An Apprenticeship to a Ghost

By Don Sanger

A unique ghost story full of mystery and wonderment, with powerful secrets normally shared among a few ancient, reincarnating spirits who, over thousands of years, have remained silent and anonymous. After a death in the family that shatters his world, a student has some eerie encounters with such an old spirit, who entices him to go on a spiritual journey, out of his body and on a path to enlightenment. He learns a series of life-changing lessons pertaining to the mysteries of life that seem to have eluded us all. But just as intriguing, he is not the only one in search of such knowledge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528958974

Don Sanger

Don Sanger lives with his wife and son in the South East England. He started his adult life with a degree in art and design. After a few unrewarding jobs, he settled in the building trade and later became a carpenter. He then went on to develop his own businesses. However, he is an artist, a writer and his greatest interests and passions are the study of philosophy, spiritualism and the mystical arts.

Book preview

Sixteen

About the Author

Don Sanger lives with his wife and son in the South East England. He started his adult life with a degree in art and design. After a few unrewarding jobs, he settled in the building trade and later became a carpenter. He then went on to develop his own businesses. However, he is an artist, a writer and his greatest interests and passions are the study of philosophy, spiritualism and the mystical arts.

About the Book

A unique ghost story full of mystery and wonderment, with powerful secrets normally shared among a few ancient, reincarnating spirits who, over thousands of years, have remained silent and anonymous. After a death in the family that shatters his world, a student has some eerie encounters with such an old spirit, who entices him to go on a spiritual journey, out of his body and on a path to enlightenment. He learns a series of life-changing lessons pertaining to the mysteries of life that seem to have eluded us all. But just as intriguing, he is not the only one in search of such knowledge.

Copyright Information

Copyright © Don Sanger (2019)

The right of Don Sanger to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528908559 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528908566 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781528958974 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Author’s Insight

All my life I have had what most people would call weird experiences. As a child, I saw ghosts and had strange dreams—well I thought at the time they were dreams—but many years later I realised that they were nothing of the sort. According to some experts on the subject, I was having OBEs or ‘Out of Body Experiences’.

At the tender age of four or five, with my physical body in bed, I would often find myself floating around the bedroom ceiling. Being so young, no one had told me that this sort of thing was supposed to be impossible, so it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Yet I would still wake up screaming; not because I was scared though; I was screaming in frustration because I wanted to venture outside. Try as I may, I could not open the curtains. Each time I tried, my translucent hands would keep going through the cotton material. And each time I would find my parents shaking me awake saying, You are dreaming… You are only dreaming… Wake up.

On other occasions—more pleasurable I might add—I would find myself floating around in different parts of my parent’s house. I played games on the stairs. It was a wonderful feeling to glide effortlessly up and down. But not once was I aware of my physical body.

However, in my early twenties, I had a conversation with some friends about ‘Astral Projection’, and thereafter, I began to practice it. This is the art and ability to leave the body at will. It was when I was practicing ‘Astral Projection’ that I realised that I used to do it quite naturally as a child. My experiences were not always favourable though, some were full of strange creatures with demon like qualities, but other experiences were nonetheless really quite remarkable, even beautiful.

Now… I’m not saying that this is a true story, but there are most certainly elements of truths with in it—I mean to say elements of my own experiences with extra stuff thrown—in to make it more interesting. This story and the messages retained within these pages are then—you might say—derived from the fruits and understanding of my own experiences. Although, the names and characters in this story are fictitious, and any resemblances to real characters are purely coincidental.

Introduction

For decades now, there has been a slow transformation of the human consciousness; a spiritual change that is felt deep inside every individual soul. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that there is a shifting in our collective human psyche. We feel a personal opening in our spirit that exposes us to many unanswered questions: questions that science, philosophy or religions have yet to fully clarify.

More and more people are feeling drawn to the mystical, supernatural and the unexplained. Highly intelligent people searching for inner satisfaction and meaning that until now has remained elusive. As more turn their attention to psychics and mediums for a hopeful truth to be found with their lost loved one, we sense this change. This change can also be seen in our ever-increasing demands for such topical media generally expressed in magazines, books, films and television documentaries. Topical subjects like ghosts, do they really exist, and if so, do they have any answers for us.

This is such a story; a unique ghost story full of mystery and wonderment. A story never before told. A story with secrets untold since the beginning of time; powerful secrets, normally shared among a special few, ancient and wise individual souls, wishing to remain silent and anonymous. I have some incredibly exciting news to share with you. One of these anonymous souls have come forth to explain all.

