Between Worlds: A Woman's Tale of Spirits and Shadows

Last night, as I lay in bed, I was jolted awake by a loud crash echoing through the hallway. My heart raced with fear, and for a moment, I hesitated before pulling myself upright. Despite the unsettling noise, I found myself unable to muster the courage to investigate further. Instead, I forced myself to calm down and eventually drifted back to sleep. It was a curious reaction, one that puzzled me even as I succumbed to slumber once more.

Upon waking this morning, I discovered the aftermath of the disturbance. Several books littered the floor, and a painting in the lower hallway hung askew on the wall. Instantly, I knew these items hadn't fallen of their own accord. They had been pushed, deliberately displaced from their original positions on the bookshelf. The rational explanations were few: either a rodent had caused the chaos, a possibility I couldn't discount, or perhaps it was the work of a poltergeist.

I've always felt a strange connection to the supernatural. Unlike many, I find solace in the presence of spirits rather than the living. It's a peculiar preference, driven by a personal history that intertwines with the realm beyond our own. My days are spent immersed in the mystique of tarot cards and the trance-like state I enter for clients, hardly ever skipping a session. Perhaps it's this constant engagement with the unknown that keeps the veil between worlds thin.

I possess tools of the trade—like the Ouija Board and the Ghost Box—yet I rarely summon the courage to utilize them. The Ouija Board gathers dust in its box, and the Ghost Box remains untouched, its potential for communication with the beyond a daunting prospect. There's an eerie energy that surrounds these objects, one that manifests in electrical disturbances and mysterious phone calls, each one a reminder of the thin line separating the living from the dead.

My life has been punctuated by encounters with the paranormal: books tumbling from shelves with unseen force, strange voices whispering through the static of phone calls, and the unnerving sensation of being watched in the dead of night. Even as a child, I was visited by night terrors and visions of hooded figures lingering at the edge of my bed. One particular entity, which I've come to call "The Exile," haunts my thoughts and even serves as inspiration for my creative endeavors.

For over two decades, I've delved into the mysteries of the afterlife, documenting my experiences alongside a dear friend who has since passed away. His departure has left me grappling with unanswered questions and a sense of unfinished business. I can't shake the feeling that he lingers on, urging me to continue our shared exploration of the unknown.

Perhaps it's time to heed his silent call, to embrace the shadows and delve deeper into the secrets of the beyond. Despite the unease that accompanies such encounters, I remain undeterred. After all, if these spectral disturbances are to be my final wake-up call, I can think of no better company than the spirits that dwell beyond the veil.

So, as I navigate the precarious balance between the living and the dead, I find comfort in an old joke I used to tell: "As a spiritualist, I've conversed with both the living and the dead. But as a woman who's weary of the world, I much prefer the company of spirits." It's a sentiment that rings true, even as the echoes of the night continue to haunt my waking hours.

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