Whispers from the Beyond

By C. L. Black

Ev er since Cathy was a child she saw, felt and heard
things that others didnt. Afraid of being ridiculed, she
only shared these incidents with those closest to her. Shes had
experiences from dreams that warned her of future tragedies to
shadow people to a haunted apartment. One night, she woke
up to fi nd herself face-to-face with a frienda dead friend.
In her own words she will tell you the tale of how
the paranormal has become a normal part of her life;
whether she likes it or not.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479793068

C. L. Black

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Copyright © 2013 by C. L. Black.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 03/06/2013

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Contents

Living in Greece

Back in the United States

The Painting

Challenging the Devil

Something Furry in my Room

The Arm

A Visit from the Dead

Opposing Force

Dad’s Car Accident

Senior Year

Broken Heart

Camp Creepy

I See Spots

A Trip to Heaven

A Wild Ride

Kelly’s Apartment

Dead Band Member

The Missing Ring

David

Phone Call from the Dead

Spooky Teddy Bear

I Met My Husband in a Dream

The Pool

My Tooth-Ache

Funny Face

Guardian Angel and the Baby

Another Tooth-Ache

A Plane in New York

You’ll Cut the Baby’s Luck

The Fish that Ate My Wrist

The Fires in Greece

This is What Hell is Like

Ghost Cat

I See a Shadow

Epilogue

Living in Greece

The Greeks believe that when a person dies, their soul roams the earth for forty days. During this time, the family and friends of the deceased mourn by wearing black and praying. The family members don’t listen to music, sing or participate in joyous events. After the fortieth day, the women in the family make a special dish called koleevo. The koleevo is brought to the church, usually on a silver tray, and passed out to members of the congregation after a special service is held for the deceased. This service is meant to help the earth-bound spirit move on and for the loved ones to bid a final farewell.

I was three years old when my grandmother took me to Greece. She took me there to give my parents a chance to work freely so they could buy a house. In Greece, my grandmother lived across the street from her older sister, Adigoni and her husband, Nick. My grandfather had passed away when I was five months old, so I called Nick, Papou, which is the Greek name for grandfather. He didn’t seem to mind and he had no trouble treating me like his granddaughter. Yiayia (Greek for grandmother), also had three other sisters, a brother, cousins, nieces, nephews and friends who lived in Greece. Even my godparents lived there. Many of my relatives lived within walking distance, which was convenient because most of the people in my family did not own a vehicle. Back then, most people walked or used public transportation to get around.

Everyone loved me and treated me like their own child, including the neighbors. They were always giving me a piece of freshly baked bread or cookies. Europeans express their affection with hugs, kisses and food; a lot of food. If you fall and get a cut, they clean it, kiss it and give you a cookie. If you’re crying because your toy broke, they hug you and give you ice cream. The Greeks believe that children are gifts from God. Their lives revolve around their children and nearly everything they do, they do for their children.

While my aunt and Yiayia were busy cooking and cleaning, my uncle Nick played with me. He kept me busy by telling me stories and silly nursery rhymes. He made me laugh all the time, especially when he would sneak food from the kitchen while my aunt was cooking. She always grabbed the nearest kitchen utensil and chased him out. His favorite food was keftethes (Greek meatballs that most Greeks roll in flour and then fry in olive oil). My uncle would sneak up behind my aunt, kiss her on the cheek and pocket a couple of meatballs. Each time he would cry out in pain because the hot oil burned his thigh. Everyone would roar with laughter and he would wink at me. Of all the games we played, the food-snatching game was the best.

Everyday, either my aunt or Yiayia would buy fresh bread or fruit from mule-drawn carts that passed our house. These bakers and farmers walked up and down the streets daily to sell their products. Every Wednesday there was what they called an agora. Merchants from all over set up tents along our street, bright and early, and sold things such as linens, fish, meats, toys, pistachios, vegetables, fruits, kitchen-ware, clothing and numerous other items. Nearly every necessity could be found in these tents. Most of the linens were hand-embroidered or crocheted. It was quite rare to find plain sheets or tablecloths in any household; even in the poorest of houses. Many of the women were taught, from early childhood, how to embroider and crochet. The tents were crowded with the local residents buying their weekly supplies. By noon, the merchants packed up their tents and went home. The excitement was over and the street would fall silent once again.

