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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Ghost Stories / Paranormal
- Published: 12/14/2019
Crossing Over
Born 1947, M, from Oceanside, United StatesCrossing Over
It began in church. One of the parishioners was in the midst of the second reading when Father Dennis, who was sitting in a chair behind her, suddenly slumped sideways and fell off his seat. A huge gasp went up from around the congregation, with everyone jumping to their feet and many rushing the Altar.
Since I’m short, and had been sitting all the way in one of the back rows, I couldn’t see what was going on because of all the people standing around me. But then I thought Father Dennis might have just had a dizzy spell or something, because a moment or two later, I saw him walk past the end of my row and out the front entrance. I was relieved until I heard a woman scream, followed by a man’s voice shouting, “Someone Call 9-1-1!”
Confused and without thinking, I turned to the short, stocky, Hispanic-looking woman next to me and said, “Why are they calling 9-1-1? I just saw Father Dennis walk past me and go out the front door.”
The woman turned and stared at me for a second. “You say you just now saw Father Dennis?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure it was him?”
“Yeah. He had on his priest robes and everything.”
The woman stared at me some more, then said, “I’m afraid you didn’t see Father Dennis.” Then who the hell did I see, I thought to myself? She went on to explain. “I think what you saw was his spirit.”
“WHAT!”
Suddenly, she leaned close and said in a small voice so only I would hear. “I think Father Dennis just died.”
This time, it was me staring at her. “Are you sure?”
Still leaning close, she replied, “Yes.”
She must be crazy, I thought. But then I saw her pick up her purse and indicate for me to follow her. Where the heck did she want us to go?
Exiting the pew, so she could get past me, I followed her as she headed out the front entrance. Once outside, she turned to me and asked, “Have you ever seen anyone’s spirit before?”
Once again thinking she was crazy, I replied, “Not that I know of.”
Leaning her middle-aged, chubby brown face slightly closer to me, she stared at me as if she was trying to read my every feature of my face, then said, “I think your power just kicked in.”
Now, for sure, I thought she was nuts. “Power! What power?”
“You now have the ability to see the spirits of people who have recently died.”
I shook my head several times. “This is crazy!” I said, suddenly feeling as if I was in the middle of some supernatural TV show. “What are you supposed to be, some kind of psychic?” I was attempting sarcasm, but then she shocked me when she said yes.
Standing there, staring at her, I thought that any moment she might try asking me for money so she could give me a reading, but instead, she continued to look at me as if she was waiting to see what I would do next.
After a moment, I said, “Let’s say I believe you. Why did this happen to me now, and what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”
“Not many people have this gift,” she replied, then went on to explain. “Some people get it when they’re very young. Others get it later in life. By the way, how old are you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She shrugged. “Just curious.”
“Twenty-two.” Then after a moment, I asked, “But why do you call it a gift?”
“Because, it’s a gift from God.” That sounded about as crazy as everything else she was telling me.
“Okay, but why would he give it to me?”
“Because he wants you to help the departed to cross over.”
“Cross over to where?”
“To the other side.”
“You mean heaven?” She nodded. “But don’t people, when they die, go there on their own?”
She shook her head. “Not everyone. Some people need convincing to cross over.”
“And how would I do that?”
Before she could answer, the EMTs arrived, their siren blasting. We moved out of the way so they could rush inside.
That’s when I asked her. “How will I know if I’m seeing someone’s spirit?”
“You’ll know,” she replied. I wasn’t so sure. Then she handed me her business card. It gave her name as Anita Hernandez, Psychic Reader and Astrologer. After handing me her card, she patted me on the arm and said, “Now go somewhere and try to relax. Go have a drink, if you want. You have a lot to think about.”
I sure did.
Over the next couple of days, that’s exactly what I did—think about what had happened in St. Patrick’s Church, and about what Anita had said. Could I really be a conductor for the recently departed? I wasn’t sure; that’s why I decided I needed to call her and ask a few more questions, especially how I do it.
Then on Friday evening, I was heading home from work when I approached the small but quaint cemetery I passed every day to and from the warehouse where I worked. Even though it was dark out, I could see a figure in the cemetery. It was a female. She was standing with her back towards me. She seemed to be interested in just one headstone.
I couldn’t tell if she was young or old, but that wasn’t what had caught my attention. It was the slight white glow that seemed to encompass her entire body. That’s why I pulled to a stop near the entrance of the cemetery. Then after getting out of my car, I began to slowly approach her.
“Is that your grave, or someone else’s?” I asked, trying not to startle her. Could a ghost be startled?
At the sound of my voice, she turned her head slightly and said over her shoulder, “It’s my mother’s.”
“How did she die?”
“Cancer.” I cringed. Such an evil disease.
“How did you die?”
That’s when she turned to me. “I’m dead?” she asked, looking confused.
I nodded. “You are, and it must have just happened.”
Looking like she was in her twenties, she said to me, “But if I’m dead, how can you see and hear me?”
“Long story.” But once again I asked, “How did you die?”
