Game Over: A Detective Investigation on Spiritualism and Life After Death.

1. THE FIRST SIGN

January 2013, 5.00 pm.

Howling gusts of winds raged through the tall chimneys of Bishop’s Hall, and quickly turned into a fearsome blizzard, bringing with it a heavy snow fall. The spacious Victorian mansion and its ample garden would soon be covered by a blanket of virgin white snow like the entire northeastern part of Scotland.

The inhabitants of the 19th century house on the shores of the Firth of Forth had never experienced such a severe snow storm for many years. Inside the house, the atmosphere was warm and peaceful, in contrast to the cold and unwelcoming environment, outside.

Inside, a large wooden door was carefully opened by a somewhat crooked, but sturdy elderly man with white thin hair and a weather-beaten face; he seemed to be extremely cautious not daring to make too much noise by his action; only the wooden floor creaked a bit when he entered the dimly lit library decorated in late Victorian style.

The crimson red curtains in front of the large bay windows were all shut. In a corner, between the many wooden bookcases with aged leather-bound books locked up behind glass doors, a tinted young man with curly dark hair sat in a simple wooden square cabinet; apparently in a meditative state.

Keith, how is he doing? Is he already in a trance?

The old man, dressed in a greyish woollen jumper, turned and nodded to a tall, slender man with scruffy hair, who entered the spacious library as well.

Yes, he is, George. Has everybody arrived? Are they all waiting in the lounge?

The towering middle-aged man whispered he was not sure yet. Some late arrivals were expected this afternoon due to the severe snow storms.

I’ll check at reception immediately!

The tall man left.

*

Antoine Rameau descended from the first carriage of the local train heading for Perth; he was surprised to see a completely white landscape when he set his feet on the windy platform.

He must have slept most of the time during his long trip from London King’s Cross station. After processing his new surroundings he glanced over at the car park outside of Kirkcaldy’s railway station. Cars were already covered with a layer of fresh snow.

Taxi sir?

The man small of stature with half-long silver-grey hair and goatee, looked up whilst putting on a black woollen hat. In front of him, a broad-shouldered young man motioned him to get in his black car. Antoine hesitated: I can spend my money more wisely. It’s just a half hour walk, I can do it… a walk is good for my health!

He shook his head to the disappointed driver and walked away dragging his grey suitcase behind him. The little wheels of his suitcase squeaked as he strode away; it was heavy loaded. He headed up to the mansion where he would stay for the next upcoming seven days and walked away from the station.

The King’s Head, he whispered and remembered where he was. He should take the narrow country lane just behind the public building.

Briskly, he started his journey up hill. In the meantime the snowfall had increased and the supposed half hour walk to Bishop’s Hall took almost an hour. Finally he saw a stately old mansion materialising in the white estranged landscape. It was Bishop’s Hall. He stood still for a minute, and produced a faint smile, extremely glad he was almost at his destination. A feeling of joy swept over him. and he walked further.

Suddenly he heard the engine of a car behind him. Swiftly he jumped to the side of the road. When he turned he saw a small red car with snow on its top and bonnet, slowly driving next to him.

Antoine startled, but kept on walking.

Fancy a ride?

Surprised, he shoot a look at the female driver who opened her window. He hesitated a bit.

Come on, sir, it’s free sounded a loud husky voice with a hint of a cockney accent. Now he stopped walking, wiped the snow from his suitcase and recoiled.

A middle-aged corpulent woman with spiky blonde hair and big green earrings opened the door of a Vauxhall car. Her colourful appearance shocked him at first. Although she had an engaging broad smile and friendly blue eyes, she appeared slightly spooky. He had no time to think; all of a sudden the woman had freed herself from the small car and stood next to him in the snow.

Come on, my darling, I know who you are. You are that French professor I have seen last year, do you remember?

Antoine gazed at the woman again, but startled when he felt her large arms around him for a brief moment.

Antoine, how wonderful you are here! Come, please enter the car, I insist!

The reserved shy man stiffened. He was overwhelmed by the enthusiastic approach of the lady he couldn’t remember very well. She must have changed her hair colour. Now she motioned him to get in the car. In one swift move she took his suitcase and swung it into the backseat. He had no other choice; he had to get into her car too!

Surprised, he saw another woman sitting in the front seat of the car. He climbed in the back seat trying to find a bit of space to sit among his suitcase and the woman’s colourful belongings.

Debbie Lee! Debbie Lee Bedford! I did a reading for you last year, don’t you remember? I predicted you would return to Bishop’s Hall. Do you remember my prediction?

Antoine remained silent.

Oh, you will soon darling. Definitely! And, am I right, you are back here, aren’t you? Or are you heading somewhere else?

She gave a shout of loud laughter. Antoine seemed nervous, he constantly moved his hands and feet; he couldn’t remember what the woman had said to him last year.

No, no, I am going to Bishop’s Hall.

By the way, this is Marilyn Phillips, it’s her first time at Bishop’s Hall. She also walked in the snow with her bag. So sad. She came all the way from London.

