By Dana Davis
While working in Hollywood in 1980s, a crew member and I were chatting. Somehow we got on the subject of the paranormal. She told me about her gift as a psychic and I told her about my great grandmother’s sister, who was a medium back in the early part of the twentieth century. I was curious about her and conversation when something like this:
“So, how does it work for you?” I asked.
“I get impressions when I hold a personal item. Would you like me to do a reading for you?
“Sure. I'd love it.” I fished my car keys out of my pocked and handed them to her.
She held them for a moment and closed her eyes. “I’m getting a name that begins with A.”
I stayed quiet but I was thinking, Yeah, right. Like that’s a stretch. But she wasn’t through with me, yet.
“I see the two of you in the same house or apartment. A close friend or sister maybe.” Then she proceeds to give me a description and says the actual name.
Now, I had never mentioned my friend and former roommate to anyone on set and this woman was spot-on with the description and the name. I thanked her, then told her about my friend, her name, her description, and that we were once roommates. She looked freaked and handed me back my keys as though they had suddenly caught fire.
“What’s wrong?” I thought I had done something to offend her.
“I’ve never been that accurate before. Not ever. It has something to do with you.”
She had my full attention. “Really? Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She acted odd around me, distant, the rest of our working time together and didn’t seem to want to talk to me about the paranormal again. I didn’t push. I never learned why she was so freaked out, especially since she claimed to be a psychic and had approached me about doing a reading. Just another occurrence to add to my list of paranormal oddities.
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