. That had always been Margaret's preoccupation. She was always reading books or watching TV shows about psychics and ghosts and such—things he found rather silly.

Yes, he believed in the possibility of life-after-death, in a theoretical sort of way. But that was as far as it went. It could not be proven, therefore he did not invest a great deal of hope in it, despite all the "near-death experiences" Margaret described from her book reading and TV watching.

Once she said to him, “Charlie, if I die first I’m going to send you a message to let you know there’s life after death.” And he laughed ...

Well, he was not laughing now. Now, he was sitting on the back porch with a cup of coffee growing cold in his hand, thinking, My god it’s true. There IS life after death.

Unless of course I’m losing my mind, he thought. Maybe subconsciously I knew the tire was low and that’s why Margaret said that in the dream. And maybe I'm just having these dreams because I miss her. And maybe I walked in my sleep and moved those things in her craft room because I'm creating some kind of crazy fantasy in my head, trying to convince myself she’s come back. Maybe grief has pushed me over the edge. People do go crazy from grief, or so I’ve heard. Or maybe this is the first stage of senile dementia, God help me. And yet he did not think so …

It troubled him all day. He went back and forth between the two possibilities: either he was crazy, or he was not. And if he was not, then he had proof positive of life after death. Which of course was crazy …

He went to bed that night wondering would he have another dream about Margaret? And if so, would that be a good thing or bad? Would it prove either way whether he was crazy or not? Or would it just keep him in this tailspin, not knowing for sure?

He took a sleeping pill—he was so agitated—and fell asleep, and some time in the night began dreaming he was walking through a dark wooded area down a dry creek bed. It was such a lonesome place and so quiet. No birds, no wind in the trees, just dead silence, and very little sunlight filtering through the limbs and the shadows so deep. He did not like this place.

Then he heard her call, “Charlie, up here!”

Following her voice, he went up a thicket-covered hill and there in the sunlight saw her, so youthful and radiant. She said, “Oh Charlie, it’s wonderful news! I’m so happy for Paul. He’ll be a wonderful father.”

Charlie woke with a start. He knew who Paul was. Paul was his nephew, married three years now but no children yet ...

Later that day, Charlie received a call from Paul. “Don’t tell me,” said Charlie, “Jenny’s pregnant.”

“How did you know?”

“I just had a feeling.”

There were more such dreams in the days to come. Charlie stopped doubting the evidence of his own eyes, stopped wondering if he was crazy, and came to accept the fact—the astounding, unexplainable fact—that he was in nightly communication with Margaret.

Every night she would come to him in a dream and tell him something he could not possibly have known on his own ...

One night she said, “You’ve been looking for my recipe for apple crumb cake. I can tell you exactly where to find it. I wrote it down and used it to mark my place in a book I never finished. Go to my craft room and you’ll find it on the third shelf.”

Next morning, he did what she said and found the recipe tucked inside a book about ghosts.

Her predictions and instructions were so accurate that Charlie came to trust her implicitly. Whatever she advised him to do, he did without question.

One time she said, “Charlie, you’ve got to sell the gold.”

“What? I can’t sell now. It’s going up.”

“Yes, but day after tomorrow it will drop and keep dropping.”

“Well, that’s no reason to sell. It’ll go back up again.”

“Yes, Charlie, that's true but you need to sell it now. And keep it in cash. Don’t put it in the bank.”

"Sell all of it?"

"All of it."

Charlie did what she said. The next day he sold all the gold—fifty thousand dollars’ worth—and put the cash in the small safe under his bed. And the very next day, gold began to drop and kept dropping. Just as she had said.

She would also advise him on health matters. One time she said, “You’re not getting enough exercise, or fresh air. You need to start golfing again. You used to enjoy it so. It would do you so much good, Charlie. Take your golf clubs and put them in the trunk, and leave them there. Don’t ever bring them in the house again. Leave them in the trunk.”

And he did what she said, without question. It was wonderful having her back giving him advice, reminding him about things, taking care of him, and sometimes telling him what was going to happen in the future. And oh what a joy it was just seeing her and hearing her voice again.

For the first time in a long time, Charlie was happy. He would wake in the morning happy, having just had a dream of Margaret, go through the day happy, and become happier as it got closer to bedtime when he would be able to see Margaret again in the meadows of their youth.

(To be continued)