The Hooverville Hexagon: Uncanny Wednesday

 We've seen (and heard) things you people wouldn't believe. We watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate... And then there was…

 

Was He Swimming, or

Getting Pickled?

by FWR

There's how much salt in that natural salt lake in Bulgaria? Wow.

QotD

from Pittsburgh, on a Monday

Pittsburgh Scanner (Twitter): Brookline. Brookline Blvd at Pioneer Ave. Caller says some guy walked into a business and asked if they were hiring. The caller thought that this was really weird and wanted the police to know.

Editor's note: We don't explain them. We just pass them on.

Ghost Music

It's a 'pretend harpsichord'. Best I could come up with. Sort of a ghost of itself.

The Ghosts of Heroes Past Show Up

in the Road Signs of the Present

by DG

That's a real post-office-and-meat-market, by the way. Rural Ireland has nothing on us.

Today's Featured Experience:

Three Roses

by FWR

What would it take for you to believe? Fact-checking the clairvoyants brings a surprise.

 

My mum was a very spiritual person, not religious, but spiritual.

 

Shattered by the tragic death of my father just weeks before I was born, she clung to anything that gave her comfort in his presence.

 

My youth was happy, despite the ghosts that haunted our little house. Mum kept his memory alive, telling us stories of their brief, loving, life together, reassured that someday they'd be reunited in whatever place or state came after this one. Life simply could not be that cruelly short, there must be something beautiful waiting. Love never dies. Her forever love would be waiting.

 

To be honest, at that time, I smiled at her, not remotely understanding her pain, and went on trying to look for the logical explanations for all the spooky stuff, strange coincidences, and signs that she really was being looked down upon. I took all that mumbo-jumbo with a huge handful of salt, but never scoffing at all the 'spiritualist churches' she attended, the clairvoyant sessions she paid money she didn't have for, and all the other weirdos that, I thought, made a fraudulent living from good people's grief.

 

Whatever gave her comfort was fine by me, I just didn't want her to be ripped off by these unscrupulous scoundrels. Parlour shows and end-of-the-pier palm readers: fakes, all of them.

 

Mum always said there was a soul mate for everyone. Some special person divinely chosen. A forever love. The secret was to recognise when you did or didn't have them in your life. She had that forever love with my dad. I'd not met mine yet, she said - that thought stung as I thought I was in a pretty solid relationship at the time - but I would.

 

Sadly, mum passed away a year or two before I met the love of my life, but I knew they'd have loved each other to bits. Certain, as a hopeless romantic, mum had told me of a love I'd yet to find whilst she was alive, content I now felt that all-consuming forever love that she obviously had with my dad. Finally I could get a sense, although only a tiny portion, of what it would've been like for her to lose him. Truly heartbreaking.

 

A few years later my wife was invited to a girls' night at my sister's; they'd have a few drinks and had booked a clairvoyant and fortune teller for their collective amusement. I was determined to stay out of anything that silly, frowned upon the bloody waste of money, and sat in the kitchen having a beer with my then-brother-in-law. But not for long. I was summonsed into the living room by the charlatan.

 

He had a message for my wife - but she had no idea, from his description, who was keen to contact her. The ghost whisperer told her I'd know and asked her to go fetch me. (To this day I don't know how he knew I was next door or my relationship to those in the room.)

 

'You'll know. I'm seeing a tall guy sitting on a tank, smoking a pipe, with a beer in the other hand.'

 

'That's your grandad, love.' 

 

Immediately I recalled the old WW2 photo on the mantlepiece at my wife's grandmother's house. The liberation of France. A tiny faded photo tucked in among many, many others, but my interest in photography had this one stuck firmly in my memory.

 

'Thank you,' says the mystic. 'When we've finished here, I seem to have a message for you, too.'

 

'Not interested, mate: don't believe in any of this stuff, sorry.'

 

'Can I ask a question first?'

 

'Go on…'

 

'Your father, you two are very alike, like peas in a pod. If it wasn't for your hair and the beard it'd be like looking in a mirror for you.'

 

Aha. Got you!

 

'Really? Wow that really is incredible; as I say, not interested, but thanks.'

 

He must've seen the look on my face, maybe realized the huge mistake in his fake pitch.

 

'I don't mean now, obviously he passed so long ago. But you're more alike than you realize.

 

'His funeral…?'

 

'Wasn't there, mate.'

 

He continued, not missing a stride; '...at his funeral, your mum laid three red roses, one for each of their kids, wouldn't allow any other flowers, she…'

 

'I'll stop you there, bud, my dad's funeral was a big affair from what I was told, hundreds of people, and as for one for each kid? That'd be two, not three. Nah, I'm going back to my pint. Have a good evening.'

 

Still this guy persisted: 'Promise me, once you know about the roses, here's my card, give me a ring; this really is important!'

 

My wife was intrigued with the message. 'What if he's right, about the roses on your dad's grave? What if the message is important, like he said?'