Marilyn turned to him for a brief moment. Antoine nodded weakly to the woman. He was impressed by her. He noticed she had long dark brown hair and was dressed in a grey coat. Her long legs were covered in black stockings. She probably sat in the same train as he did, but he was too shy to ask.

After a short time the car was running up the long drive of the mansion. He barely recognised this place he had visited last year in late spring; the environment was so different under the snow.

The car stopped in front of the vast building. Only one parking spot was free; Debbie Lee seemed relieved and gave a cheerful yell when she switched off the engine of her car whilst shouting:

I’ve done it!

Despite his senior age, Antoine Rameau, dressed in a knee-sized black winter coat, jumped out of the car, full of energy. Finally he had reached his destination! He couldn’t wait!

He closed his eyes briefly, let out a slow breath, raised his gaze to the facade of the beautiful building and was in awe for a while; he fell in love with the mansion again, just like he did when he visited it for the first time last year.

Shall I carry your suitcase, sir? Marilyn smiled and reached out for his luggage.

Antoine startled. Non, non merci, he mumbled and took his suitcase in a shift movement without looking at the helpful woman. He squinted at his watch and realised it was 4.50 pm. Immediately he hurried off to the stairs of the main entrance without another word, leaving the two women behind with their luggage.

In the reception area, he waited at the desk to check-in. In the meantime he saw the corpulent woman and the slim brunette entering the reception area with their suitcases and bags; Debbie Lee was out of breath and collapsed in one of the Victorian armchairs.

Welcome at Bishop’s Hall, sir, the receptionist said friendly and handed the man a large metal key with room number 202 on its label accompanied with a leaflet of the course he was about to participate and a yellow badge with his name on it.

And this is your name badge. Please wear it.

Antoine looked surprised when he took the yellow plastic badge. He nodded politely and put it in his pocket.

By the way, the lift only goes to the first floor unfortunately. Shall I go with you? It can be a labyrinth here!

The Frenchman shook his head and dismissed the help offered from the friendly receptionist. He was not an old man, he could manage, he convinced himself.

On his way to the lift, he saw a wooden panel with a paper pinned on it with the text:

The John P. Gates College invites all students for a surprise demonstration

in the Library at 5.00 pm!

Quickly he put the leaflet detailing the weeks itinerary in his pocket and hurried to the lift to get to the first floor. As he entered the cabin and pressed on the button, Marilyn jumped in with her bags as well.

We have to hurry, don’t we?, she said in a friendly tone.

The Frenchman noticed her attractive face and beautiful intriguing eyes. He was too shy to reply but nodded politely and diverted his eyes to the floor of the small lift.

When he finally arrived in front of his door, he noticed that the woman occupied the place next to him. Simultaneously they opened the doors to their rooms.

Inside, Antoine quickly flicked on the lights and noticed how basic and outdated the furniture was. A small single bed next to a simple wooden side-table with a lamp on it, a chair, a small sink with mirror and a wooden chest of drawers with a water kettle on it; all very basic, no luxury at all.

He didn’t care; his only concern was the enormous beam in the middle of the room; he realised he should be careful not to bump his head and hurt himself whilst walking in his room.

Ten minutes later Antoine stood in the lounge area and admired the beautiful plastered decorations on the high ceiling; he pulled the weeks itinerary out of his pocket and peered at the light blue paper booklet with a purple thistle on it, checking the evenings events for a second time.

5.00 pm Surprise Transfiguration Medium Demonstration – Library

6.00 pm Dinner – Restaurant

8.30 pm Introduction – Chapel Room

9.00 pm Bar open

Antoine was excited. A surprise demonstration! Will he finally experience something spectacular?

Are you waiting in line, sir?

Antoine looked around him, while putting his leaflet back in his pocket and joined the queue in front of the library’s wooden door.

"Ah, I see you are monsieur Antoine Rameau, Ça va? You may follow me. By the way, I am Sheena Shephard, one of the tutors. I will escort you to your seat"

He nodded politely. Who was she? How does she know my name?

He realised he was wearing a noticeable yellow badge on his shirt. He hated it!

Excuse me, what is this surprise demonstration?

Oh, it will be wonderful, it’s a trance mediumship demonstration by one of our young gifted mediums. His name is Woody McRoy.

The man nodded and glanced for a short moment at the middle-aged woman in front of him; she had natural red curly hair; her small blue eyes, although too close to each other, radiated some sort of magical twinkles. At once he was fascinated by this woman. He studied her a bit more and didn’t know what to think about her exotic outfit; she wore a mysterious long dark green velvet-like dress with bright colours made of different materials and decorated with oriental embroideries.

Meanwhile Keith Jones was standing in the back of the library near the door, waiting for everybody to enter. He felt exhausted and hold himself tightly to one of the ridges of the heavy bookcases. As a co-organiser he worked very hard to prepare this week course, and now he felt his old and aching body wasn’t as flexible anymore. Being imprisoned in an old and aching body, unable to do what he wanted, often made him sad and depressed. Fortunately he had enough things to occupy his mind and this acted as a welcome distraction. His gloomy thoughts were cut short by the many questions and requests of the students and tutors he expected to be exposed to.