One morning, my Aunt Adigoni woke Yiayia and me up, crying. She told Yiayia that my Uncle Nick died. We immediately went across the street to my aunt’s house.

Yiayia, what happened to Papou? I sensed something awful, but didn’t know what it was.

Nick died, she answered.

What does that mean? I asked her. I had never heard about death before.

She explained to me that his body was no longer alive and that he would be going to live with God. I knew that was good because Yiayia and I went to Gods house every Sunday to visit. But I was confused about why my aunt was crying.

Then why is Aunt Adigoni crying? We go to God’s house every week. Yiayia sat me down at the table my aunt had out in her courtyard and explained what death was. I didn’t fully understand what she meant; all I knew was that I wouldn’t be playing with my papou ever again.

While Yiayia was talking to me, I could hear my aunt on the phone. She called the doctor and my relatives. It wasn’t long after that two of my aunt’s and their husbands showed up. The women washed Nick’s body and dressed him in a suit. The men then carried his body to the dining room and placed him on the cloth my Aunt Adigoni laid on the table.

Word of my uncle’s passing spread quickly and people started coming over. Mostly everyone brought pans of food that they cooked for my aunt. As the women walked past me, they offered me some of whatever they brought. The men either patted me on the head or gave me a coin. One thing was for sure; I wasn’t going to go hungry or broke.

As the day went on, and the courtyard was filling with people, I noticed that all the adults were wearing black. The only people not wearing black were the children. That night, as Yiayia tucked me into bed, I asked her why everyone dressed in black.

Because when someone dies, it’s not proper to wear colorful clothing. We wear black to show respect for the dead and also to show that we are in mourning, she explained.

Then why are all the children wearing colorful clothes?

Because, children are too young to mourn, there will be plenty of that when they get older, Yiayia answered.

The next morning, we went back across the street to my aunt’s house. Yiayia told me to stay with my cousins while she and the other adults went in the dining room to pray. In those days, the people would gather around the body and pray for their souls.

My uncle’s body was still there. Back then, it took a day or two for the morticians to retrieve the bodies of the dead.

I was curious, and when I saw the opportunity, I snuck into the dining room. There I saw everyone kneeling around the table praying. My uncle was just lying there… lifeless. His arms were crossed over his chest. He looked so different. He looked so… empty. Later that evening, the mortician came and took the body away.

My yiayia and aunt made the koleevo for my uncle’s fortieth day service, the day before, to have it ready. The day of the service, my relatives met us at the church. Mostly everyone brought a folding chair with them because there were very few pews to sit on. This church had a balcony, which is where we sat, that went half way around. The church was made of stone and the floor was made of brick. There were wall sconces, for candles, on the main floor and the balcony. To amuse themselves, the children would get bobby pins from their mothers and grandmothers, and use them to clean the wax out of the sconces. Yiayia did the same for me so I could join the other children in this ritual. We all stood on chairs, sometimes two at a time, and cleaned the wax. We picked the wax drippings off the sides and played with it. The texture was fascinating to us. When we were done, we joined our families for the rest of the liturgy.

I sat on Yiayia’s lap and looked over the balcony. The priest had salt and pepper—colored hair that was in a pony tail, and a white beard. He was wearing a black gown-like outfit that reached down to his feet. It was so hot that his forehead glistened from the sweat. I could see people everywhere fanning themselves. I leaned back on Yiayia’s stomach and watched the sun shine through the windows. The sunbeams resembled golden curtains stretching down from heaven. They gave off such a peaceful glow that it felt like God was in the church with us.

Later that week, we went to my Aunt Maritsa’s house for dinner. She was embroidering a tablecloth and needed help so Yiayia decided to go early. When we arrived, my Aunt Maritsa had a table in the courtyard with her tablecloth thrown over it. She and her two daughters, Angela and Evangeline, were embroidering different sections. I went off to play with Evangeline’s two children, Angelo and Christina, while Yiayia took on her own section of the tablecloth. Soon after, my Aunt Adigoni arrived and Angela went to make our dinner. By the time dinner was ready, the tablecloth was finished. It was beautiful. The colors they used were so vibrant. I was amazed at how they all embroidered the same design and how each section was almost identical to the others.

