My wife speaks to the dead. Sometimes the dead answer back.

My wife Rhonda is a medium. When we first started dating, the idea of this made me extremely nervous. I’d watched those shows on television, you know, the ones where the host will go into the home of a civilian and exorcise the spirit. I didn’t believe in that stuff. It was outside the realm of what I could understand and so, it terrified me. I didn’t grow up in a religious family. My mother was a scientist. She had a PhD in chemistry and loathed anything that couldn’t be proven with empirical evidence. Growing up with a mother like that can do a lot to a person. I guess you could say that I was a hardcore non-believer. I met my wife by chance. I had just graduated from law school and was out celebrating at a bar with some of my friends. She was working as a bartender and I remember her coming over to me, without me ordering a drink, and handing me a shot. She smiled and said, “You look like a man that could use one.” I asked her how much I owed her. She just winked and said, “You owe me nothing. Your life is about to change in ways you can’t even imagine.” At the time, I took it as a joke. I was 22. I figured she was messing with me. So, I drank the shot. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the turning point in my life. After the bar closed, I waited outside for her. I had the intention of asking her out. And I did. She said yes, and that night she came back to my place. We talked for hours. In the morning, I woke up feeling strange. I looked around and everything seemed different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt as if the world had changed overnight. I looked at Rhonda. Even she looked different. There was something about her I couldn’t quite place. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I knew that it was something important. We dated for about two years before I proposed. When she said yes, I was ecstatic. We were married a year later. A beautiful ceremony in the mountains, surrounded by friends and family. It was about three years into our marriage that I discovered Rhonda’s gift. At first, I thought it was a joke. She told me that she could hear the voices of the dead. I laughed and told her that I wished I had such a talent. She looked at me with a cold stare. I could tell that she wasn’t kidding. “How long have you known?” I asked. “Since I was a child,” she responded. I looked at her in shock. How could I have not known this about her? I didn’t know what to say. A part of me was terrified. I mean, what else was she hiding? But another part of me was intrigued. Could it be true? I had to know. “Prove it,” I said. She smiled and said, “I’ve been waiting.” I didn’t know what she meant, but soon I would find out. We lived in a beautiful home just outside of the city. It was a new build, a large two-story house that we had built after we were married. We had our first child when we were 25 and our second when we were 27. At the time of Rhonda’s revelation, our children were still small. I guess you could say that it started with little things. A mess would be made and Rhonda would say, “Must be more of Buster’s antics.” I asked her who she was talking to and she would say, “Oh, just the previous owner of the house.” “How do you know that?” I asked. She would just smile and say, “You wouldn’t understand.” I tried to push it aside. I figured that it was just a quirk and that I had to learn to live with it. But things escalated. One day, we were sitting in the living room. I had just made a fresh pot of coffee and Rhonda was reading a book. When I walked in with the pot, she said, “Oh, thank you, dear.” I laughed. “Did you just thank the coffee pot?” She looked up. “No, I thanked Mr. Solomon.” “Who’s that?” I asked. “The man that lived here before we moved in,” she replied. I was taken aback. I looked around the room and I could feel a presence. There was someone else in the room, but I couldn’t see them. I didn’t know what to think. “Hello,” I said. Rhonda looked at me with a smile. “He says hello.” I didn’t know what to believe. This could all be a joke. She could be messing with me. I didn’t know anymore. I decided to test her. We had dinner that night and I held a conversation with Mr. Solomon. I asked him questions about his life, his likes and dislikes, his childhood. And Rhonda answered for him. The next day, I went to the local historical society. I spoke to one of the elderly women there and asked her about the history of the house. I asked her the questions that I had asked Mr. Solomon. When she answered, I wrote down her words. When I got home, I compared them to the answers that Rhonda had given me. They were identical. I couldn’t deny it any longer. She was telling the truth. She could communicate with the dead. From that day on, I embraced it. I would sit in the living room and talk to Mr. Solomon. I would ask him questions about my life and my future. I could hear his responses through Rhonda. I couldn’t believe it, but I was happy. It felt like I had been given a gift. I felt like I had a leg up on the rest of the world. But one day, everything changed. I was in the living room when I heard a voice. It wasn’t Rhonda. It was a lot deeper than that. I looked around and I didn’t see anyone. But I knew that it couldn’t be just my imagination. Up until this point, I had heard Mr. Solomon’s voice through Rhonda. But this was different. It sounded as if someone was standing right next to me. “Hello,” I said. “That’s not Mr. Solomon,” Rhonda said. “I can tell you that much.” “Who is it then?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she responded. “Ask.” “His name is George. He’s different, be careful.” I didn’t know what she meant, but I was going to soon find out. George is a spirit that has followed us for the past two years. At first, he was just a voice. He would speak to me while I was in different rooms. But as time went by, I started to see him. He’s a tall, thin man. He has a gaunt face with sunken eyes. If I had to put an age on him, I would say that he died somewhere between 25-30. I’ve asked George a lot of questions, but he doesn’t answer. That is, he didn’t answer until a few nights ago. My son Jack is our older child. He’s the light of our lives. We love him and his sister more than anything. When Jack was about three, he started talking about his new friend. He would play with him all the time and it was apparent that he wasn’t talking to himself. He would spend hours talking to this friend, playing with him. One day, Jack’s friend followed him to school. His teacher called me and said that Jack was talking to himself. I told her that he had an imaginary friend and that it was normal. But when I picked him up, he was different. He wouldn’t talk. He would just sit there and stare off into space. That night, I asked George what was going on. He didn’t respond. I screamed at him. I told him that he needed to answer me. I looked over at Rhonda. She had tears in her eyes. “What is it?” I asked. “It’s Jack,” she replied. “He’s not here anymore.” I didn’t know what she meant. Of course, Jack was here. He was in the other room. I went to check on him, but he wasn’t there. I searched the house, but he was nowhere to be found. I called the police. They searched the neighborhood, but there was no sign of Jack. It was as if he had vanished. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I just sat in the bed and cried. The police called me a few days later. They had found a body. It was Jack. The police told me that he had been dead for days. His body was decomposed. I didn’t understand. Where had he been? Why had his body decomposed so quickly? The questions I had were endless. But then, one night, I heard a voice. It was Jack. It sounded like him. I asked him if he was okay. He said that he was. I asked him where he was. He said that George had taken him away. I didn’t know what to say. If George had taken him away, then that meant that he was dead. But he was talking to me. I was so confused. I looked over at Rhonda. She was crying. I asked her what Jack meant. She told me that George had killed him. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to do. I felt as if my whole world had been turned upside down. But as I sat there, something inside of me was growing. It was a seed, a small flame that was slowly growing into a fire. It was

My wife speaks to the dead. Sometimes the dead answer back.

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