When he surveyed the dimly lit room, he sensed a streak of fear going through his entire body as if something was going to be wrong. What it was exactly, he did not know. He couldn’t put his finger on it! This was a rather unusual feeling for him: muscles contractions around his heart and stomach! He promptly decided to ask his spirit guide for clairvoyance: the ability for him to visualise and understand complex events outside of his usual reach. He put the inner screen of his mind in some sort of receptive state now; a ritual the old man did when he experienced rare and awkward sensations in his body; he never dismissed feelings like that!

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and waited a while before exhaling. Whilst doing this he saw on his mind-screen two blue characters dooming up, spelling out the word OK.

Well, it seems to be all right!, Keith reassured himself, but couldn’t prevent a feeling of worry. He didn’t know why he had this strange sensation swirling through his body. He hoped it wasn’t something physical! Normally he could comfort himself; this time he couldn’t.

Reality rushed in when he heard the sound of voices around him again. Slowly he opened his eyes and gave a swift glance to the young medium in the wooden cabinet. Woody sat motionless on the chair.

Debbie Lee, please… first row, left. Everybody, please keep quiet, the medium is already in an altered state... Judy, please, first row, right – Sheena.

The tutors went in, guided by an enthusiastic Sheena Shepherd, who asked everybody in the queue to turn off their mobile phones.

Suddenly Keith noticed this faint aura in the far back of the queue. Carefully he moved his painful body and was amazed to witness the whitish aura swirled around a gentleman he remembered from last year. Astonished he realised it was Antoine Rameau, the shy but skeptical engineer from Paris, who was not a medium at all. How weird!

This realisation made the old man a bit worried and somewhat angry. A whitish aura around a skeptic! Was this aura a positive sign or a warning? The old man thought deeply for a moment, but couldn’t answer his own question.

Antoine Rameau had discovered this special place in Scotland the year before. He was not a medium and had no intention to become one as most of the other students pursued. His reason was simple: he was extremely curious to understand the art of mediumship and how it works. And he knew The John P. Gates College was the best place in the world to witness and learn how mediumship works.

Antoine, please, second row left.

Keith motioned and gave the short man a suspicious glance before he entered the Library.

*

67-year old Frenchman Antoine Rameau was a retired engineer with a remarkable interest in paranormal phenomena since his adolescence-years. In general, there were not many scientifically educated participants at Bishop’s Hall. This week only two other scientists: another engineer and a retired physics teacher, were on the list.

This Science & Spirituality week was organised for the second time by the NSA, the National Spiritualists’ Association, founded in 1960 by John Peter Gates, after whom the College was named. The purpose of this scientific week was to explore whether it is possible to build bridges between spiritualism, established in the 19th century, and the recent revolutionary discoveries in physics and biology.

The first time Antoine attended the course, he realised that the balance between the scientifically minded people was clearly disproportionate in comparison to the more than 50 amateur or professional mediums who attended. Obviously, the cultural revolution which is taking place in science did not yet expand as much in the scientific community as its reputation did with the layman!, he concluded.

Antoine Julien Rameau was born in Nancy in the north-east of France, as the only child of a fundamentalist protestant reverend who became stricter throughout the years, and a small, overweight shy woman from the south of France.

His childhood was not a happy one: his mother’s main purpose in life was to fulfill her husband’s needs; not her little boy’s. Antoine had to rely mostly on himself from an early age. Later in life, he became an engineer, but inherited his father's strict and conservative mind. Engineers tend to apply the laws of nature they have been taught; they rarely bother to discover them by themselves and rather let theoretical physicists do the job.

His choice was maybe a fall-out of the religious background in which he was raised and educated: he spent a large part of his childhood at a strict Calvinist school in the north of France. But what made him become interested in mediumship in France? Cartesianism is so powerful in this country that the few scientists who are interested in the paranormal are driven to publish their research papers under pseudonyms until their retirement!

The answer could be found in the fact he experienced some odd phenomena when he was in his late teens, when he was slowly leaving the carefree blissful world of childhood.

One day, whilst walking home from school, he was suddenly struck by a sort of revelation: the old ugly buildings in his hometown were much older than himself and will persist probably much longer than he would ever live! As a teenager he saw this as a huge fact of injustice!

At this moment in life he realised he was not eternal; one day he would disappear! But where to?

Obviously he could not answer that question; he didn’t believe in a heaven or hell. Would he fall in a black hole or just disappear? From that day on he buried the idea of death deeply in his subconscious.

He only hid his fears; they weren’t at all gone! They waited for an opportunity to return. Possibly this problem had influenced, at least partially, his choice for engineering; he could learn how to conceive and build objects that could defy time and disappearance.

But his preoccupation about death emerged abruptly when his father died. Until then, his engagement in scientific studies kept him far from straight religious feelings. He could not just rely on faith: he was too much accustomed to philosophise and speculate instead of accepting dogmas like his father did. He was different. He developed an independent mind!