After we ate we had some watermelon. The watermelon in Greece is so sweet and juicy it’s like eating candy. The women talked as they cleaned up the dishes and when everything was done, Yiayia announced that it was time to leave.

It was dusk when we departed. My Aunt Adigoni walked with us. I was getting tired of walking and asked Yiayia to carry me the rest of the way. We were only four blocks from home when we heard a commotion. I twisted myself around to find the source of the commotion. There were flames shooting out of the doors and windows of a house. People were yelling and crying. There were hoses hooked up to the houses next door and people were spraying at the fire. Yiayia and my aunt stopped to watch. I could hear a young girl screaming.

Why doesn’t someone help that little girl, Yiayia? I asked

What little girl? she said without looking away from the fire.

The little girl that’s screaming, I replied.

She waited a moment and said, I don’t hear a little girl screaming.

I tapped my aunt’s shoulder and asked her, Aunt Adigoni, don’t you hear her?

She answered, No, honey, I don’t. The two sisters gazed at each other like they were sharing some secret and turned around at the same time and headed home.

The next morning, we were having breakfast when someone knocked at the door. It was the woman from next door. She told them that she found out a young girl perished in the fire the night before.

I told you I heard a little girl screaming, I said to them. The two sisters looked at me and then turned to each other. There was that look again. Yiayia bid the woman farewell and we finished our breakfast. No one mentioned the horrible events of that night again.

The next day, Yiayia took me to Athens to stay with my godparents for a while. They had two children, Kosta and Angela that were about my age. Yiayia and I spent a couple of nights there and then my godfather decided to take us to his villa for a few weeks.

The villa was breathtaking. There was a water fountain in front that was surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The villa was built on the side of a hill. My godfather had carved out layers of the hill, into wide steps, and planted pistachio bushes there. Inside the villa, it was cool even without air conditioning. The floors were made of marble, the walls were painted white and there was crystal everywhere. There was a large balcony, the length of the front of the villa, which could be reached by going through a set of double doors in the living room. There was an awning that we could roll that covered most of the balcony for shade. This is where we ate most of our meals; the majority of the people in Europe ate outdoors. To get to the ocean, you simply had to walk down the driveway and through the gate and across the street. My cousins and I spent hours each day swimming in the warm, salty water.

The kitchen was comfortably large. There was also a small balcony off of the kitchen. Next to the balcony, grew a large fig tree which had the sweetest figs. My godmother picked the figs so we could eat them with our breakfast. Every morning she greeted me with hugs, kisses and fresh figs. She gave me and my cousins anything we wanted for breakfast. It was like being in paradise.

Sometimes my godmother brought me and my cousins to swim and other times Yiayia would bring us. They brought buckets with them and either fished or collected muscles and clams. Whatever they filled the buckets with was what we had for supper that day. It didn’t get any fresher than that.

One night, I had a dream that a little girl was playing with me in the ocean. We splashed in the water and threw stones from the shore as we laughed and giggled without a care in the world. As we splashed around I suddenly noticed that the girl looked just like me. I stopped playing and looked at the girl a little more carefully. It was amazing how much we resembled each other. Somehow I knew that we were separate people. This was the beginning of a lifetime of strange dreams and odd occurrences.

Back in the United States

My grandmother had to bring me back to the United States when I was four and half years old. My parents had purchased a lovely three bedroom house and told her that they missed me and wanted us to come back. When we got here, I was stunned at how different the two countries were. The houses here were separated by rich green lawns and there was at least one car in every driveway. Everyone had a telephone and a television. There were no farmers or bakers selling fresh fruits and breads from mule-drawn wagons. People were rushing from one place to another. It wasn’t anything like what I was used to.

I had forgotten how to speak English, because I didn’t have anyone to speak it with in Greece. My grandmother only spoke a little broken English and didn’t speak it all while we were in Greece. So my parents worked hard to reteach me the language.

One day, my mother took me out to meet the neighborhood children because I was too shy to go out by myself. They surrounded us like wolves circling their prey. I was nervous and tried to hide behind my mother.

This is my daughter Catherine. She never called me anything but Catherine. I was hoping that she could play with you.

They just stood there staring at us for a moment. Then one of the older girls smiled and said, Hi, I’m Debbie. She had such a sweet face and bright smile that I couldn’t help but smile back. Then, one by one, the other children introduced themselves.