We can all give our own interpretations of the mystery of life. We are born, grow old, and then we die. Why? Are we here purely for the experience or for some other reason or reasons? For thousands of years, man has pondered this very question. Many books have been written on the subject. All religions are founded on such thoughts.

And what of death? Why must we die? What’s the point to it all? Is there life after death, or do we just switch off to a blank nothingness like a street lamp at the end of its allotted useful life? Surely, if our soul continues on, then the only person to know of such things would be someone who had the fortune to experience it; someone who is already there.

If it were possible to clearly communicate with a ghost, what wonders could be told? If this soul had been observing humanity since the beginning of time, what would this entity know, and what powers could it summon? What could it teach us, and what marvels could be told?

Are you a deep thinker? Ever questioned the meaning of life?

Have you ever questioned the meaning of death?

Would you be excited to learn from someone in the know?

Someone possessing a special knowledge kept from humanity since the creation of the universe.

If you are ready for this knowledge and possess the rare traits that will enable you to understand these special secrets, there is an awakening in your soul. Everything happens for a reason. When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. You have the profile. You have what it takes to receive the unknown. What was it that made you pick up this book in the first place? What circumstances took place for you to receive it? I warrant you, this was no coincidence.

Chapter One

At last it was noon. The exit door banged against a steel post when I kicked it open. I was the first one out, jumped three steps and landed with a thud on the melting tar path. Behind me, as if they were alive, I could hear creaking old tables and chairs screaming as they were shoved across the studio floor. The other students were still in side saying goodbye.

Yes…! I hissed loudly, end of the term.

I didn’t dislike art college, on the contrary, I adored it, but I was not myself. My whole life had been turned upside-down.

As I walked along the soft tarred path, the birds were singing merrily. Sweeping across my face in warm currents of air was the sweetest scent of roses. As this soothing fragrance blew past, I took a deep breath. It was summer; what a beautiful time of year.

Not for me…! I shouted making my way down the main pathway to a huge gate at the bottom. I pulled it open with such force that it bounced back and hit me from behind. I turned and gave it a good kick and hurt my foot as I did so. I tried to convince myself that there was no pain and walked on feeling extremely bitter.

Life is a strange place, I mumbled. What’s it all about, and why are we here? We are born. We eat and drink. We live. We reproduce get old and die…Why? What’s it all for? What’s the meaning of life, and is there a grand plan to life and the universe—for there must be a plan otherwise what would the point be to it all. Why must we die, and what happens when we do? Is there life after death? Is there a God…?

I looked up to the sky. I was now pleading for help and bellowing at the top of my voice:

"Can anyone hear me?

Is it some kind of secret that we are not to know about? God help me understand."

Then, in my head other questions fought their way through: Do spirits exist? Do ghosts exist? What’s the difference?

I don’t know…! I shouted as if trying to communicate with something hidden in the sky.

Questions…questions and more questions…leave me alone!

Suddenly, appearing to come from somewhere deep inside myself—my spirit perhaps—I don’t know yet, I heard a peaceful voice that said, Stop torturing yourself and calm down… But alas, outside the college gate was a two-way main road. I turned left. The cars on this busy road seemed unusually loud, and the noise drown-out any influence from this peaceful voice.

I took a short walk, and somewhere at the side of this noisy road, I found a public seat. I walked up to it, slumped down and buried my head into my hands. Oh no, the questions have started up again.

Don… Don… Don, are you all right? came a well-liked, familiar voice breaking through the monotony of questions.

Embarrassed, I sat up. I hoped that he hadn’t heard me shouting. I smiled, and as usual, I pretended that everything was just fine. But not being able to cover up and continue with this falsehood, I slumped back into the seat, and then it happened. Something mimicking a ball had got stuck in my throat. I felt a tremendous force working its way up through the centre of my body, and upon reaching my head, I exploded. Tears poured down my face. I leant forward pushing my head into my lap; I tried to cover my entire body with my arms. I wanted the whole world to just go away.

Comforting me, I felt a hand on my shoulder, but nothing was said.

After a short while, I opened up, straightened my back, but I could not look at him. With faltering fingers I did my best to wipe the tears from my eyes. I took a deep breath and heard his sympathetic voice. What’s up…? Come on, tell me. Is there anything I can do to help?

I shook my head.

Has anyone been troubling you? Come on, tell me.

More questions, I thought.

No…! I snapped in a most distasteful manner.

Then through hazy eyes I saw many students giving me strange looks as they walked by. I had seen them before. They were from the same college, but none of them were my friends.

Gaining more strength, I raised my wiry body and uttered, Oh, come on…! Let’s go to the park.