Although he had an optimistic nature, which remained a great help to him throughout his life, he became a very serious and focused man; he never laughed, just an occasional faint smile lit his face.

After his father’s funeral, he couldn’t repress his questioning about death anymore. He started an insatiable search of what death might be. He got help from a colleague, a Japanese physicist and a Buddhist. He became intrigued by the Asian views of life; he understood Buddhism was rather a philosophy instead of a religion. He discovered that many Asian scientists had no problems in blending their scientific knowledge with their native culture. And reincarnation was naturally a bargain to help solving his difficulties with death!

But his fellow Asian scientists did not really practice a religion and Antoine felt that he needed something more than just a philosophy. He looked for Buddhist temples and attended some of the meetings throughout France, but he could not identify with any of them.

Two years ago, when he retired, a friend from his youth invited him to join an informal spiritualist meeting in Paris. There he discovered spiritualism with services more based on hard facts and personal philosophy than on rituals and ill-defined beliefs. No dogmas and complicated hierarchy: the main stream spiritualists hold independent meetings in circles. Everyone was invited to experiment by himself or herself and pursue his or her own personal religion or philosophy without any restriction: the common ground rested on the sittings where the participant could learn directly from disembodied relatives or friends in the spirit world.

A few year ago he got in touch with someone who went on a yearly basis to the John P. Gates College in Scotland; the world’s renown College for Spiritualists. In this somewhat mystical part of the world, mediums were trained to enhance their mediumistic skills, like trance, evidential and physical mediumship, paranormal investigation and so on. But none of the courses attracted Antoine, except for one.

Course 2:

'When Science meets Spirituality'

A week long experiential course organised by the John P. Gates College,

Kirkcaldy, Fife, Scotland; June 2012

We have experts of the scientific field of parapsychology as well as renown tutors and mediums, all well-trained at the JPG College.

Students will be able to discuss, experiment and experience the understanding of mediumship and whether there is life after death. Experimental seances, test readings, evidential mediumship demonstrations etc. are being organised by established mediums.

He enrolled at the course a winter morning a year ago, on impulse. Now at his second visit, Antoine Rameau was surprised he was selected by the old course-organiser to sit on the first row; he felt very privileged. He would be able to witness clearly the supposed ectoplasm the transfiguration medium was about to secrete; an extraordinary rare and impressive phenomena!

He made a promise to himself: be open-minded instead of being skeptical at forehand!

It was not the first time Antoine attended a sitting with a physical medium: last year he was so disconcerted that he could not get sufficient insight about the experience, but this time he was prepared to take a maximum of it!

As he walked to the first row, he shot a swift glance at the beautiful cassette ceiling, but it was too dark to see the details. He took a seat and leant backwards emitting a sigh of excitement. In front of him, the young medium was sitting in a modest cabinet, which was in fact nothing more than a wooden shell with a chair in it.

Antoine was excited, but skeptical as well He rolled his shoulders a few times and tried to free himself from all conscious convictions he had regarding mediumship. Last year he wasn’t able to see any ectoplasm coming from the medium’s body. Will it be different this time?

*

Some decades after the official beginning of Spiritualism in 1848 when the American Fox sisters made their first alleged contact with a spirit, some mediums claimed they could produce ectoplasm.

They alleged that this mysterious substance came directly from the spirit’s energy; the spirit of a deceased person could use this substance to materialise himself or herself.

The substance normally emerges from a medium’s mouth or nose, but it could also create a sort of mask with features of a disembodied person a few distance in front of a medium’s face. Unfortunately ectoplasm could not be seen in normal light, only with a low red light.

The success of the spiritualists’ movement in the second half of the 19th century and the growing demand for their performances led some (famous) mediums to fraudulent practices; even scientists were fooled by some cheating mediums. From then on, most people lost interest in physical mediumship and its ectoplasms or other types of materialisations.

Despite all of this, the interest in spiritualism continued until this day, mainly with evidential mediums: spiritualists alleging the possibility to make mental contact with deceased personalities.

Nowadays there are still physical mediums with high hopes to produce ectoplasm and one of them was the young Scottish/Jamaican medium Woody McRoy who was sitting in this small cabinet, already in a deep trance waiting for the spirits to connect.

When all students were seated, the old man closed the huge door of the Library; his fellow course organiser George Nesbitt, remained standing in front of it to prevent students to come in. Nobody was allowed to enter the Library from this moment on.

The old man shuffled to the window; he tightened the heavy red curtains a little further, so no light came through anymore. A tall, broad-shouldered blonde man assisted him.

In the dark, he walked slowly to the medium, looking at him whilst taking a seat on an armchair.

The students' seats were disposed in two concentric half circles around the illuminated niche in the Library where the medium was. Keith sat next to the medium confronting the crowd. Instantly he felt the level of energy in the room started to rise. A blissful feeling as though bathing in a hot tub. He tried to focus again on the energies he saw around the people in the room. Again he noticed this whitish aura above the first row opposite the cabinet.

What is that?, he felt his old heart skipped a beat.

