esting accounts about Melanie’s spiritual gifts, so I’d been
looking forward to meeting her and comparing notes.
Perhaps fortuitously, Melanie’s son Elliot was having recur-
ring problems with an ingrown toenail. As such it was just a
matter of time before they came knocking on my door. As
227
228 Elliot
I set to work on Elliot’s toe, I broached the subject of our
mutual interest.
“I believe you and I have a lot in common,” I said.
“Yes we do. “she smiled. “All three of us!” Melanie looked
towards her son, and placed her hand gently on his arm.
“You see them too, don’t you darling?” Eleven-year-old Elliot
squirmed slightly in his chair, nodding at me with an expres-
sion of barely masked fear. “He doesn’t like it though, do you mate? Sometimes I have ask them to go away …”
“It’s usually the same one,” said Elliot. “It’s the same ghost that Scott saw in the shed.”
Melanie told me that her eldest son had been tinkering
in the garden shed when he heard a noise behind him. He
saw some movement from the corner of his eye as he briefly
glanced towards where the sound was coming from. He sim-
ply presumed his father had come into the shed and continued
working.
As Scott began chatting, he found it increasingly odd that
his father was ignoring him, so he turned around to see what
was going on. Of course his father wasn’t there at all, but Scott had not imagined seeing a masculine figure.
There before him stood the ghost of a young man, star-
ing at him with ill-disguised despair. He looked needy and
unhappy. It took a moment to register that the man wasn’t
entirely solid, and as the realisation that he was seeing a ghost sunk in, young Scott began to scream. He bolted through the
shed door and into the house in a matter of seconds; his adren-aline fuelling his flight to safety at breakneck speed.
Melanie reassured her trembling son, after which she ven-
tured into the shed to see who had been trying to get his attention. By then, the young man had gone.
Elliot 229
It wasn’t long afterwards that the ghostly visitor returned,
this time focussing his attentions on young Elliot’s bedroom.
Elliot said that he knew someone was there before he saw
him, as the atmosphere in the room suddenly felt cold and
funny.
“You just know when they’re coming, don’t you?” said
Melanie. “It’s kind of like a buzzing that takes over the whole room.”
Elliot nodded as he continued.
“I felt really scared so I pulled the blankets over my head.”
“I still do that, “I said. “And I’ve been doing it since I was your age. You’d have thought I would’ve grown out of it by
now!”
Elliot smiled.
“I did look though,” he said. “There was a man standing
there; he had his hands on his hips and he looked really angry.”
The man stood across the room for what felt like an eter-
nity, and although terrified, Elliot couldn’t help but look. He was later able to describe the man in great detail, right down to the well-worn hoodie he had paired with his faded jeans.
“And …” said Melanie, “that’s when we worked out who he
was. My husband’s best friend took his own life when he was
in his twenties. Todd used to always wear a hoodie; never saw
him in anything else!”
Melanie said that once they worked out who the ghost
was, she was able to address him directly and ask him to stop
scaring the children. She urged him to go towards the light,
telling him it was time to move on.
“And did he?” I asked.
“Not immediately,” said Melanie. “He needed a bit of coax-
ing.”
230 Elliot
Elliot said that for a while Todd’s visits were quite frequent and each time he would move in that little bit closer.
“One time I didn’t even look at him I was so scared. I just
kept my head under the covers … but I knew he was there!
Then I felt him sit next to me at the end of the bed and he put his hand on my leg …”
“I think when he did that he was trying to help you,” said
Melanie. “That was the day you came off your skateboard and
grazed your leg … I think he was trying to make it feel better.”
“Is that where he touched you?” I asked Elliot. “On the
sore bit?”
“Yep,” said Elliot smiling. “It was actually!”
By the time Elliot and Melanie told me this story, it had
been several months since Todd’s last visit. Melanie feels confident that he has made it towards the light; putting his painful history behind him as he moves forward on his spiritual path.
And as for Elliott and Scott, it’s highly likely that their
future will be peppered with similar ghostly visits. I believe that all children are born with a sensitivity to the spirit world, but that in most cases it tends to lessen as they grow older.
If, however, early paranormal encounters are validated rather
than dismissed, it’s more likely that the sensitivity to the spirit realm will continue to thrive.
The added factor of having a clairvoyant mother would
further contribute to the development of Elliot and Scott’s
spiritual gifts. It’s highly probable that they inherited their heightened sensitivity from Melanie in the first place. My hope is that children like Elliot and Scott learn to let go of their fear early in life, and embrace what is undoubtedly a wonderful gift. It’s been a long, slow journey towards this realisation myself and I wish I could have reached it earlier. Perhaps if I’d Elliot 231
been taught a greater understanding of my experiences when I
was younger, I wouldn’t have been so fearful.