It wasn’t that far, but it felt like such a long journey. Apart from stopping to buy a few cans of beer, we walked in silence.

Billy was a good friend. I had known him for three years. We met on our first day of college. I was positioned next to him in a large studio. He was from an Irish family, a thin chap, blue eyes and short blonde hair. I had quite a number of friends at the college, but only a few I would call close friends, and Billy was one of them.

Just like me, Billy was a deep thinker so we could sit for hours talking about all kinds of deep philosophical things. But, he was a very deep person, and he seemed to be like it most of the time. He would sit for hours at his drawing board doing absolutely nothing but thinking. At the end of the day, he would pack away a clear white drawing pad only to return the following morning with this same pad full of ideas both written and drawn. I wondered whether he slept at night.

He was good at telling stories though. He liked the feeling of captivating people’s emotions. He would be telling a story and then slowly, steadily, luring you to the final climax, and when he had you fully mesmerised, he would say, That is it… Finished. He would just stand there laughing at you. Many times, I heard people begging him to finish the story, but he never did. Maybe for him they had no ending, I don’t know.

I could now feel the sun burning my back. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I moved my arm across my face and blew upwards in a vain attempt to cool myself. I opened a can of cold beer and felt a cooling sensation as it trickled down my throat. I was feeling better now.

We walked through the park gates, and I started to feel guilty. Billy was a good, genuine, dependable friend, and I owed him an explanation for my behaviour. We had not spoken since we had left that public seat. I looked at him through the corner of my eye. He was holding his head down in melancholy.

Sorry… I said in a weak tone. He returned a smile.

Don…there’s something very wrong isn’t there; please tell me. We’ve known each other for a long time. You can tell me. I might be able to help.

Still walking and unsure of what to say, I looked up to the trees.

I took a deep breath and said, Billy, I am sorry, but you can’t help me on this one; it’s something that I must go through on my own. It’s about my uncle Peter… I paused trying to control my emotions.

He is dying of cancer. I went to visit him yesterday, you know, just to see how he is, and well, you see Bill, he has been slowly dying for months now, and each time that I see him, he’s worse. He lost his hair, and his body has ballooned. He grows larger and large by the day. It is the steroids that cause the enlargement, they told him .The cancer started on his lungs and worked its way up. He has two tumours in his brain.

Billy was about to speak. I stopped him with a motion of my hand, and I tried to continue but, the same hidden force was working its way up my body again. I tried to breathe. I swallowed and pushed it down.

This on its own is enough… I continued holding back the tears. But last night across a table, close up, face to face; he placed one hand on mine, and with haunted weepy eyes he said, ‘I don’t want to die, Don.’

As we walked, I looked at Billy’s concerned face and cried out, It’s tearing me apart. It’s not right to see a man as strong as my uncle used to be…pleading with me so weakly. What can I do? I can’t help him. I feel so bitter. What am I going to do? I keep seeing his face in everything, and I hear his voice pleading with me, ‘I don’t want to die, Don…!’ It echoes in my head. He is haunting me, and he is not even dead yet.

I stopped when I realised that I was hitting myself. I love him… I said in despair.

We are so close. Some years ago, before he was married to Phyllis, he shared a room with me at my parent’s house. He went through an unsettled marriage the first time around. He was desperate for a place to stay, and we provided it for as long as he wished to stay. He stayed for two years, and we became close friends. Now, the cancer is draining him dry. He no longer laughs…Billy. I’ve seen the pain in his face and felt the fear of death radiating from his body. He is already way past the final days of the doctors’ expectations. They say that he is doing well, but he will not last much longer.

We stopped walking. Through glazed red eyes I looked at him expecting to see an anguished face. But instead, I was greeted by a warm smile. His face seemed somehow invigorating, and his blue eyes captivated my attention. Then, once again, he put his hand on my shoulder.

I am truly sorry for you and your uncle, he said in a well-composed voice. Just when you think that you have life all sewn up, and things are going your way—for you have to admit you are doing quite well at college.

I nodded.

Then God presents one more great useful lesson. He prepares your uncle for the closing hour of his existence. He has conducted him through this strange—tortuous at times—beautiful labyrinth of a mortal life and will finally prepare him to die. Such is the peculiar system of our lives. Your uncle is not dying. He is merely passing on to a better place. All of his pain, torment, anxiety, fears and problems of this world will leave him. And yet, he will return. You will meet him again. Why…it is not the end, but it’s a new beginning.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. For a moment, I was speechless. What a beautiful thing to say, I thought. Yet, still not trusting my ears, I looked straight at him, and our eyes met. His face blushed red as no doubt the realisation of what he had just said instantly manifested in his mind.