I could see her trying to search her memory. “I think . . . I think I might have gotten the mixture wrong.”
“Mixture?”
“I was supposed to take one pill every four hours with only a quarter cup of the mixture.”
I nodded—drugs. But I didn’t push her for any more information. Instead, I said, “You know, if you cross over, you’ll be able to be with your mother again.”
“Cross over where?”
“Heaven.”
For a moment, she looked conflicted. “But how do I know she’s there?”
“Trust me, she’ll be there, and she’ll be so happy to see you. Just look for the light, and walk towards it.” I knew about the light from talking to Anita.
After turning her head back and forth, she gasped, “I see it! It’s beautiful!”
“Just walk towards it.” She did, taking several steps. Then suddenly, she kind of dissolved into nothingness and was gone.
Staring at the spot where I had seen her last, I took a deep breath. My first crossover, and I did it without any problems! I felt elated!
During the next two years, I crossed over at least two dozen souls, sometimes with a little assistance from Anita. But then came the crossover I wasn’t expecting, and really didn’t want to happen.
I had arrived home to the apartment I was sharing with my mother. My father had died of alcohol poisoning when I was twelve. When I walked into the living room, I saw my mother standing in front of the couch. She had her back to me. I realized she was looking down at something. “Mom,” I said to her. “What are you looking at?”
“Me,” she replied, then stepped sideways so I could see.
Sure enough, she was sitting on the couch, her eyes closed her head lolling to one side. A stab of sadness hit me. “Oh, mom,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
She turned to me. “Sorry for what?”
“You died, mom. Now it’s time for you to cross over.”
“You mean go to heaven?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Dad should be there waiting for you.”
She got a sad look on her face. “I’m not so sure he’s going to be very happy to see me. I wasn’t very nice to him towards the end.”
“I know, mom, but it’s heaven, he’ll forgive you.”
She got a slight smile on her face. “I hope so.”
Then I told her to look for the light and walk towards it. She did, and like all the rest, her spirit faded into non-existence. Afterwards, I called Anita. She helped me with all the arrangements.
Two weeks later, she showed up on my doorstep. “You still have your mother’s room for rent?” she asked
I had to smile. It figured she’d know if I had a roommate yet or not. “Yep,” I told her, then asked, “Is it for you, or someone else?”
“No, it’s for me. They’re going to renovate the entire apartment complex where I live.”
“Well then, it’s still available.” I gestured. “Come on in and take a look.”
She did with a happy smile.
Crossing Over(Tom Di Roma)
Crossing Over
It began in church. One of the parishioners was in the midst of the second reading when Father Dennis, who was sitting in a chair behind her, suddenly slumped sideways and fell off his seat. A huge gasp went up from around the congregation, with everyone jumping to their feet and many rushing the Altar.
Since I’m short, and had been sitting all the way in one of the back rows, I couldn’t see what was going on because of all the people standing around me. But then I thought Father Dennis might have just had a dizzy spell or something, because a moment or two later, I saw him walk past the end of my row and out the front entrance. I was relieved until I heard a woman scream, followed by a man’s voice shouting, “Someone Call 9-1-1!”
Confused and without thinking, I turned to the short, stocky, Hispanic-looking woman next to me and said, “Why are they calling 9-1-1? I just saw Father Dennis walk past me and go out the front door.”
The woman turned and stared at me for a second. “You say you just now saw Father Dennis?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure it was him?”
“Yeah. He had on his priest robes and everything.”
The woman stared at me some more, then said, “I’m afraid you didn’t see Father Dennis.” Then who the hell did I see, I thought to myself? She went on to explain. “I think what you saw was his spirit.”
“WHAT!”
Suddenly, she leaned close and said in a small voice so only I would hear. “I think Father Dennis just died.”
This time, it was me staring at her. “Are you sure?”
Still leaning close, she replied, “Yes.”
She must be crazy, I thought. But then I saw her pick up her purse and indicate for me to follow her. Where the heck did she want us to go?
Exiting the pew, so she could get past me, I followed her as she headed out the front entrance. Once outside, she turned to me and asked, “Have you ever seen anyone’s spirit before?”
Once again thinking she was crazy, I replied, “Not that I know of.”
Leaning her middle-aged, chubby brown face slightly closer to me, she stared at me as if she was trying to read my every feature of my face, then said, “I think your power just kicked in.”
Now, for sure, I thought she was nuts. “Power! What power?”
“You now have the ability to see the spirits of people who have recently died.”
I shook my head several times. “This is crazy!” I said, suddenly feeling as if I was in the middle of some supernatural TV show. “What are you supposed to be, some kind of psychic?” I was attempting sarcasm, but then she shocked me when she said yes.
Standing there, staring at her, I thought that any moment she might try asking me for money so she could give me a reading, but instead, she continued to look at me as if she was waiting to see what I would do next.
After a moment, I said, “Let’s say I believe you. Why did this happen to me now, and what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”
“Not many people have this gift,” she replied, then went on to explain. “Some people get it when they’re very young. Others get it later in life. By the way, how old are you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She shrugged. “Just curious.”