Fortunately Elliot and Scott have an amazing mother to
teach and guide them. I have no doubt that Melanie will be
helping her sons nurture their gifts every step of the way.
chapter twenty-seven
O u t o f B o d y
It is widely believed that in the instant before death, the soul vacates the body. It’s thought to be a protective mechanism
to spare the dying unnecessary trauma, thereby making the
transition from the physical to the spirit world as gentle as
possible. Those who have had near death experiences rarely
report feeling physical pain, and often describe the death scene as being viewed from above. The death process seems to be
imbued with peacefulness and calm.
Out of body experiences (OBE’s) are not the exclusive
domain of the dying, and indeed some individuals can instigate them at will. Another scenario whereby human consciousness
can separate from the body, is when someone is undergoing
severe emotional or physical trauma. Again, it is a protective mechanism, sparing the individual needless suffering.
OBE’s go some way in providing us with a glimpse of what
it’s like to inhabit the spirit world. And perhaps the more we 233
234 Out of Body
can understand what it’s like to be in spirit, the more we open ourselves up to paranormal experiences of our own.
When I reflect on my out of body experiences as a young
child, I feel sure that they were instigated by my brush with
death as a newborn. Perhaps I had lingered at the life/death
Maybe that’s why I found myself effortlessly floating up to the ceiling so frequently as a child.
As unsettling as these episodes were, I feel they were the
precursor to the paranormal experiences I am so grateful for
today. My early glimpses into otherworldly realms paved the
way for my clairvoyance; and as such they have enriched my
life beyond measure.
It’s always heartening to meet a fellow fringe-dweller; someone who has also travelled the subtle interface between the
living and the dead. I met Ginny whilst on a business trip to
Melbourne, our paths crossing randomly outside the interna-
tional airport. Like me, she is clairvoyant, seemingly the result of a protracted OBE whilst she was a child. Sadly for Ginny,
the precursor for her OBE was much more traumatic than my
own.
I met Ginny and her sister on an overcast Melbourne after-
noon; shortly after the arrival of my flight from Perth. As I stepped out of the airport terminal, I was approached by two
smiling American women, with the offer of sharing their cab
into the city. They had secured a small minibus, so we clam-
bered in amongst our jumble of suitcases and handbags.
They asked me where I had flown in from, and whether
the purpose of my trip was for business or pleasure.
Out of Body 235
“I’m here for a writers’ conference,” I replied, to which the
more boisterous of the two produced a mammoth hulk of a
manuscript from the depths of her bag.
“Hey, you’re a writer,” she laughed. “Me too! We’re here
for the week to edit this thing …”
I enquired as to the size of the manuscript. It was the hefti-
est draft I had ever seen.
“This is what 165,000 words looks like,” she beamed
proudly, giving the pages a self-satisfied slap.
They both asked me whether I had any books published,
so I briefly told them about my first book which was in the
final stages of editing, and that it dealt with my paranormal experiences.
“No way! This is a spiritual book too!” laughed the manu-
script-wielding sister. “Are you a clairvoyant?”
“I’ve seen spirits for as long as I can remember,” I said. “My parents think it’s because I nearly died at birth.”
“Yeah well they do say trauma can heighten your paranor-
mal abilities,” said the more reserved of the two. “That’s what happened to us. That’s what Ginny’s book’s about.”
Ginny began telling me their story, and I sat spellbound for
the remainder of our journey.
The story which unfolded was shocking and confronting,
yet the two sisters who endured it sat smiling as they took turns relaying the tragedy of their childhood. They told me that given the opportunity to re-write their past they wouldn’t change a
thing. As painful as it was, it is through enduring their tragedies that they have evolved into the vibrant, strong women they are today.
Ginny told me that when she was ten and her sister was
six, their father shot their mother in their remote Kentucky
236 Out of Body
farmhouse. The shooting was the climactic end of a pro-
tracted siege, as their father had held the family to ransom for an excruciating ten hours.
Being the eldest of six children, Ginny took it upon herself
to shield her mother, and physically placed herself between
her parents. She desperately pleaded with her father to put
down his gun. She ordered her cowering younger siblings out
of the room with as much authority as her quivering, ten year-
old self could muster, torn between physically protecting her mother and shielding the young ones from the drama unfold-ing before them.
Desperate to comfort her traumatised siblings (and per-
haps also for self-preservation) Ginny somehow found her
consciousness detaching from her body, until she was float-
ing up towards the ceiling of the room. From here she could
observe the scene beneath her, and was relieved to see her
physical form steadfastly maintaining a barrier between her
parents.
