The Day I Discovered I Was Psychic

 The Day I Discovered I was Psychic

Suzanne Marsh

“Madam Zenga, I must find out if Wilbur is in a good place.” I thought to myself: ‘Wilbur is her dog. Money is money but there must be an easier way to make money. I had been a psychic reader for ten years. Most of the time I am a scam artist. The easy marks are the ones who tell the psychic readers all about themselves, that makes the job easier. My first client today is Mrs. Wilbur Plumpkin, Wilbur’s mommy. Apparently Wilbur was a dog whose time on earth had ended, he was seventeen, a long life for a dog. My next step is to find out as much about Wilbur, his breed. Was his bark more of a yip or deeper. I need to change my clothes, somehow I doubt that jeans and sweat shirt would work very well. I grab my turban, my shift and shoes. I stand watching for Mrs. Plumpkin, this is our first face to face meeting. Shortly a long black limo arrives, a tiny white haired lady exits. That must be Mrs. Plumpkin.

The door squeaks as I open it; damn I really should oil the door one of these days, but it sounds so spooky. Clients don’t hesitate to enter, I think it is the spooky front door, that does it. Once Mrs. Plumpkin arrives I have her seated on my right. My left side I use to slip sounds from a disc I keep for just that reason. Wilbur will be barking at some point today. I hope I can keep a straight face, since Wilbur will speak through me.

I never planned to be a psychic; but it has certainly been profitable, the hours are great. Although every once in a while; a client wishes to have a seance during a full moon. I have no issue with that. I take a nap in the afternoon. Just past midnight, lights illuminate the headstone of the departed. I begin the séance with the spirit jumping into my body. Thank heaven I am a good actress, otherwise I would have been found out by now; at least that is my theory.

Mrs. Plumpkin is seated, we are ready to begin:

“Wilbur, are you here with us?”

A small bark is the answer. Mrs. Plumpkin sighs:

“Oh Wilbur, why are you barking? Did someone make a mistake? You were my husband!”

I thought: ‘oh bugger, I could have sworn Wilbur was her dog, from the way she talking about him. Wonder if Wilbur had a chain and muzzle. She must have led him around by the nose.’

Ogden Nash always said: “Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker.” This case might just be why he wrote that. I was aghast, how could I have made such a mistake. I usually have crib notes so these things don’t happen. Suddenly I have a bright idea, during a séance we hold hands. I have upon occasion thrown my voice. This would be a great opportunity to test my theory. Thank heaven Mrs. Plumpkin’s eyes are shut.

“Martha, honey is that you?”

“Oh, Wilbur, I thought this dreadful psychic would never find you.”

“Martha, we had a dog named Wilbur, remember, we thought it was funny

to name him after me. I think that is what happened.”

“Oh Wilbur; you are so thoughtful.”

This was making me nauseous; Martha was the boss and Wilbur did whatever he was told. I guess that’s how marriage is. I never married, I move around quite a bit for my business. Mrs. Plumpkin seemed more at ease now that I had the correct Wilbur. Mrs. Plumpkin was pleased that Wilbur, her husband was in heaven and Wilbur the dog had crossed the Rainbow Bridge. All was well in her world.

Later that evening, just as I was preparing for bed; I went to plug in a light. I was zapped with an electrical current. I laid on the floor for several minutes, trying to regain my senses. I finally managed to sit up. Times like this I wish I were married; at least there would be someone here to pick me up off the floor. I had lost the love of my life in Desert Storm. Jack Bent, went over but never returned. My head hurt, I hoped it was not a concussion; I could go to sleep and never awaken. I decided that I would stay up for at two more hours.

I must have dozed off. Suddenly, there were “Wilbur’s” dancing in front of my eyes. The man Wilbur and the dog Wilbur. I was now awake. I glanced around the room; then dozed off again. I must not have had a concussion but now I was having very strange dreams. My next dream was a B52 bomber chasing me. Did this mean I had entered World War II? That made no sense. My next dream was a friend of mine from college, paddling a canoe in a stream. The canoe began to sink! I quickly called her. No answer, oops two o’clock in the morning. She answered groggily:

“Helllllo?”

“Sam it is Althea, are you going camping today?”

She must have thought I was insane.

“Yes, actually I am going on a canoe trip.”

“Don’t, I just had a terrible dream about a canoe sinking.”

“Althea, good night.”

I tried to warn her, I honestly tried. The last dream scared me more than anything I ever encountered. I dozed off and there before my eyes was Jack Bent. His face was older, he wore white throbe and ghutra. He smiled at me:

“I am safe Althea; I am where I can do the most good. I would love to see you some time

my darling. I am in Saudi Arabia.”

The voice stopped then; fear took a firm grip on me; had it finally happened? Was I really psychic after all? This was insane.

Three days later my friend Sam called, she canceled her trip; apparently the river she was going to go canoeing on had flooded its banks. She would have been stuck there on the river until help could arrive. That same day, an air mail letter arrived. It was Jack’s scrawl no doubt about it. The letter asked if I would go to Saudi Arabia, Jack would meet me at the airport. I sat down at my cherry wood desk and promptly replied that I would.

I have had many dreams since then. I reside in Saudi Arabia, Jack and I married two years ago. We have a son to carry on the Bent name. I believe being psychic is a gift not a racket.