Before long, we were all friends and spent most of our days together. They were descent kids that came from good, loving homes. The older kids took care of the younger ones. Some of us younger children had trouble climbing up the trees so the older kids helped us up. They would give us a good boost and then we all enjoyed nature’s playground together.

Most of the kids and I went to the same school. It was just down the street so we all walked there together. After school, we did our homework and then met outside to play. We only went in for dinner, but came right back out.

At night, my sleep was constantly interrupted by nightmares and dreams. My dreams were filled with beautiful flowers and fun times. Occasionally, the girl that looked like me, who I called my twin, was in them. My nightmares became more frequent when I was about seven or eight years old. The majority of them had to do with ghosts, spirits and demons. Most of the time I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there because I could sense them. Sometimes they wanted to harm me, other times they just wanted to frighten me. Then there were times they wanted me to help them. I woke my grandmother up many nights because I was too terrified to sleep in my room, alone.

The next day, I would describe my dream to my grandmother and she would try to explain it to me. She told me what certain colors meant and what the animals or objects represented. After she broke them down and analyzed everything, it made perfect sense to me and I felt much better.

Every Sunday when we went to church; I went to Sunday school first and met my family after; my grandmother and I would each light a candle and we would say a prayer to make my nightmares go away. Well, my nightmares didn’t go away but I didn’t have them as often.

One night I dreamt that my twin and I were going to go horseback riding. She led me through a barn to the outside. There was a wooden fence and there were two tall horses tied up to it. One horse was white and the other was black. She mounted the white horse but when I mounted the black horse my horse shrunk and my feet touched the ground. I dismounted the horse and he was tall again. When I mounted him again he shrank down. I looked at my twin wondering why this was happening to me while her steed remained the same.

I don’t understand. What’s wrong with my horse? I asked her.

You will have to deal with evil all your life. Like your horse, it can just as easily be conquered, she replied.

The following morning, at breakfast, I told my grandmother about the dream and how I often saw this girl.

The girl that looks like you is your guardian angel. She is trying to warn you about dealing with the devil. Because you love God and worship him, the devil is jealous. He will do things to draw you closer to him and away from God. Be careful not to go with the devil.

Yiayia, what’s a guardian angel? I asked her, excited to finally find out who my twin was.

Your guardian angel is an angel who watches over you. She helps guide you through your life. Many people believe that guardian angels are innocent souls that attach themselves to us when we are born. Their spirit stays with us our entire lives, she explained.

So is she protecting me from the devil? Why would he be after me? I haven’t done anything wrong, I asked her.

It’s easy for the devil to collect the soul of a bad person. People who do bad things give their souls up easily. The challenge is to get the souls of the people who are good. The devil knows that this will hurt God more than anything else. As far as your guardian angel is concerned, she can’t keep the devil from hurting you. She can only help you make the right decisions to keep you away from him, she replied.

But how do I know when the devil is trying to get me to do something bad? Will I see him? The thought of seeing the devil scared me. I wondered what sort of horrifying form he would take. I had seen pictures of him in the bible and in paintings. Sometimes he looked like a snake and other times he looked more like a goat with a man’s body. His body was usually reddish-brown in color as if he were badly burned.

"You won’t see him. He is like God. You can’t see Him but you know He’s there. Although, I do know a woman who swore she saw the devil. She said she went to visit the grave of her only son, who died at the hands of the German’s during World War II. She went to the cemetery everyday because she missed him so much. One day she worked a little bit later and it was getting dark by the time she arrived at the cemetery. As she knelt in front of his grave, a figure appeared to her. It was surrounded by flames and she could smell what seemed to be burning flesh. At first she thought it was her son, but then the figure spoke to her. He offered to give her back her son if she would give her soul to the devil. Being a very religious woman, she knew that to accept this offer was wrong. The temptation was enormous, though. She could once again be with her beloved son. She would be able to hug and kiss him and she would no longer have to grieve. But she knew what it would mean for her in the end. She would go to hell when she died and then she would have to spend eternity without her son. The woman bowed her head. She knew what she had to do. She folded her hands together and started praying. The figure grew angry and growled at her. He begged her to reconsider, but she only prayed louder. When the figure disappeared, the woman ran home and told her husband what had happened. The next day, the whole neighborhood was buzzing