It was hard to imagine 81-year old Keith Jones as a young and healthy man; he looked old and tired, but his almost transparent blue eyes radiated the energy and alertness of a young man. George Nesbitt was the communicator, the networker of the course, but Londoner Keith Jones was the one who put everything in place.

Keith squinted his eyes and saw this faint swirl of energy was around the Frenchman who sat in a relaxed way with his eyes closed. Antoine was not aware Keith stared at him intensely, before he asked for silence… and there was silence. Only the howling wind outside was still audible.

The ray of light from the little red lamp in front of the cabinet shone directly on the face and naked arms of the medium who seemed to be deep in trance. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He did not wear any shoes. His receding dark, curly hair was covered with a black headscarf which gave him an odd look.

An amazing silence prevailed for a couple of minutes; no noise was heard; even the wind was still. The only sound now was the heavy breathing of the medium.

So Woody, would you be so kind to deepen your trance state; please do it on your own pace. We really would like to invite the spirits to come and welcome all our attendees, so we would like you to speak through Woody’s voice. Thank you, Spirit World.

Keith spoke in a soft voice whilst studying in a protective way the young medium as though it was his own grandson. The medium’s head bent slightly. His breathing became louder and faster. Suddenly, he emitted a sort of groin and shifted his gaze to the audience. He looked fully awake!

Antoine could not see if his eyes were opened or shut. The red light had been reduced and no details of the medium’s face could be seen.

Woody stared at the attendees from one side to the other. He started to speak with a rather different and awkward voice. It was not Woody's normal tone, but a high-pitched and quavering sound reminiscent of an older man.

Hello everybody!, he suddenly blurted out.

Hello, the public answered jointly.

How are you today my friends?

Hello Stan, we are happy to meet you again.

Hi Keith! Nice to meet you too. How are you today?

An unusual discussion took place for a few minutes between the medium and people in the Library. It was superficial; nothing important was said. Antoine leant forwards to focus on the medium’s face; a hint of disappointment crossed his mind.

How could this experience lead to hard evidence of life after death? Was this the surprise demonstration?

Antoine now remembered Keith repeating the words of William Blake many times: Death is just a door to another room…Was he right?

No, Antoine was not satisfied with this answer. He wanted hard proof!

Finally the chatting stopped and the spirit disappeared. Now the medium’s head fell slowly on his chest; his increasing heavy breathing was audible again.

Hardly a minute later he raised his head slowly once more but remained speechless. But suddenly he started to extend his facial muscles and leant forward towards the group of people sitting in front of him. The Frenchman sat right up and narrowed his eyes. There was nothing unusual seen in his face. Antoine looked carefully, but he couldn’t see a change. It was Woody’s face which looked like a red glowing bubble.

All of a sudden a loud cry was audible from the back of the Library; a woman with short blonde curly hair burst out in tears. Surprised Antoine turned to see who made this sound.

"Tonino, mio fratello… È il suo… davvero? Is that you, really?"

The medium did not answer; he slowly raised his right arm on which some small tattoos of undefinable symbols were visible. He turned his head towards the woman, who spoke in a severe Italian accent in the back and motioned her to come over to him.

The crying woman jumped on her feet. Her entire body trembled and she felt insecure to make her way into the darkness. Luckily a tall muscular gentleman took her in his arms to soothe her a little bit and accompanied her to the medium.

Antoine was surprised. It was the first time he experienced something like this! But after a few minutes of critical thinking, he decided that it could not be the hard evidence he was so desperately looking for. Unfortunately! Everybody’s subconscious could create a familiar face out of the blurry red medium’s one, especially so if the person is desperate to recognise his or her beloved one recently passed to the spirit world. Antoine was disappointed again.

After a while, another woman began to cry after supposedly seeing her mother in the blurry red light.

The medium did not speak; he did not give any evidence who he actually was.

Once more Antoine could not decide whether he was involved in a serious experiment or in a joke. He sighed twice and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about what he had read in articles about these experiments. He came to the conclusion: he didn’t know!

Wasn’t the mediums face or hands supposed to alter by this mysterious ectoplasm substance? The ectoplasm should form a mask with the spirit’s face in front of the medium’s own one, he wondered and closed his eyes again. He almost dozed off: disappointed!

Suddenly he was awake again. Woody started to speak with a highly sophisticated voice. It sounded as a high-classed elderly lady. She asked the public who lost a father last year in Birmingham or in this region.

After a short silence, a deep and somewhat emotional voice replied from the crowd:

Yes, I can take that!

A large middle-aged man raised his hand. The medium asked if his father died of stomach cancer? The man rose swiftly.

Almost; it was colorectal cancer.

The Scottish medium fell in silence for a minute. Now the howling wind outside the mansion was audible again.

Did you have an argument with your father about a white cat just before his death?

The man took a deep breath and seemed to be stunned by what he just had heard. His loud voice trembled.

Yes, yes absolutely! How amazing!

Almost immediately another voice came through; the voice of a young boy.

Hi folks, it is me, David… Keith, have you told the people here in the room, who I am and what I’m known for?

Keith coughed a bit as though he had dozed off for a little while.

