My Life as a Psychic Zombie
By Nomar Knight
Traumatic
events may bring to light the discovery of unusual abilities. When I was just six years old, my father
passed away from cancer. One of my
cousins tried to explain the concept of death to me. The news of the finality of the act of dying
stunned me into a state of shock, causing me to lose consciousness. One month after my dad’s burial, I received
an impossible phone call.
“Hello?”
Static
shot through the receiver, making it difficult to hear the voice. Once the noise subsided a bit, I instantly
recognized the voice on the other end.
“Dad?”
“Son,”
more static preceded by “I’m not supposed to be doing this, but you have to
stop worrying about me.”
“Dad,
when are you coming back?”
My
mother was in the kitchen and asked, “Who are you talking too?”
“It’s
dad!” I said all excited.
At
that moment, I witnessed my mother’s cheeks as they turned red.
My
dad continued, “Son, you’re the man of the house. Take care of your mother and little brother.”
Before
I could ask him again when he was going to return, my mother yanked the phone
out of my hands. She screamed, “This is
cruel! My husband is dead. How can you…” she listened to the voice on
the other end and tears flowed down her whitening cheeks.
“When
is dad coming back, mom?”
She
dropped the phone and ran to her room to light a candle and pray.
When
I picked up the receiver which was dangling from the phone’s base, I
spoke. “Dad, are you there?”
Nothing.
I
could only describe what I heard as a vast emptiness. No longer did the static signal transcend across
time and space. The huge void seemed to
seep through the tiny holes in the receiver, chilling my bones.
For
as long as I could remember, my father’s last words, which he took the trouble
to repeat to me during the impossible phone call, played over and over in my
mind. Looking back on the event, I
understood why my mother never spoke of that mystical day.
As
one could imagine, the impossible conversation left me in a haze. When I returned to school, I appeared to
mimic a zombie for the body was present but the mind wandered off with so many
questions. I wish I could say that the
strange phone call was the extent of my contact with dead people, but since
then there have been many instances of supernatural occurrences in my
life. Though some would say I’m psychic,
I don’t buy into that term since I have very little control over the encounters
with ghosts. It’s not like I can turn it
on and say okay, today I’ll converse with a dead person.
According
to my mother, my father told her in a dream that he’s not allowed anywhere near
me. He had left her a message which she
gave to me after a crucial event in my life had occurred. I don’t want to go into details, but I will
admit that on a special night, a night that determined not just my future, but the
birth of my children, an invisible hand pushed my chest and secured that my
life stay on its proper course.
Anyway,
after my father’s death, for at least five years I literally went through
school as a psychic zombie. The teachers
would converse with the class, and on a few occasions, images of their future
infiltrated my mind. One teacher who was
overweight, I had pictured her lying in bed, a fragile child of God. A few years later she died of cancer and I had
visited her before she passed on and witnessed the incredible
metamorphosis. Another teacher, a couple
of years earlier, entered the classroom and I asked her what name she planned
on giving the boy she was carrying in her womb.
After looking at me as if I belonged in an insane asylum, she admitted
to just discovering she was two months pregnant. My revelation appeared to mess with her mind
since she insisted she find out how I knew.
She hadn’t given the news to anyone yet, not even her husband. And yes, she had a boy.
So
what lesson have I learned from my experience?
Never tell anyone that death is the end for as I understand it, death is
the mechanism in which we journey back home.
See you on the dark side.
Nomar Knight