“Twenty-two.” Then after a moment, I asked, “But why do you call it a gift?”
“Because, it’s a gift from God.” That sounded about as crazy as everything else she was telling me.
“Okay, but why would he give it to me?”
“Because he wants you to help the departed to cross over.”
“Cross over to where?”
“To the other side.”
“You mean heaven?” She nodded. “But don’t people, when they die, go there on their own?”
She shook her head. “Not everyone. Some people need convincing to cross over.”
“And how would I do that?”
Before she could answer, the EMTs arrived, their siren blasting. We moved out of the way so they could rush inside.
That’s when I asked her. “How will I know if I’m seeing someone’s spirit?”
“You’ll know,” she replied. I wasn’t so sure. Then she handed me her business card. It gave her name as Anita Hernandez, Psychic Reader and Astrologer. After handing me her card, she patted me on the arm and said, “Now go somewhere and try to relax. Go have a drink, if you want. You have a lot to think about.”
I sure did.
Over the next couple of days, that’s exactly what I did—think about what had happened in St. Patrick’s Church, and about what Anita had said. Could I really be a conductor for the recently departed? I wasn’t sure; that’s why I decided I needed to call her and ask a few more questions, especially how I do it.
Then on Friday evening, I was heading home from work when I approached the small but quaint cemetery I passed every day to and from the warehouse where I worked. Even though it was dark out, I could see a figure in the cemetery. It was a female. She was standing with her back towards me. She seemed to be interested in just one headstone.
I couldn’t tell if she was young or old, but that wasn’t what had caught my attention. It was the slight white glow that seemed to encompass her entire body. That’s why I pulled to a stop near the entrance of the cemetery. Then after getting out of my car, I began to slowly approach her.
“Is that your grave, or someone else’s?” I asked, trying not to startle her. Could a ghost be startled?
At the sound of my voice, she turned her head slightly and said over her shoulder, “It’s my mother’s.”
“How did she die?”
“Cancer.” I cringed. Such an evil disease.
“How did you die?”
That’s when she turned to me. “I’m dead?” she asked, looking confused.
I nodded. “You are, and it must have just happened.”
Looking like she was in her twenties, she said to me, “But if I’m dead, how can you see and hear me?”
“Long story.” But once again I asked, “How did you die?”
I could see her trying to search her memory. “I think . . . I think I might have gotten the mixture wrong.”
“Mixture?”
“I was supposed to take one pill every four hours with only a quarter cup of the mixture.”
I nodded—drugs. But I didn’t push her for any more information. Instead, I said, “You know, if you cross over, you’ll be able to be with your mother again.”
“Cross over where?”
“Heaven.”
For a moment, she looked conflicted. “But how do I know she’s there?”
“Trust me, she’ll be there, and she’ll be so happy to see you. Just look for the light, and walk towards it.” I knew about the light from talking to Anita.
After turning her head back and forth, she gasped, “I see it! It’s beautiful!”
“Just walk towards it.” She did, taking several steps. Then suddenly, she kind of dissolved into nothingness and was gone.
Staring at the spot where I had seen her last, I took a deep breath. My first crossover, and I did it without any problems! I felt elated!
During the next two years, I crossed over at least two dozen souls, sometimes with a little assistance from Anita. But then came the crossover I wasn’t expecting, and really didn’t want to happen.
I had arrived home to the apartment I was sharing with my mother. My father had died of alcohol poisoning when I was twelve. When I walked into the living room, I saw my mother standing in front of the couch. She had her back to me. I realized she was looking down at something. “Mom,” I said to her. “What are you looking at?”
“Me,” she replied, then stepped sideways so I could see.
Sure enough, she was sitting on the couch, her eyes closed her head lolling to one side. A stab of sadness hit me. “Oh, mom,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
She turned to me. “Sorry for what?”
“You died, mom. Now it’s time for you to cross over.”
“You mean go to heaven?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Dad should be there waiting for you.”
She got a sad look on her face. “I’m not so sure he’s going to be very happy to see me. I wasn’t very nice to him towards the end.”
“I know, mom, but it’s heaven, he’ll forgive you.”
She got a slight smile on her face. “I hope so.”
Then I told her to look for the light and walk towards it. She did, and like all the rest, her spirit faded into non-existence. Afterwards, I called Anita. She helped me with all the arrangements.
Two weeks later, she showed up on my doorstep. “You still have your mother’s room for rent?” she asked
I had to smile. It figured she’d know if I had a roommate yet or not. “Yep,” I told her, then asked, “Is it for you, or someone else?”
“No, it’s for me. They’re going to renovate the entire apartment complex where I live.”
“Well then, it’s still available.” I gestured. “Come on in and take a look.”
She did with a happy smile.
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Francis Lai
12/15/2019I like this story. Now it is my turn to see if I can hatch up another one, not similar, but almost, from a different perspective - perhaps from an Islamic viewpoint. Or even from a Buddhist angle. Thanks.
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