There, I admit it, I am a little scared of myself! It started when I was five, and told my Aunty I had been talking her grand-daughter. I don’t want to mention names. It made my aunty cry, really cry. My mum scolded me when I got home that night and I asked my why I would say such a thing. I wasn’t invited back for a while. What was the problem? Her grand-daughter had died of leukemia a year earlier.
Not long after this I realized that I had other gifts. When I started school, I knew the name of people I had never met, before the were introduced to me, the names just popped into my head. Weird right!
In my teens, my granddad visited me one night, waking me up. I was curious as to how he had gotten into my bedroom, as he lived with another aunty several miles away, and suffered from Parkinson’s Disease. He was in his nineties. “I know how much you like books, Sandra, so please take the ones from my house. I want you to have them” he said. Was I dreaming this? The next thing I knew it was morning and my mum was waking me up, her eyes red from crying. “Your granddad died last night, he couldn’t live with Parkinson’s anymore and drown himself. He laid his cane, coat and hat by the quarry and walked into the cold dark water.”
As I got older, my power evolved. In the early seventies I worked in an office and became friendly with someone who had been trying for a baby for a long time. She eventually got pregnant and was extremely happy and excited. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t share her happiness. I couldn’t I had an overwhelming feeling of sadness for her unborn child. I knew it wasn’t going to go well. The baby only survived for a month or so and never left the hospital because it was born with an awful birth defect, something that could not be fixed.
Sometimes I absolutely know who is going to win a soccer match.
I can be watching a crime on the local news and although I can’ tell you the name of the person who committed it, I know the age of that person or some thing about them. This has happened several times now.
Is it instinct or something more?
Whatever it is, it makes me a little scared of myself.
What I have shared with you is just the tip of the iceberg. I would love to hear from anyone else who has similar experiences.
Below is a link to a couple of books I have written around the things that happened to me. You could say they are fiction based on fact. They started out as notes and then turned into short stories. These books will be available in their current form until the end of the year, when I am going to take them down and re-write them.