I am sorry, he said. I must have just gone-into-one.

No…! No…! I replied, What a lovely way to put it. Did you learn those words from a book or something?

No! he responded with laugher, They just flew off my tongue from God knows where.

Our eyes met again. Yes…! I returned, I bet God knows them words very well.

We walked on, passing through a well-used tree lined grassy path.

The soil was dry and hard from the hot days we’d endured. The grass was brown and dusty.

Let’s go down to the lake, I said, changing direction.

As we walked, the woods became more dense, and the ground softer. I could smell the damp vapour of nature as a cool, refreshing breeze blew through the trees. My mood instantly changed. It was as if my bitterness had blown away on a current of air. And I thought of the comforting message Billy had given.

There seemed to be a hidden meaning to this message, I thought. I tried to remember the words. He is not dying, he is moving on to a better place. And yet, he will return. It is not the end, but a new beginning.

The meaning to me was obvious ‘the cycle of life’. I wonder, is this true? Could this really be true? My emotions took control of my senses as all logical reasoning was pushed aside. ‘Reincarnation’ the transmigration of souls moving from one body to the next, death and rebirth, like the changing of the seasons, one life after another in a never-ending cycle. Your consciousness drifting through time and space, learning more and more throughout each life duration, right through the history of mankind and…

Look! Billy shouted, crashing my train of thought, look at the size of that bird. He was pointing a finger. I followed its direction, and there, high in the sky, I could see a large bird.

I think it’s a Red Kite… They are very rare, he said with excitement.

Its agile movements were alluring. We stood and watched as it slowly but gracefully glided over and above the cool waters. Using the warm air currents, it smoothly drifted on and on into a kind of dreamy endless ‘timescape’, seemingly lasting for ever, it gradually climbed higher and higher, then diminishing, it crossed the lake and faded out of sight. It had left me standing, transfixed on a now-vacant sky. I was captivated. Nature is so beautiful at times. It has a magical charm that strikes you unaware. Then came a faint, subtle voice from who knows where—intuition perhaps—it said, There goes another soul on its path to…

Come on Don! Billy shouted from some distance away.

I hadn’t realised I was alone. Feeling somewhat foolish for being caught out but perturbed for losing a special moment, ran to catch him up.

‘What time is it?’ I asked curiously, not really knowing why.

Two o’clock, why? Are you going? he asked.

No, of course not…! I shot back trying to finish my first can of beer.

Well, that’s a relief, he commented laughing. Come on, this looks like a good spot.

Close to the water’s edge, we sat down under a sprawling oak tree. A cool breeze blew across the lake, it tantalised its surface before it fanned us on the bank. His choice was a delightfully cool place. I opened my bag and pulled out another beer.

You’re drinking a bit slow aren’t you, came his mocking voice. I didn’t realise that we had started a race, Bill, I snarled.

Okay, okay, no need to bite my head off. I was only joking, he said with resentment colouring his tone.

There was a silence.

While drinking my beer, I casually looked at Billy. I now regretted my words and actions. I should not have snapped at him that way, but, on the other hand, he probably deserved it.

He was looking out onto the lake. Bought from a charity shop, his clothes were similar to mine, a mix of ex-army and out of date designer wear. It wasn’t our fault, we did the best we could on the money that we received from our student loan, but then again, I didn’t mind because some people throw away some really descent clothing, and it gave me a good feeling to think that my money had gone to a worthwhile cause .

The money we spent on beer should have been spent on food, but this was the last day of the term, and the first day of our summer holiday.

Life isn’t all work and study, I said under my breath.

Poor Billy, he did look thin. I looked down at myself. I didn’t have a great deal of flesh on me either—unlike my poor uncle, his body was not thin. Once again, I held a strong mental image of him that I would not forget. His torso blown up like a balloon, his face swollen to twice the normal size and below two very thin legs that had not properly been in use for many months.

Poor Pete… my Grandad used to call him.

My dear old Grandad, God bless him, what a wonderful fellow he was, I thought, always laughing, joking and full of life. Due to his sense of humour he called my uncle ‘Poor Pete’ because he had money, and he was always travelling. He would have three to four holidays per year. You didn’t ask him where he had travelled but, where he had not, that was much easier. He was fortunate in that way because he had a high position in an American airline. He earned good money then. I hoped that one day I could do the same, and finally, get out of the second-hand clothes that I wore.

Some would have considered him very lucky though, for he was well-travelled, and apart from his first marriage, he led a very good happy live with my Aunt Phyllis.

