Mrs. Smith went there once a month to speak with the dead. I didn’t learn this until later, but she had told Elizabeth about the place several times. Of course my sister knew about the place since she was a part of the family and it was pretty obvious that she believed in psychics—or Clairvoyants’. She went there to stay in touch with the people that had left them behind. It was a perfect distance for a day trip, and the red Citroen was a comfortable vehicle for the four of us. I had been able to use the company car for the trip to England, as my job was to stay in touch with the international shipping company’s British agents, and this vacation gave me the opportunity to use the car for free, while driving around in England for three weeks. My usual company car was the chic little Peugeot 205 Convertible, and my boss had the Citroen Diesel, but the deal had changed a little last summer, where he took the convertible and I got the Citroen. Whet the weather got colder again this fall; I expected that the convertible was mine again, when he wanted the coupe back during the colder months, as he had done the previous fall. Well, he was the boss, and my contract didn’t mention a convertible or not, so I took it like it was, a privilege and I appreciated the company car either way, including free gas and cigarettes I charged on the account whenever I filled it up. The trip had started with the ferry ride from Oslo to Harwich and had been uneventful, and after the shock of driving off the ferry and continue on the left side of the road, it had gone quite well. My girlfriend Anne and I had a great time driving in to London before taking the trip to visit my aunt Beatrice and her husband James that lived North of London in the three pub town of Husborne Crawley. My godmother Beatrice was such a positive woman, and she and her James welcomed us when we arrived to the little village for a few days. They lived in an historic house build in the late 1700’s that Beatrice claimed was haunted.
“That is just the old original owner of the house that never left the place. He is harmless and just wanders around outside at night” she claimed in her very, almost over the top British accent. And indeed, at night you would actually hear a person walking outside, but both Anne and I was didn’t really believe what we heard and definitely didn’t want to look outside to see what the sound really was. At breakfast next morning, Beatrice asked us if we had heard him outside.
“Did you hear the old man walking back and forth outside” was the first thing she asked when we sat down at the little table they had in the closest part of the living room. The house was very small, just like I imagined they would live in the seventeen hundreds, with a mud room slash hallway that you came in to from the side of the house. It was actually a part of the kitchen, so you basically walked in and stepped right in to the kitchen when arriving in to the house. I have always noted that the British homes typically have a front door that is used for entering and leaving the homes. And there is almost never a hallway or a mud room, you basically step in to the middle of the living room, but at Beatrice and James’ old house, the front door was never used. You stepped in to the kitchen mudroom. The house had a small living room with a small dining room table and four chairs on a heightened part of the living room were we had sat down for breakfast.
“Yeah, we heard someone outside, but I think it was someone walking back from the pub or something: Beatrice just laughed. “Ha ha, that was old Magee, the original owner that you heard. Maybe he was irritated that there were visitors here in his old home?”
“Whatever Beatrice, It just sounded like some guy that was walking outside to me “I didn’t really believe in haunted houses, but she seemed pretty sure of her story” IO bent over and scratched Oscar, their Jack Russell Terrier. The funniest dog I have ever seen and the reason for my love of Jack Russell’s. He was a little overweight, from all the spoiling he got from James and the pub owners in the village. James, or Jimmy as we called him was a contractor, and when he left for work in the, morning he just let the dog outside. They had another dog named Wendy as well. A Springer Spaniel that Beatrice had brought with her from before they met, but it was only Oscar that was let outside while they were away at work, Wendy stayed at the house during the day.
Husborne Crawley is a three pub town, and Beatrice and James has a “local” as most every Englishman would have, but they alternated between the pubs every now and then. Their local was a pub, just like their house, built in the 1700’s, as small, but with even lower door and ceilings. I had to bend over when I walked in through the door and while hanging in the main bar area. Jimmy was a contractor, and wanted of course not to limit his clientele to his local only, so he would alternate between the pubs so he could see all pub goers, which was basically everyone in the village basically. At around five o’clock every day after work, Jimmy took his pickup truck to one of the three pubs, mostly at the local of course, but sometimes to the other two. Oscar knew that he would go to one of the pubs, and he would start at the local. At exactly five o’clock he would walk in the front door to the pub, and look for Jimmy. If he was there, he would hang out at his feet until the second pint had been drunk, and it was time to go home. He would then run outside, wait for Jimmy to open the door, and jump in to the passenger seat for the ride home.
