Our local Mall is a popular spot on Saturdays for non-skiers like myself during the long Northern Michigan winters; and a good place to go to chase away cabin fever. 

Ordering breadsticks and a slice of chewy, double cheese pizza at Sbarro's, I find an empty table and settle in for some journaling of concepts for a book about my adventures as a psychic/medium. The Food Court is a great place to eavesdrop on conversations around me, helping to add some spice, and authenticity, to my writing. 

"Beth!"  the male voice sounds so clear, I'm sure when I look up, he'll be standing right next to me. Instead, all the tables in my immediate vicinity are empty.

I've had the feeling all morning that someone is watching me. Since I'm not getting any clarity at this point, I decide to cut short my window shopping plans and head to Bath and Body works for a purchase of bath oil and candles.   

Waiting for the cashier to run my credit card through for my purchases, a tingling sensation spreads along my spine. This is an internal warning system I have when a strong energy is nearby - consistent with the voice earlier and the sense of being watched.  

Glancing around I see only one other customer, an elderly woman, squinting to read the label on a jar. Not even remotely menacing. I complete my purchase and head to my car. On a whim, I stop by the medical office where I've worked as a transcriptionist for twenty years to check for a possibly-urgent message. 

Letting myself in through the back entrance and turning the corner to my cubicle, a foot-high pile of patient charts with three tapes is on my desk waiting for transcription. A sticky note attached to one of  tapes reads: Beth: get these done right away...M.R. (medical records) is on my ass again. Translation: Dr. Procrastination can't admit any patients to the hospital until he cleans up his back-logged charts.

The jerk plays this game of chicken with the hospital all the time knowing I'll bail him out. Intuitively I know this is not what's been prowling the edges of my consciousness. News is on its way I feel, and I have to wait for the details. Slamming the office door behind me, I head home.   

Lobbing my keys onto the kitchen countertop, throwing off my coat and heading for my bedroom, I see a message light blinking on my phone. Checking caller I.D., the last number registered isn't a familiar one. Reaching for the phone, I pull my hand back like I've touched a hot stove. I'm not up to dealing with whatever the message is about. 

I've learned not to question this voice. The spirit world has its own set of rules and timing; and not following them can have disastrous consequences. I decide to put off playing back the message until later in the evening.

Still fuming about the chore I'll face on Monday morning, I slide my body into a luxurious bubble bath.  Sipping a glass of Riesling wine, inhaling the scent of my burning cedar candle and plugging in my  earphones, I settle into the sounds of Josh Groban's beautiful voice. I can feel the anger beginning to melt away.

The medical transcription day job is for money and a great retirement plan. What I do for love is Psychic readings and Mediumship: the ability to hear and communicate with dead persons. 

Unlike Sylvia Browne and her $600.00, per hour phone readings, being a small town psychic doesn't pay much even when I charge which I don't always do. So, I keep the day job. 
 
Emerging from my bath feeling restored, I pour another glass of the wine, throw on my favorite sweatshirt and Cuddlyduds leggings and head down to my basement sanctuary. As I'm reaching for the T.V. remote, the phone rings. Checking caller I.D. I see that it's one from earlier in the day and pick-up. Showtime.

The voice at the other end sounds peeved, "I'm calling about an ad in The Courier with this phone number for information. I left a message earlier, but no one returned my call."  

The ad he's referring to is brief: the fact that I do psychic readings and help people rid their homes of ghosts. I don't include my name because knowing I'm a Psychic/Intuitive leads to some strange reactions from people. A few have gotten in my face and accused me of being a tool of Satan. 

"I'm sorry about not returning your call sooner." He doesn't need to know that I'm not sure I'm ready to hear what he has to say.   

"It's taken me a little while to get up the courage to call you. I'm the manager of the video rental location in Chum's Corners and, from your ad, it sounds like maybe we need your, ah, services. I don't personally believe in this ghost stuff," he's quick to assure me, "But one of my employees knows you and swears by your ability. She's threatening to quit along with half my staff unless I do something about what's going on here."

"Before you tell me any of the details," I reply firmly, "I need to find out if you have the authority to ask for my services. You're the manager, not the owner?" Hearing only heavy breathing coming from the other end, I wait, "Listen, the owners don't know I'm calling you. I've kept what's happening from them. They're never here; and they pay me well to make problems go away."

I'm not pleased that the owners aren't privy to what's happening; but I see no harm in an initial assessment of what's going on. The anxiety building in my stomach tells me I need to meet with this guy soon.

"Will you be in the store tomorrow at 1 P.M.?  I can come by and talk with you then." I hear relief in his voice as we confirm the time to meet;  but he's not quite done, "Say, you won't be bringing incense or wearing funny clothes will you?" 

I just have to say it:  "My broom's in for a tune-up, so I'll be arriving by car and disguised as a regular-looking person." With that, the line goes dead.  

This is the information I've been 'expecting'. It also makes sense. I have found myself wanting to get my videos and get out of that store quickly whenever I'm in there; and, driving by, I often feel myself drawn to the front window expecting to see a face looking back.

Feeling excited and hyper-alert now, I go into my meditation room to pray and prepare my energy for who or what faces me the next day.   
 
***************