Yes, David, I know who you are, but I haven’t told the people here who you are yet. But I will… if you want me to!

Keith smiled, looked at the audience in front of him and informed them briefly about David: a little boy, probably six or seven years old, known for his pranks. Most of the attendees laughed silently whilst the chatting between the medium, David and Keith went on for a little while.

Antoine was bored by the insignificance of the information the medium gave; he glanced at his watch and saw with some difficulty that it was almost 6.00 pm. Dinner time! He was hungry.

Now the voice of the young boy altered in a more serious adult tone.

This will be a strange week….

The voice resonated through the room. The sentence was pronounced slowly with a little pause after each word. Someone will DIE this week. Someone will get killed. One of you!

A deep silence followed. It only lasted a few seconds before a ripple of shock went through the crowd.

What is going to happen, someone is going to be killed?, a loud woman’s voice broke the silence in the room.

What?’, someone else stood up and glared in disbelief at the medium Is this a joke?"

Confused, the students started to talk with each other and a cacophony of different voices started to fill the room. Immediately Keith, George and also Sheena tried to calm everybody down.

It’s a prank!, George said with a loud and clear voice and smiled broadly in order to lighten up the atmosphere. Keith shifted towards the medium and stared gravely at his motionless face.

David, will you please stop with your little pranks. You’ve frightened everybody!

I am not lying, David whispered in his boyish voice through the medium’s mouth, I am telling the truth, there will be a death, a murder... this week. I know it, and you all have to be aware of it, I am not joking...it’s a warning, Keith, really!

The old man was shocked, but hid his surge of emotion. He desperately tried to get Woody out of his trance.

Thank you David for your warning. We have no time anymore, bye bye David… Woody, will you please return!, Keith begged in a strict and earnest tone.

The worried course-organiser stared intensely at the young medium, hoping he would rapidly return from his meditative state. This situation was extremely rare; negative messages like these ones were unusual. It must have been an unfortunate prank by young David!

Finally Woody emerged from his altered state in a much faster pace than normal. When he opened his eyes he immediately noticed something was wrong. People were talking disorderly and Keith acted nervously in front of him.

Woody, are you there, is it you?

The medium nodded and looked a bit dazed. Apparently he wasn’t aware of what he had said while he was in trance, but he realised he must have said something shocking whilst observing the worried glance of the old course-organiser. Then all the lights of the Library came up.

Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is being served in the restaurant. Would you please go there as fast as possible, we are running late!

George Nesbitt motioned everybody to leave the Library whilst opening the large door to the lounge. Everybody stood up and left the room. The warm atmosphere in the room had drastically changed in a cold and unpleasant environment, just like the weather outside.

A death, a murder perhaps, here at Bishop’s hall this week, and it could be one of us. C'est intéressant!

Antoine widened his light brown eyes whilst surveying the startled group of people. He ran his hand through his half long silver-grey hair, a mannerism he used to do when he didn’t know exactly what to think of someone or a situation. He pulled his goatee to make up his mind. Antoine was surprised why the tutors took this message so seriously.

Why is everybody acting so stressed? It’s just a surprise, probably just a joke, he smiled inwardly and stood up, plunged his hands into the pockets of his oversized jacket and watched all students leaving the Library in a hurry.

An elegantly dressed brunette caught his eye; when they exchanged glances he recognised the attractive woman he met this afternoon in the car. She pursed her red lips when she recognised him. He noticed her pretty eyes flashed some uneasiness before she left the Library in a rapid pace, bumping into someone else. Again he pulled his goatee.

2. A FLOATING SENSATION

He started to go forward, and this sensation was exhilarating. He hovered without effort above the ground and floated through a golden blue sky, sliding through an almost invisible thin sort of cloud. Even with closed eyelids, he saw the dazzling sky around him.

Where am I? Where am I heading for?Although these questions occupied his mind, they did not bother him too much. A patchwork of uneven fields in different shades of green and yellow below him attracted his attention. At the horizon, the golden blue of the sky blended perfectly with the deep blue of the sea. Undoubtedly he was in a flying mode; he did not feel any weight at all.

While floating above this mosaic of coloured fields, he spotted tiny vessels and small isles in the calm sea covered with a wrinkled wave pattern. Still he had no idea where he was, but suddenly his eyes caught a bridge in front of him; a bright red bridge!

He hovered closer and recognised his location; he was above the Firth of Forth, the estuary of the Scottish River Forth, where it flows into the North Sea. The famous iron bridge – Forth Rail Bridge – was a landmark and he remembered himself passing over this marvellous 19th century railway bridge; always an extra treat for an engineer like him. This bridge was one of the beautiful technical constructions he would never forget.

But suddenly his smile disappeared whilst realising the awkwardness of his situation. He was flying. How was that possible!

Am I lucid dreaming? He rarely experienced this kind of extraordinary sensation. It was quiet; no annoying sound; only the soft blowing of the mild breeze, which touched him on the cheek like a feather.