If he wasn’t at the local, he would look at the bartender, look around, determine if Jimmy actually was there or not, and look at the bartender again.
“He’s not here Oscar. Go and look somewhere else.”
Oscar used to hang out at one of the local stables, and had gotten a little too close to one of the horses one day and the horse had kicked him flying in to the stall wall, and broken his hip. He had a very distinctive limp, all the people in the village knew Oscar, and if they saw him running in town a little after five in the afternoon, they knew he was looking for Jimmy. They would of course also know that Jimmy not was at his local that day, but had chosen one of the other pubs for his daily two or three pints of bitter. He would chase to pub number two, either see Jimmy, or look around for him. Same procedure again, if he did or did not see him, he would continue to look for him. The trip between pub number two or three would always be the fastest distance Oscar would run, as if he knew that he would finally get to Jimmy, since this was the last pub, and of course the last place he would possibly be. I fell in love with Oscar, and the Jack Russell Terrier breed the second I saw him, and he jumped up in to my lap. Wendy, the Springer Spaniel, was just another dog; Oscar had personality and was a real dog.
The trip had continued up to the Lake District, before we ended up in Bradford where Elizabeth was staying in her second stint as an au pair with the great Smith family. The last week of our holiday was to stay with Frank and Elizabeth at the host the family’s house, then pack up Frank and Elizabeth’s stuff before they joined us on to the ferry and the trip across the North Sea back to Norway.
The four of us decide to take a day trip to the town where Mrs. Smith went for her weekly meetings with the dead. The red Citroen is characteristically floating down the windy English countryside road, much like a boat on rolling waves. The patented hydrapneaumatic suspension that Citroen had developed is comfortable, but not always the tightest in sharp turns.
“Slow down a bit Jessie: I hear from the girls in the back. “We are getting sea sick here”
I of course ignore them, and keep the speed as I come down the roads entering the valley.
“I think the town of over there” I point towards the other side of the valley. We can see a road going up the side of the opposite side, with a group of houses towards the top.
“Frank, see if that’s where we are going would you? “ Frank, my sister’s fiancé’ was deep in to the map and quickly confirmed that we were on track.
“Follow this road for a couple of miles, and then take the turn towards Haworth. It should be road 6142, but I am sure it will say Haworth. It’s a pretty popular village”
“You know the Bronte Sisters lived there right?” I hear Elizabeth ask from the back.
“Bronte? Like the women that wrote Wuthering Heights?” Anne is joining the conversation now. She has been in deep thoughts the whole morning, maybe she is motion sick from the Citroens roiling, or just thinking about something else.
“Yes, that’s why the village is so famous. They have tours of their house if you want to see it”
I keep quiet, not sure if I want to tour some old house that happened to be the residence of some old writers that I haven’t really heard of before. Frank stays quiet as well. I know that he had been here before, and is certainly not interested in a Bronte House tour.
I followed the road and made the turn just as Frank had instructed, then I followed the road up the side of the hill.
“Let’s stop at the town square, there should be a pub or two there, and the psychic house should also be right down from there.” Elizabeth had been there before, with our mother, that of course had gotten a reading by a clairvoyant woman in the house. The little village was not very busy, being the home of the famous Bronte sisters and all, but like my sister had remembered, it had a cobble street going up the hill towards a town square, much like you would see in southern Europe, not at all very characteristic for England.
“I could go for a pint or two” Frank looked at me.
