True Ghost Stories

Are psychics for real? We often wonder. In this edition of True Ghost Stories, our own Ann Fields takes us to a psychic party and gets a pleasant surprise.

Jell-O Shots, Mediums, and a Ghost by Ann Fields

I pull up to my friend Cathy’s house with high expectations: One, she’s hosting a psychic party and I’m curious how that works. Two, I’m at a crossroads in my life and am hoping for any type of guidance.

“Hey girl, good to see you.” Cathy and I air-kiss and she grabs the TV trays she asked me to bring. That leaves me to juggle the grocery sacks containing cheese, crackers, plates, and napkins.

Cathy and I move into the kitchen with our loads. While we finish setting up, we chat about everything and nothing. Just as we settle on barstools and throw back a lime green, vodka Jell-O shot, the doorbell rings. Cathy welcomes the psychics and the first guest then more and more. The party is underway.

Once a respectable number of people have arrived, Cathy gathers us in the living room, quiets us down, and explains how the party will go.

“Upstairs are two psychics. MaryBeth is set up in my office. Susan is set up in the guest bedroom. Their web addresses are printed on the cards scattered about. Both come highly recommended.” Cathy holds up two clipboards which have sheets of paper and pens attached with chains. “You can sign up for a session with both of them or just one. Because

The Raven

there are so many of us, they’re giving us a discount rate of $50 for a 20-minute session.”

Cathy hands the clipboards to Deby, a mutual friend. “You can sign up with Deby, but you’ll pay the psychic directly. While you’re waiting your turn, please enjoy the refreshments and music and each other’s company. Also, please, no lingering upstairs. When you’re finished, come back down and, if you’re comfortable, share your experience with the rest of us. Any questions?”

Even I, who usually has a thousand questions, have none. My first psychic party? So far so good. First expectation met: I now know a thing or two about psychic parties.

Like most everyone else, I pull out my cell phone and access the web addresses for both psychics. Even though MaryBeth and Susan have similar backgrounds and modalities, I am drawn to MaryBeth. Something about her wide smile and sparkling brown eyes call to me. I take the clipboard for MaryBeth’s appointments from Deby and write my name by the next available slot, in an hour. I hand the clipboard back to Deby and spend the time meeting new people, conversing with old friends, eating, drinking, and laughing. A few minutes before my appointment, I head upstairs.

Deby, who hangs out downstairs during the readings, is already back at her post at the top of the stairs. “I know you know where Cathy’s office is. Just knock on the door. That’s the signal for the end of the current appointment and the start of yours.”

I’m surprised to feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I take the short walk. Part nervousness, part excitement, a lot of uncertainty, I surmise. This is not just my first psychic party. It’s my first visit to a psychic. Ever. I’ve always had conflicting feelings about Christians who visit psychics. But since I recently divorced organized religion, I feel free to explore all the don’ts Christianity preached.

I rap on the door and wait. Soon the door opens and a guest walks out, smiling. I take that as a good sign and poke my head in. “Hi, I’m next. You ready for me?”

“Hi, come on in. Have a seat.” MaryBeth is as warm and friendly in person as she appears on her website. She is about my age, white, a brunette, and a little chubby, not the image of psychics I’m used to—gypsy types, except Whoopie Goldberg who plays a medium in Ghost, one of my favorite movies.

“I’m Ann,” I say, sitting across the desk from MaryBeth and handing over my fifty dollars.

MaryBeth gets right to business. “You have money coming to you.” I screw up my face, taken aback, confused. She nods at my hands. I am scratching my left palm like I’ve contracted poison ivy. She says, “Your palm is itching. That’s a sign you have money coming.”

I smile. I had planned to ask MaryBeth about my financial and work future. Eight months ago, I quit my job. Since then, I’ve been writing the Great American Novel and living off unemployment and savings. Both are running out and a windfall would be sweet, an amount large enough to sustain me during the slow, very slow writing of my novel.

“Let’s see what else Spirit has to tell us.” MaryBeth closes her eyes and after a few seconds begins yawning. I look around for tarot cards, dousing rods, Rune stones, or any other psychic tools. I don’t see any. Is she sleeping? I wonder. Does she receive messages through her dreams?

Suddenly, the door opens and closes. MaryBeth’s eyes pop open. Both of us stare at the door. One of the guests must have opened the wrong door, I think, dismissing the interruption.

The Raven

“Who is she?” MaryBeth asks.

“What?”

“The lady standing next to you. Who is she?”

I look around. “I don’t see anyone.”

“You don’t see the lady standing right next to you? She has her hand on your shoulder.”

I see no one. I feel nothing. I shake my head.

“She’s elderly, short, petite. A grandmother?”

“My grandmother?” I ask, knowing my grandmother had been almost six feet tall and big-boned.

“She’s wearing glasses and she’s smiling.”

I reverse thought and go with my paternal grandmother. Being a child of divorce, raised by a single mother, I am closer to my mother’s side of the family. I am embarrassed that I can’t remember if Grandmother Fields wore glasses, but she fit all the other descriptors.

“She says she has $300 buried by the big tree behind her trailer.”

“Ohhhh!” I know exactly who has come to visit me from the spirit world. Aunt Lillian! Her trailer is next door to my paternal grandmother’s house. And like many people of her generation, she didn’t trust banks and hid money in and around her house. She’d been a feisty, outspoken, little woman, kind-hearted and true. I tear up, thinking, how wonderful of Aunt Lillian to cross over to see about

me.

“She wants you to have the money.”

I cry. I can’t feel Aunt Lillian’s presence, I can’t see with MaryBeth’s spiritual eyes, but I pat my shoulder and thank Aunt Lillian for her caring and generous spirit. I have no idea what else MaryBeth shares in the remaining minutes of my reading and honestly, I don’t care. Learning my family in heaven is keeping an eye on me more than meets my second expectation, guidance on whether to keep writing or return to a soul-sucking job. Writing it is!

A knock sounds, the end of my session. I stand and hug MaryBeth and leave, feeling like I am floating, light as a feather.

Later, after all the guests and psychics leave, Cathy and I clean and straighten, restoring her house to its usual pristine order. While doing so, we share our readings and toast each other’s positive outcomes by downing the last of the Jell-O shots.

About two weeks later, I step onto my front porch on a beautiful winter morning. I check my mailbox and am surprised to find a check for $10,000. I rush inside the house to call the investment company who wrote the check and learn it is bonus money I earned when employed. I whoop and holler! I’m over the moon. When I finally settle down, I think about Aunt Lillian’s spiritual visit. Had her presence opened financial doors previously closed to me? After receiving several more unexpected, large checks, more than enough money to sustain me throughout the writing of my novel, I decide yes. As for the $300 buried in her back yard, it remains. It’s comforting to know the money is there just like I know Aunt Lillian is around, too.