Ginny was drawn to the whimpering of her siblings, and
found she could will herself into the adjacent room, where her brothers and sisters were cowering together in a corner.
“It’s OK,” she soothed. “It’s all going to be alright. Trust
me!”
She wasn’t sure if they could hear her, but she felt that the
message was getting across. Their terrified sobbing began to
subside as soon as she reached them.
And this is how Ginny spent the next ten hours, detached
from her body, drifting between the rooms as she tried to
restore peace.
Eventually her father shoved Ginny out of the way and
there was a devastating crack of his rifle. Her mother was shot.
Out of Body 237
Back in our minibus the sisters stared at me wide-eyed, as
though the piercing crack of the bullet had only just shattered the silence, rather than almost forty years ago. I really didn’t know what to say.
“She did live though,” said Ginny. “And as awful as it was, it was worth it. That day got us away from that horrible man. It
gave us a new beginning.”
I am sure it wouldn’t have been an easy journey, and that
the trauma had carved itself into their hearts for many years to come. But the reason there was a book written about it at all is because the positives which sprouted from the family’s ordeal
far outweighed their suffering; as evidenced by the two viva-
cious women before me.
As a result of a bleak and painful day in their family’s his-
tory, Ginny became aware of her extrasensory gifts, abilities which have continued to enrich her life almost forty years
later. The lesson for us all is that no matter how bleak and
unforgiving the world can sometimes appear, there is light and positivity hiding just below the surface, should we allow it to shine through.
By the time the cab pulled up in front of my hotel, I felt
as though I had deeply bonded with these women I had met a
mere half hour ago. We hurriedly exchanged email addresses,
hugs and kisses, and a moment later they were gone.
The sisters left a sense of awe in their wake, and the con-
viction that I was supposed to meet them all along. It seemed
I had been privy to yet another random yet pivotal reminder
of how closely bound the spirit world is with our own. And
how sometimes (quite often when we least expect it) the spirit world takes charge and overshadows our own. Perhaps it is
238 Out of Body
the spirit realm which best knows our true selves, stepping in when we most need it and guiding us through our trials.
Despite the harrowing story I’d just heard, I couldn’t help
smiling. Or perhaps it was because of the story that I felt so inspired. As I walked into the hotel lobby, I couldn’t have felt more bolstered. I was alone in a strange city, two thousand
miles from home, yet I couldn’t have felt more safe. I knew
without a doubt that the spirits were looking out for me.
chapter twenty-eight
T h e M i c h e l i n M a n
When Jodie and I met just over two years ago, we discovered
a mutual interest in the paranormal. Jodie h
as as sensitivity
which seems to attract ghostly visitations, some of which have left her utterly terrified. None more so than her encounters
with the ghoul she likened to a cartoon character composed
entirely of tyres.
“I know it sounds ridiculous but it’s the best way to describe him. This thing looked exactly like the Michelin Man …”
Jodie’s story stretches back to the early nineties; when she
was a twenty-something newly-wed. As excited as Jodie and
her husband were to move into their new home, it didn’t take
long before the gloss began to wear off. Something about it
just didn’t feel right. Jodie was especially sensitive to her new home’s feeling of heaviness; and its oppressive atmosphere
seemed to intensify as time went on.
Any suspicions that their home was haunted were con-
firmed in the early hours of a cold, winter’s morning. Jodie
239
240 The Michelin Man
was awoken by a gushing sound coming from the corner of
the room.
“It was pretty loud,” she told me. “Loud enough to wake
me from a deep sleep.”
As soon as she opened her eyes, Jodie saw the globular fig-
ure standing just beyond the foot of the bed; its body shape
defined by a mass of undulating blobs. It looked as revolting as the feeling it seemed to emanate; unadulterated evil.
Jodie was transfixed by the disturbing vision before her, it
seemed as though it was challenging her and had no intention
of backing away. Although its body was a huge spongy mass,
its features was surprisingly small. A pinched and thin-lipped face leered at her from the darkness; she was terrified.
“The worst thing was I couldn’t move,” she told me. “I was
completely paralysed. I couldn’t even make a sound to wake
my husband. All I could do was look.”
All the while the gushing sound seemed to be getting
louder, until the room was engulfed in vibration and noise.
And when Jodie realised where the sound was coming from,
the whole situation suddenly felt infinitely worse.
The Michelin Man was urinating against the bedroom
wall, his amorphous head turned towards Jodie. He was obvi-
ously intent on causing maximum distress, a look of evil satisfaction on his face.
“I suppose that’s when my anger overtook everything else,”
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