“Yes sir, let’s have lunch and a beer “We head in to the Fleece Inn, right there on Main Street, and we all get a beer. Frank and I have a pint of bitter, and Anne and Elizabeth get the half a pint of lager, which is the closest to the Norwegian Pilsner that they usually drink. I have been to England many times, and have developed the taste for the Bitter they all drink.
“I am going to see one of these psycho’s down there. See if it has any truth to it, but I am sure it is all just a tourist trap” I proclaim, in my typical cocky manner.
“Nee way man, ahm not gannin in thar thes a gohstie”, my sister said in her newly developed, Yorkshire accent. As a child she had gone to both an American elementary school in the Hialeah army base in Korea, and later to a British, International school in Singapore. She had grown up speaking almost perfect proper English, but had after two years in Yorkshire developed the happy go lucky sounding accent of the English North east. She had lived there for only two years, and sounded like she was the daughter of a coalminer and had been there her entire life.
Frank and I have Shepherd’s Pie, and the girls get Fish and Chips. We finish up our second beer and head outside where it is sunny and nice so we can hang out down in the square.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea”
“What do you mean? “ I ask Anne
“I don’t like that you get a reading. What if he tells you something bad? “
“It’s just bunch of crap, Anne. I can’t imagine that he will know anything that I don’t already know. I am going in. Will you all just wait here? I am sure it won’t be long.
” You coming as well Frank? “I look over at him, but he’s not ready.
“I think I’ll wait until your back” he says as they sit down around the table that is located over towards the cars parked next to the square.
I walk towards the house that is sitting on the right side of the road. I can see that is hanging on the side of the hill, has a glass front door, with a window on either side of the entrance. There are some items for sale displayed in the window, but I don’t take notice of what they are. The Open sign is hanging on the door handle on the inside of the door, and as I open the door slowly, contrary to my cocky behavior in front of the others, I am not entirely sure about this, and a bell rings announcing y entrance. It looks like a small book store of some kind, and a couple of clients or tourists are looking around. A lady is looking at me and with a smile on her face she buries her eyes in mine.
“Are you looking to get a reading sir? Do you prefer Tarot cards or a palm reading sir? Maybe you want to connect with someone that you dearly miss?” I am suddenly scared to death. The lady looks straight at me, and I Instantly feel like she knows everything there is to know about me, who I am and what I am there for.
“Maybe a palm reading please?” I half say and half ask her, trying desperately trying to avoid her penetrating eyes.
“If you wait a few minutes and you can go down stairs, where Mr. Beswick will see you. Mr. Beswick specializes in palm readings and he will be ready shortly. By the way, do you want to record your reading? It will be an extra twenty pounds if you do. ” I look at her and smile. I don’t even believe that this will be worth anything, and I definitely don’t want to pay an extra twenty quid for the ordeal.
“No I think I will pass on the recording, thank you”
I stay at the counter as she is talking with some of the other customers, and after a minute or two she turns to me.
“You can go downstairs now. He will be in the second room on the right as you come down the stairs. “ I am not sure how she has found out that Mr. Beswick is ready for me, because it was just a minute or two ago when she said I had to wait, and I haven’t seen if she has received any calls or a note that says anything changed. I walk down the stairs and see a hallway, with several doors. The first on my right is closed, and I continue and see the door is open. I start to walk in but stop after I step inside. I see an older man that is sitting behind a table.
“Come on in”. I hear him say as he is looking straight at me.
“Sit down”
“OK” I say, nervously now, as it is a bit dark and I don’t know what to expect. I am far from the cocky confident man I was a few minutes ago, when I was laughing at the prospect of anyone reading my fortunes. I had imagined a lady with a scarf looking in to a glass ball, but this is not at all like what you would see in a cartoon. He is a nicely dressed man, probably in his sixties, and he looks straight at me as I sit down. We sit there door a couple of seconds , as he looks straight at me, with the same kind of penetrating eyes that the lay upstairs had, and I am all ears.