Now he started to descend; the fields became bigger and the trees more detailed. He even could spot some of the roads which looked like ribbons fallen randomly on the landscape. The lower he went, the more he became aware where he actually was. He spread his arms and legs and felt being carried by a warm mild breeze. With growing excitement and surprise, he realised he was approaching Bishop’s Hall.

After going through a thin small cloud, he saw the rough, unkempt area around the vast Victorian mansion. He felt puzzled for a second. Did I make arrangements for another week, in summertime? I thought I booked for January!

After circling a bit around the Firth he came across a small woody area with a mixture of broad-leaved and evergreen trees which gradually changed into rough and unkempt grounds. There it was, Bishop’s Hall; the vast building made of local grey stone looked exactly how he remembered it.

The hall was precisely how he imagined a Victorian mansion when he came to Britain for the first time; an old, stately, romantic house situated in a remote part of the world with a beautiful garden full of plants and flowers surrounded by a small strip of green trees, fields, and the dark blue sea with its rocky shores. Horses in the fields, birds in the sky and boats floating on a calm sea; that’s what he imagined in his dreams and this is what he saw at the present moment.

The rough grey stones, the many huge white bay windows, the lovely pointed roofs and the countless chimneys, fitted in a nutshell the description of Bishop´s Hall.

Although Victorian houses had many decorations and ornaments, this mansion was more robust from the exterior; the ornaments were only details. This 19th century construction blended nicely in the rough landscape and was perfectly sheltered between the woods, especially for the long windy winters.

The ivy and other creeping plants almost entirely covered the right side of the building, but on the other side the robust stone was clearly visible. The advantage of this local stone was that it was strong and resistant to the harsh sea winds coming from the East the whole year round.

When he hovered over the roof between the tall chimneys, he spotted typical Victorian ornaments he was not able to see from the ground. The ornaments were sort of small towers with a blunt top in the shape of a plant. He joyfully recognised they represented thistles, the floral emblem of Scotland. The emblem of a thistle was the main symbol of the College and the mansion. The ancient Celtic symbol, which represented nobility and the often painful childbirth, was printed on the leaflets of the College, engraved in the benches on the grounds, and even on the gates at the beginning of the drive: two almost life-size iron-made thistles.

A streak of a recollection hit him and he remembered a picture of a purple field, in the drawing room of the mansion, with, at his horizon, also a mansion which didn’t resemble Bishop’s Hall. He could not believe this was what the hall looked like before its renovation in the 19th century; nothing more than a field of thistles and a vast grey building without the lovely windows or roofs.

What do I know about the history of the mansion?, he wondered and noticed his memory was expanding. Probing in his memory was not necessary anymore; every thought, every step, event, word... were there at the same moment.

He experienced this at the same very moment!

He realised he was not captured in a physical body. He didn’t feel any fear or excitement, but a total calmness with no notion of past or future: a total immersion in the present!

Am I dead?, he wondered if this was heaven or hell.

Is this it, is this life after death?

*

Bishop’s Hall was built in the 1870’s for the McFinn family on a site where once stood a 15th century castle.

In the 16th century, Stanford Castle was actually a sort of refuge for Scottish bishops and priests for almost a century. The Church of Scotland had broken with the papacy and had adopted the Calvinist religion, but there were still priests who kept clinging to Rome and continued their practices.

The small church behind the old hall was erected by the priests themselves, but a fire at the end of the 16th century ruined its broad tower. They never rebuilt it. For the neighbourhood and especially for the people in the nearby town of Kirkcaldy, the hall was a place of the devil and it remained so until today…

After the last McFinn family member left the mansion, a rich American bought the house in 1931. He was a shipbuilding magnate of Scottish descent called John Peter Gates. After an early retirement due to health problems, 50-year old John Gates left the States to settle in the homeland of his great-grandfather.

Mr. Gates had a profound interest in psychic science and spirituality. The spiritualists’ ceremonies at Bishop’s Hall gave the mansion a bad name; it was called by locals: The House of the Devil.

In 1960 he bequeathed the hall to the Spiritualists Association after he found out he was terminally ill. A few months later he passed away and since this time, Bishop’s Hall was transformed in a so-called psychic science haven; various courses and experiments were organised and mediums from all over the world were able to enhance their skills in this sacred place: The John P. Gates College.

*

He produced a weak smile and nodded whilst thinking of Bishop’s Hall. A beautiful front could be a facade for an ugly back. He thought about his former wife: Electra; a strong, beautiful woman, but lacking compassion and warmth. Beauty can cover a lot!

He smiled faintly again and felt, for the first time, no hatred towards her at all. The overwhelming pain she had caused after leaving him some years ago, was completely gone.

Instinctively he glanced down and saw a beautiful pond in front of him. Some ducks were sunbathing on the shore at the other end. Suddenly he floated again to the house and in a blink of an eye he was in front of a large white bay window at the front of the mansion. Curious as a child, he went up to the window and peered through the glass. He wasn’t able to look inside, he only saw the reflection of the spacious garden behind him; red curtains were tightly closed.

He remained still for a few minutes to let the beauty of this view overwhelm him.