 

'There's simply no way to find out, love. I obviously wasn't born, my brother and sister were toddlers, my nan and gag have gone, so I don't know anyone who could tell us. Look, I'm sure my mum said his funeral was a big deal, she loved flowers and I can't believe she'd tell everyone else not to send flowers, just doesn't sound like her. But we'll never know now, will we?'

 

What a load of rubbish. A shill for a few extra quid, I thought.

 

Months later, deep into my new job, and running around after our kids, I'd completely forgotten about the guy.

 

The job was going well. Really well. Loved it. Finally got to work with motorbikes. The money was crap, unless you owned your own company, but I was thrilled to be spending five or six days in the saddle. My mum would've hated it; hated bikes, worried herself sick every time I cocked my leg over 'one of those bloody dangerous things' as she called my bikes.

 

A year or so later I was offered the opportunity to buy the company I was subcontracting to. A really good deal. 

 

We'd have to remortgage, go into massive debt for a few years, but long-term, it could be very lucrative. I'd have my dream job and be my own boss, train my biker mates to work for me, etc, etc. My wife was concerned about the risk, but as ever, decided to support me in whatever made me happy.

 

Weeks of pawing over accounts and business plans, meetings with banks and solicitors followed. It was do-able, just. I felt a little guilty putting us into debt, but the rewards, judging by the books I'd seen, would be great for us. Time to sign on the bottom line! In just a few weeks I'd actually own the company and be well and truly on the road to financial security. 

 

But first some sad events had to be attended to. My best friend had passed away after a valiant fight with cancer. I'd taken time off for his funeral; I knew I'd be useless for a few days after.

 

Walking back through the local cemetery, my wife and I detoured to my family's grave.

 

As I stooped to clear up some dead leaves, a shadow fell over me.

 

'What are you doing?'

 

I looked up at the elderly lady.

 

'I said, what are you doing? That's my brother's grave!'

 

'Look, love, this is my mum and dad's grave, don't know where…'

 

The lady went white as I stood up to face her, tears in her eyes.

 

'Oh, my! For one second there I thought that you were him, you're so like him!'

 

Turns out this old girl was a long-lost aunty of mine. Moved to Australia shortly after my dad died. I had never met her and knew very little about that side of the family.

 

We chatted for a while, catching her up on things. She, on her way back to Aus after a visit to Wales, had decided to pay one last visit to her brother's grave; she was saddened to see his wife's name had joined him in stone.

 

'I take it you were here, at his dad's funeral?' My wife asked, gesturing towards me.

 

'Oh, yes, dear, lovely send off; hundreds of folk turned up to say their goodbyes. Your poor mum, with you in her tummy, I still remember how she.'

 

I cleared my throat, knowing what my wife was leading up to.

 

'I suppose there must've been flowers everywhere. I never got to meet her, but he says she loved flowers?'

 

'That's the strange thing, dear! She only wanted three red roses: one for your brother, one for your sister, and one for you. Looked so sad, those three little red blooms; but that's what she wanted.'

 

On the way home, my wife rummaged in her bag, pulling out the clairvoyant's card.

 

'Now will you bloody ring him?'

 

I felt a bit daft as I sat down, half expecting to see a crystal ball or a ouija board. Instead the guy just talked. Pointed out a few things only I would know from my childhood. Half-forgotten memories shared with my mum.

 

'She's not happy with your job. She says she still hates it every time you cock your leg over one of those bloody dangerous things!'

 

I smiled at the memory of my mum's voice in my ear. Pictured myself as a teenager, pushing my bike out of the back yard of her little terraced house. Grinning at her as I patted the pillion seat and offered her a ride, knowing the look I'd get.

 

I was a little taken aback when he matter-of-factly gave me details of my job, described the people I worked with, and named the company and the guy I was going to buy out.

 

'The message. DO NOT sign that deal. You WILL lose everything! The house, everything! Look after your wife and kids, and know she HAS been chosen for you, your forever love, just like I said!'

 

We put the brakes on the deal, claiming my bank needed more info, so couldn't get the money agreed in time. The warning from beyond the grave was heavy on my mind.

 

A few weeks later I turned up for work: gates locked, no-one about. 

 

Gone bankrupt with huge debts raised against the company. Owner disappeared to avoid many, many creditors.

 

If I'd, if we'd, have signed that contract, all those debts would've been ours. We'd've lost everything we had.

 

Whether we'd been shown fake accounts, or he'd run up debts knowing he'd be free of them once the company changed hands, I'll never know. Scumbag.

 

I have learnt he was arrested and went to prison a short time later. Good riddance!

 

I'm a little less sceptical nowadays; seen to many weird things first-hand to discount the supernatural outright.

 

But I'll always be grateful for that message, wherever it came from.

 

I'll aways love my wife, and I'll always love my dear bike-hating mum!

 

That's all from us 2day,

 Dmitri Gheorgheni, Editor