Meeting the Devil: My ESP story Part I

This morning, around 3:46 am, I couldn't sleep. So I went to the computer to listen to some music. As I was downloading my play list, I came across some hubs about Channeling and ESP.

Reading the first lines, I noticed how the author felt elated with the fact that she could use this ability to help others and how wonderful it felt. I smiled and thought to myself how lucky this woman was to have such a enriching experience, and talk about it. My case was to say the least, quite different.

My first memory of this "gift" was at the age of seven. When I woke up to have a drink of water, I walked to the living room and instead of going to the kitchen were my grandmother was playing Parcheesi, I walked strait to the big window were the sofa was. I climbed up and open the curtain. I saw the street in front of the house. The window was so cold but I still touched it.

There I saw my uncle ( well my father's uncle) trying to cross the street, he was drunk. I am sad to say that I giggled a little to see him in such state. As he was nearing the side walk, a red car hit him with such force that he flew about twenty feet and hit the curve. I was frozen. Could not speak or move. So I don't know how long it took but, seconds maybe, I slid down the big couch and slowly walked pass the kitchen, trough a long hallway and went into my sister's room and crawled into bed with her. But couldn't close my eyes. I don't recall how long it took for my grandmother's sister to turn on the light on the room.

My sister jumped up and asked me what was I doing in her bed, but was interrupted by my aunt, asking us to get dressed. I could hear there was people on the house. They were arguing and crying. My sister was only five, so of course being late she was fuzzy and in a bad mood. I was still sitting on the bed. When I started to cry, I knew. It was real, he was dead. '

I did not wanted to go to the funeral. Those places gave me stomach ache and cold sweats. There it was, at the drinking fountain that I heard something that still makes my stomach turn. He was having a few drinks on a pub across the local mall, headed home using a short cut that opened trough a construction site connecting to the main street near the mall's parking lot. It was 2:00 am so the roads were pretty much clear. According to the police report, he got hit by a red compact car trying to cross the street. Three miles away from our neighborhood.

There were stories about certain members of the family ( most of them dead) involved in the occult but nothing in the open. Was more like private conversations between adults. I did not paid much attention to something that wasn't openly being discussed. To be honest I did not care. I was too preoccupied being 13 and being a freshman , that for me was more important that some ghost stories.

One day, a lady came to visit my grandmother. A young woman that was visiting from Venezuela. I was busy in my room doing home work. When my grams called me, I knew I had to greet the guest so I went to the kitchen. She made the introduction and politely I smiled to the woman. Then my grandma gave me a paper bag.

She tells me that her visitor brought that for me. I was a teenager, I did not care If I had no clue who she was, she brought me a present, from Venezuela! As I opened the bag I was a little confused by what's inside. It was a deck of cards. They were both looking at me, so i smile and said thanks. I thought they were very beautiful. But never the less, they were cards. I don't do cards. Reading the box, it said Tarot Deck. Still I thought they were paintings in the cards, pretty pictures.

My best friend at the time came over to exchange notes for the project. She saw the cards and got exited. Then she went on telling me that those were fortune telling cards. I looked at her like she was high. She proceed to explain that witches used them to tell the future and wanted to play with them. So I gave her the deck. After browsing trough the cards, there were filled with symbols and roman numbers. She lined them up on the table, we were facing each other and to be honest I wasn't in the mood for this.

I opened my mouth to ask her something about the assignment, instead I asked her how sick was her dad. The color faded from her face. Then I could'nt stop, I told her about how the meds for his diabetes and dialysis were failing. I told her to contact her father, forgive him and establish a relationship with him. -" He is going to die soon."- I coldly said. She thought it was a cruel prank and threw the cards at me and left. The next weekend, I was so depressed and mad at her because she stopped calling me. The phone rings and it was her, I suddenly felt guilty and sad. I started to apologize, but she interrupted me.

She asked me for a favor, to ask permission to go with her to her father's funeral. I got sick as she described me her dad's last days. Hanged up, got dressed, and waited for her brother to come for me. As I left, my grandmother stopped me by the arm. I thought I was in trouble. I did not asked permission to go nowhere. Instead she gave me some money and a hug. She just said it's ok you'll get used to it.

Things after this got more personal and more out of control. I couldn't ignore it or hide it. Believe me I tried. It was a secret that everyone knew and accepted except me. The things I have seen, heard and felt almost destroyed my life. I could'nt run away from something that so many had witnessed and made sure I never forgot.