“Your girlfriend didn’t want you to come here, did she? “
I look in shock at him. I look towards the windows, as my initial thought is that he has a window that he is looking through as the prospective clients come in, but there is no way that he has seen my girlfriend and I argue about the prospect of me getting the reading. There are no windows facing towards the village square we were before I went in. I don’t say anything; I don’t have to say anything. He knows that I know that he knows, and I look straight back at him, probably with my mouth open, not at all collected, and not at all cool.
“I am glad that you decided to come” he says. “Before I start, do you have any questions for me?”
I think for a second and all I come up with is: “Will I be with my girlfriend? Will we be a couple in the future? “He looks at me and then he starts to talk. I can only listen as he starts talking about me , like he has known me my entire life and I have a strange feeling that He knows me down to my bare bones. He knows all my secrets, he knows all my weaknesses, and he knows how I feel about the situation.
“You will make a choice about you and your girlfriend there will come a time where you have an opportunity to make a choice. When you make it, the decision, you will be sure of what you are doing, then you will have doubt, but whatever decision you make, it will be the right one.” I listen to him, as he makes a whole lot of sense.
“You will go to a country where there are a lot of colored people. I see many colored people and you will move there. You will live in a house, it is a big house. I see a lake, a yard and a lake, you will be very successful, and you will move around, but you will continue to come back to the house. “I wonder what he means but I am listening. I suddenly regret that I didn’t pay the extra twenty pounds for the tape, but it’s too late now.
“I see three children, At least three boys, but maybe a girl as well. They are all born right after each other, the three boys and the one girl. Maybe a girl I should say, but definitely the three boys. “ He gestures with his hands as to show that they are from short to taller, as to indicate their height in succession. “ I am listening, and it all makes very little sense to me. He is very sincere, and I am hundred percent sure that he knows what will happen. Then he changes the topic.
“There is a man that is trying to reach out to you. He is a big man with a beard, a man that everyone is swarming around and everyone listens to. He wants to tell you that everything is alright. He is very calm, he knows that you are worried, but he wants you to get going with your life, and he says that it will be alright for everyone.” I am sure he is talking about my father that had died just four years earlier, but I am too scared to ask who it is. He stops for a second, ask for my palm, which I instantly put on the table. He looks in to it and continues to talk about me and my life.
“You will be successful and live a good life. You will keep looking for the good life, and have a lot of unrest, but I see much success in your life.” I am a little more relaxed now, and I like what he is saying. But it is short-lived, because suddenly he changes his expression. His face starts to clinch, almost like he is cramping up. Then he speaks, with a very hoarse voice, and he is unrecognizable.
“There is a man talking. He is your almost like a family member, but he is not. He is your friend, your best friend.” I can almost not hear what he is saying because the voice is so sore and it’s like someone is talking through him. And I am terrified. The man is talking, or almost screaming though his wide open mouth with a voice that sound like nails scratching against a black board, and I am leaning backwards scared to death of what is happening. His eyes are rolling inside of their sockets, and he is no longer looking at me. I am sweating and I am trembling, because I know who this person that is talking through him is. I am sure it is my grandfather that died ten years earlier. I don’t understand what he is saying about not being my family, but that he is, but he was definitely my best friend for my entire life I am also sure that it is him, because he had only half of his stomach after a serious ulcer in his younger days, so he would never eat much. He also died of throat cancer, and had a serious messed up vocal cords for his last years. Later I also find out that my grandfather wasn’t really my grandfather, as he had adopted my father after his father died of a growing heart back in the forties. At this time I do not know this, but after I get back home, my mother tells me the entire story.
“Your friend is a skinny man, a man with a skinny face, and a beard. H is trying to reach through to you and tell you something. He is funny, and he is your friend, but he wants to be with you” I am terrified. I only want to get the hell out of this place, but as sudden as he started with the horrible voice, he changed back in to his previous calm self and looked at me with his strange piercing eyes that knew me better than anyone else had ever known me. He must see that I am scared to death and that I am about to run out of there because he continues, this time in a very calm voice:
“Relax; there is no reason to be scared. Your friend was trying to reach you through me, and I was just the channel for him to be close to you again.”