Aunt Phyllis, what a wonderful woman she is, I thought. Like a guardian angel she had looked after him so well, catering for his every need, and I knew that she would go on doing so right till the bitter end.

Yet I could feel the bitter anger building inside once again. In a few weeks’ time he would have been retiring. Why must he finish his life right at the point where he can finally relax and take things easy…? What a cruel world we live in. He will have to come back to finish off… That is, if it is possible. Is there such a thing as life after death? I did hope so for his sake.

I looked back at Billy. He was still gazing over the lake and like me in deep thought. He was sitting cross-legged and resembled a Buddhist monk engrossed on some unfathomable hypnotic state. He jumped startled when I called out his name.

What do you want? You’re not going to have another poke at me are you?

No, I paused, thinking about the implications of what I was about to say.

Tell me Billy, and be honest. Do you believe in reincarnation?

He looked at me with a puzzled smile. Turning his head to look at the lake again, he sighed and said, I don’t know, but somehow, I knew that you were going to ask me that question. It is one of those deep mystical questions. It’s intriguing, I know.

He looked at me as if he had knowledge of something special.

It is the unknown, the source of life and energy. Can it be passed on? How does it manoeuvre from one body to the next? It sends shivers up your spine, just thinking about it…

Then, as if a dark distant memory had struck him cold, he quivered like there was something small crawling up his back.

But I really don’t know. I find it hard to believe that when the lights go out, there is nothing but darkness. There must be something more.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed to openly talk about this intriguing subject, I murmured laughing and mocking, Maybe there is… How many lives have you had then…?

It might be possible! he snapped. What do you know about it anyway?

He stopped and looked away, sulking.

Oh… Come on, Bill, I’m only joking, I said softly, it’s just that this is an embarrassing thing to talk about. No… Really, I would like to know what your thoughts are on the subject. He glanced back at me unsure and smiled. He then lay back, leaning his head on a wooden stump that was protruding from the ground behind him.

I have had some spooky things happen to me in the past, and they were no laughing matter, he persisted. I will tell you about one, and you can give me your opinion.

I promise that I won’t laugh…unless it is funny of course.

Well…there is something that started a while back. It concerns this old lady that I once knew. He delayed what he was about to say and sat up. Then, as if to be sensing our immediate surroundings, he cautiously leant forward and continued.

Every time that I returned home from college, there was this old lady standing in her front garden by the gate, it didn’t matter the time or what the weather conditions were, she was always waiting there. As I walked past, we would exchange greetings. Yet, not once did I stop to talk. Maybe she was lonely and had nothing else to do, but she made me feel uneasy, every time. I’m not really sure why. She appeared to have a rather deceptive, sinister air about her too. I looked her in the eye once, and she seemed to look straight through me, chilling me to the bone.

To hear him better I also leant forward. I was now seduced by what he had just said, but then a thought struck me.

Oh…no…! I screeched loudly. This isn’t one of your anti-climax stories, is it?

No…! he protested. This is true.

"So what makes you think that she was waiting there just for you?

She may have been there all day, greeting everyone that walked past." He looked at me with a cunning smile, and moving closer he said.

I know that she used to wait for me and only for me, because every time that I walked past, she would turn and go inside her house.

He lay back again waiting for my reaction. That does sound spooky, I replied.

He pointed a finger at me, and raising it up, he looked down it out of the corner of his eye. Ha…ha but, this is not what I wanted to tell you. This is not the unsettling thing that happened to me. It happened a few weeks ago, and you will be the only one that I have told.

He paused and looked around again and, as if to reveal something top secret he continued,

I had this dream about her. In this dream, I was walking past her house on my way home from college. As usual she was standing at her gate. I was about to say good evening when she opened the gate and beckoned me to come in. Strangely enough…in this dream, her beckoning didn’t concern me at all. I approached, and she led the way. She took me inside and showed me all over the house. I think we even sat in the kitchen and had a long conversation over a cup of tea. I woke up feeling a bit confused, but thought nothing of it.

He looked at me to see if l was still listening.

The clincher is that on my way home from college that evening, I found out that the old lady had died in the night. I spoke to her family, and they let me look around the house and…do you know, the layout and interior of the building was exactly the same as in my dream. Don’t you think that’s eerie? I tell you…as I walked around that house my skin was alive, crawling all over.

He lay back again. Obviously feeling good about himself, and there was a silence.

I just sat there in contemplation. My thoughts drifted deeper and deeper, desperately searching for an answer to what he had just said.

Finally it came to me.

I tipped my head back and drank the last drop of beer from the can.

Putting the empty can back into the bag, I drew out another and