The sun was bright and its reflection on the large pond created thousands of tiny sparks which seemed to dance above the surface of the water. A moss encrusted stone wall divided the terrace and the garden. A couple of ducks rested down the rocky shore; they seemed to be asleep peacefully.

The scent of roses attracted his attention; he realised he was surrounded by a huge rose bed around a stone Celtic cross. His eyes fell on a shining nameplate almost hidden between the countless rose-bushes in different colours; without any difficulty he could see the words:

In memorial of John Peter Gates (1886-1960)

He turned and looked at two fully-leaved large oaks; they stood tall, like two giant guards protecting the mansion. Underneath one of the majestic oaks, a light blue bench was visible.

He went to one of the trees, curious whether this lovely bench was dedicated to someone and indeed it was. A small golden plate was tagged on the back next to an engraved thistle, but there was no name displayed, only the initials K.W. J.

The two oaks were the largest trees in the garden. The grassland ended in a rocky area towards the Firth with, in between, a narrow winding lane: the only way to reach Bishop’s Hall. A huge iron gate stood down the narrow lane at the left side of the garden.

The gate was closed. Unusual, because he remembered the doors were always open. The drive to the hall slowly went up; both sides of the driveway were surrounded by large bushes of rhododendrons hiding the garden while driving up to a small gravel parking lot, at the rear of the mansion.

At the end of this drive stood a small church, just behind the house. It was just a nave, but inside was an endearing little sacred place with a beautiful decorated picture of Jesus being taken off the cross.

In and around the mansion, the energy field was extremely high; it was wonderful to see this sparkling pure energy everywhere; the floating particles dancing playfully in the air. Now he started to see whitish aura’s around things, a phenomenon he never experienced before in such extend. Is it the reflection of the sun?

The energy was also visible around the oaks' trunks, like a white-silver glance. He reached out to tap the energy; it felt like an extra warm continuous shower.

He hovered around the house to the entrance, at the back.

No cars on the parking lot! No courses this week?, he realised. Surprised, he saw the whole estate looked empty, there was nobody; even the familiar horses in the adjacent fields were not there. The only noises he heard came from fluttering birds on a roof above the terrace. Although he was alone, he did not feel lonely. There was no separateness; he felt part of the natural environment, the mansion, the house, the sky, the sun, the colours, the energy...

In a sort of frenzy, he floated around the mansion again and paused at a bay window at the second floor. It was the room he slept in last time; the small double room overlooking the fields and where the ivy almost covered the whole window. He tried to peer inside, but he couldn’t. Was it the bright sun? All he could see was a faint black shadow in the glass, which was probably his own; but strangely the shadow moved while he did not. He had no time to think about this phenomenon. All of sudden he felt an instant shock going through his body, like a stream of electricity and was pushed through the window. He couldn’t stop: the force was too strong. In a blink of an eye, he stood, bewildered, in the middle of the room. Then reality hit: it was a cold, semi-dark and untidy place with a musty atmosphere and a filthy white carpet. A bed at the left side of the room was not made up, white towels were piled on a heap in the corner and a half-closed grey suitcase stood in front of the door.

Confused, he walked up to the window to let some fresh air in, but his confusion became worse.

Am I hallucinating?; he was not able to breathe properly for a minute when he saw the weather outside had drastically changed. An unsettling realisation began to grow. Where is the sun, the gentle warm breeze, the marvellous sparkles?

Everything pleasant was gone. Now it was grey and extremely cloudy. No sparkles and only an uncomfortable chill was tangible. He shivered a few times, whilst trying to understand what was happening with him.

Why is it so cold?; the central heating was on and the device felt warm, but the room was cold, ice cold.

He opened the window with great difficulty and when he put his head outside, he felt the wind as a sharp razor going along his cheek instead of the soft breeze he previously sensed in the sunny garden. In disbelief he now noticed the baldness of trees. In utter shock he closed the window abruptly. He was back in his room and got startled:

It’s my suitcase on the floor. It’s my bed with that awful pinkish cover! The heap with towels! Oh, no!, he remembered tossing them deliberately in the corner, hoping the maids will change them, but they didn’t. He also recalled it was very cold in his room, despite a working central heating. He tried to fix it, but he failed.

On the heating device he found a leaflet of Bishop’s hall describing its history. He picked it up and wanted to read the text, but got distracted by a familiar noise: the whinnying of horses. He had heard them last year, too. He quickly went to the window again, peered through the glass and saw three horses walking in the fields.

He had experienced this scene already, people sitting on horses on a small path through the rough, unkempt fields; this was the exact scene he had seen the last time he was in this room. It must be a déjà- vu!

The idea of riding the horses never crossed his mind; he did not trust large animals.

Suddenly he saw a small man approaching the farmer to whom the horses belonged. This small and slender man never rode a horse before, but instead of going to a meeting with the course-organisers, the petite man decided to listen to his impulses and asked boldly the farmer for a horse to ride on.

Then the image evaporated and a new scene appeared with a young blond girl with a pair of blue glasses; she was a bit reluctant when her dad, the farmer,