The entire reading does not take more than twenty minutes, but when I am there, it is like time is standing still. I walk upstairs, pay my twenty pounds and walk outside. I don’t look back. I am sure I am sweating and I am surely white as a sheet in my face. I walk down to the others that are looking my way as I slowly approach them. Anne has a worried look on her face, as she for spume reason knows that the psychic has told me that we are towards the end of our relationship. Elizabeth’s face has the expression of curiosity and wonder, as she is asking me what I have heard, that has made me look like I have been told some gruesome news. I am still shaking from what the man has told me, but I don’t say much. “Frank, you gotta go in there as well.” It was pretty cool, and he’s not going to tell you anything bad. You’ll like it.”
“All right mate. I’m going in “We all smile as we see him purposely walks towards the store front and disappears inside the house.
After a good twenty minutes were I have told the girls what the strange Mr. Beswick told me, Frank comes out of the house. He is even whiter than I was, and is very quiet.
“Bloody hell, that was scary, I need a beer”, he says to us relieved that he is out of there. We go in to the Fleece again and after a few minutes of questioning him, he opens up.
“First of all, he said that I will travel across an ocean to a place with lots of mountains and trees. He saw me going in to a small old church, with lots of flowers all over the church. “
The two girls and I look at him. It’s July 23rd, and we are leaving for the ferry that will take us across the North Sea in just four days, to Norway. He is of course going to marry my sister in August, just a couple of weeks after they arrive in Norway. My mother and Elizabeth has it all planned, and they are to be wed in our hometown church, A one thousand year old church that is tiny small. We all know that it is customary to put bouquets of flowers all over the church when there is a wedding, and it all makes sense what the psychic has told Frank. But how the heck did the man know this?
“Did he read you palm, or did he just talk?” I ask as I am curious to see if it was just like when I was in there just half an hour earlier.
“He did both, he just started out talking and after a while he asked to see my palm, then after he had told me about the church stuff, it got really scary” Frank continues.
“He told me about me being in a room, and I was lying in my bed listening to a man walking around and the sound of wood against wood. The sound of a stick hitting the floor, almost like a pirate with a wooden leg, but this was happening at night and I couldn’t sleep. Then he told me that there was a man trying to talk to me. He was a man dressed in white. All his clothes was white , he was totally white including his face and hands, and he was hugging me as to tell me that he was happy that I was doing fine. I t was scary as bloody hell, as he changed his voice when he was talking to me, telling me this, almost like the man was right there. I was scared to death, as I knew what it was”
We look at each other in wonder, and look at Frank: “What was it? “We all ask almost in unison. “Who was the guy in white? “Frank looks at us, almost crying, and he is shaking as he explains. “First of all, when I was kid, I had a bedroom on the first floor. My grandfather and grandmother lived on the second floor, and at night my grandfather would walk around the room. He used a wooden stick to keep his balance, and I would lie awake listening to him before falling asleep. Then, he tells me about the man in white, and this was even scarier. “Frank’s face is white, almost as white as the man he is about to tell us about. He takes a big slurp of his bitter and continues: “Elizabeth, you know this, but Jessie and Anne, you all don’t know this. My father is actually my stepfather. When I was five years old I fell in to a swamp and almost drowned. My father that didn’t know how to swim jumped in and managed to save me. But in his successful attempt to save me, he drowned himself. “
“I had no idea” I say, as I can see the sad eyes almost crying from my future brother in law. “But what does that have anything to do with the man in white?” I ask carefully.
“Well my father, the original father that saved me but started to sink in to the deep black water, and didn’t come back up. He drowned saving my life. And he was a baker. He would always be dressed in white. Pants, shirt, hat and everything and he would come home almost covered with flour-always in white and almost always all white on his arms and in his face. It was my father that was trying to reach me”
