Dearly Departed Read Online Free

of a spirit world.
    We’d been instructed to sit in a large circle and concentrate on a vase of flowers that a redheaded, well-dressed woman had placed in the middle of the room. Perhaps we would see, hear or feel something. A message, a prediction or some form of proof of another sense—a sixth sense.
    We regularly made the one-hour drive from my parents’ home in the leafy northern beaches into the bright evening lights of a fast-moving Saturday night in the city of Sydney. We’d park the car and make our way to the theatre district, where I was allowed to select a small bag of handmade chocolates. The treat, I realise now, was a bribe to keep me silent for the night’s activities.
    Walking up the old stairwell, it seemed as though the creaky stairs were singing their own mantra: ‘Come—be prepared, come— be prepared.’
    You couldn’t help but notice the assortment of people in the large room. Some were well-manicured in appearance, others seemed out of place. They were lost souls looking for an evening out—perhaps some light entertainment or a sudden rush of adrenaline with a ghostly encounter.
    The old iron chairs were already in neat rows facing the front of the hall, where a small table covered with a lace tablecloth had been placed. On one side of the table were, neatly placed, the Bible, a collection bowl for donations and a jug of water with two mismatched glasses. There was a chair on either side of the table— one for the guest medium or psychic and the other for the convener.
    My bag of dolls and toys become increasingly more boring as the weeks went by, and the chairs were most uncomfortable as I wiggled and squirmed. Sometimes I listened with intent to the guest speaker, questioning whether it really was Red Eagle or Cleopatra who the medium had brought through—their hand gestures and unusual voices all sounded fake to me. Other mediums seemed to shine as they talked, and I sensed a genuine interest and belief in what they were saying.
    I clearly remember the night my parents went forward for a healing to give up their addiction to cigarettes. They threw their packets away there and then, and neither of them looked at a cigarette again. This was a place where miracles and healings occurred. But as a child, boredom was setting in and the novelty of chocolate had worn off. So what had I to lose that evening when the call came to make ready for the development circle. That night I would participate—give it a go.
    Chairs were arranged in a large oval shape. My parents sat opposite me. I was sandwiched between two strangers. The convener placed a large arrangement of flowers in the centre of the circle. We were told that we needed to concentrate on the flowers—by doing this we may be able to tap into the spirit realm and receive messages and information from the other side for those participating in the development circle. Then the lights were switched off, and a veil of silence fell. I sat very still, a little nervous, a little scared, but something exciting was stirring within my soul. I waited for a sign, something that would show me what it was like to be a psychic, or bearer of spiritual messages.
    The silence was endless. I wished time would just speed up so I could have the supper that followed. In the 1960s, only rich people could afford chocolate biscuits and the supper table was guaranteed to have a plate or two.
    Then it happened. The voice, the message, the vision. I heard quite clearly, ‘Green, green is the valley where I lie’, then I saw a large grey wrinkled elephant trample a colourful-looking garden.
    That was it—two very different ‘signs’ which didn’t make any sense, but that’s what I experienced. As the lights were switched back on and my eyes adjusted, I witnessed eager adults discussing with their neighbours what they had experienced. Then the convener, who had also been sitting in the circle, rose from her chair and walked to the centre of the circle, right next