by Hans Holzer
“It must be some kind of reflection,” she said to herself aloud and rose to look for the original candles. She examined first the windows, then the doors and walls, but there was no possible way in which two burning candles could appear in her mirror. Disquieted, she sat down again and looked. Perhaps it was only her imagination. But the two candles were back again! Only this time one of the candles flickered, and the flame moved a little.
It was 7 o’clock. She was hungry and thought: “I’ve got to go down. I don’t care, candles or no candles.”
No sooner had she thought this than she heard a voice behind her—a woman’s voice, speaking in Italian.
“Promise me never to abandon him!”
“Of course not,” she replied, without thinking how a disembodied voice could suddenly sound in her room. She turned around. There was no one there!
She wondered: Who was she never to abandon? It could only be her husband, Alberto.
She decided she had had enough unusual experiences for one day and left the room. Coming down the stairs, she was met on the second floor by her husband, racing up to meet her. He seemed upset.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Mother died. I’ve just come from her funeral.” Tears streamed down his face. He had not wished to alarm her or to allow his grief to interfere with their vacation. His mother had been buried the day before, and he thought it best to come and tell her personally rather than to telephone.
The voice Dr. B. had heard had been her mother-in-law’s.
Years later the request made strange sense to her. Between 1941 and 1945, when she was in New York, her husband was a prisoner of the Germans. She had no contact with him and knew nothing about his fate. The Red Cross told her that he had died, so legally she could remarry after five years. But the voice of a mother from beyond the grave stuck in her mind, and she realized what the voice had meant; she never abandoned her husband, and eventually she was reunited with him.
Loved ones or known members of one’s family are not the only ones who communicate with the living. Sometimes a total stranger may do so.
Before the war, Dr. B. spent some time vacationing in Arosa, Switzerland. She stayed at a modest pension at the time, as it was toward the end of her vacation and she was beginning to run low on funds. Her room was on one of the upper floors.
She had just rung for her breakfast, which the maid would very shortly bring her. But before this happened, the door was flung open, and a woman burst into her room. She wore a kind of negligee, and her black hair was flying behind her in disorder. Out of breath, the woman demanded: “You must tell him. It is very important! Please tell him!”
Her hands moved with great agitation. Dr. B. was annoyed by the intrusion. She eyed the woman coolly and asked her to leave the room, assuming the woman had stepped into her room in error. The woman had spoken German.
“Raus!” Dr. B. said, and the girl tried once again to implore her to “tell him.” Then she backed out of the room by sliding backward.
The next moment the maid came into the room carrying the breakfast tray. “Who was that crazy woman who just came in?” Dr. B. demanded.
“What woman? There is no one else on this floor.”
“But she was just here this minute.”
“Impossible. You’re the only one on this floor. There is no one left. After all, this is the end of the season.” The maid shook her head and left, wondering about the good doctor.
It was late, so Dr. B. did not bother to make inquiries at the desk downstairs about the strange visitor. She took her skis and went out to the slope. She had a favorite spot on the mountain where she could enjoy a marvelous view of the surrounding countryside. She could not get up there fast enough this morning. As she approached the spot, she suddenly saw a man coming toward her from behind some trees.
“May I join you?” he said. He looked like a nice young man and she was not afraid, but she told the young man as gracefully as she could that she was a married woman.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he assured her. “I just want to talk to you for moment.”
He was a physician from Zurich whose first practice had been here in Arosa. At that time he had treated a young woman for advanced tuberculosis. When he first saw the patient, she was a great beauty. They were almost instantly in love, but to his horror he realized that she had only a short time to live. The woman was only eighteen at the time, and he was a young doctor just starting out. But he would not accept this verdict and decided he could somehow change her fate.
“I’m going to die,” the girl said. But the young doctor asked for her hand in marriage and, despite her parents’ objection, insisted on marrying her. Since both the doctor’s family and the girl’s people were well off financially, he gladly signed the waiver as to her fortune and promised in addition to take care of her, no matter what.
Dr. B. listened to the story with keen interest. He asked her to accompany him a bit farther and showed her a small chalet where he and his bride had spent their honeymoon. Everything had been brand-new. He had bought the chalet for her, and it looked for a while as though the dire predictions about her death would not come true. Months went by, and her condition, far from worsening, gradually improved.
The doctor spent every moment of his time with her, completely putting aside his career and never leaving her. But when she seemed to be improving so much, he decided he should see a few of his patients again. He thought it safe and did not think she would die now.
One day there was an emergency in the village. An accident occurred, and he was called. While he was gone, something strange must have happened to the woman. Suddenly she left the chalet and came running down the winding road to the village in sheer terror. Whether it was a sudden realization that her protector was not by her side for a few hours or because of some inexplicable worsening of her condition, no one knew. She came running down the hill after him. When she got to the little pension, her physical strength gave out. Her disease-ridden lungs could not stand the great strain of running. Collapsing in the pension, she was carried to one of the rooms upstairs, where she died without ever seeing her husband again.
“One of the rooms?” Dr. B. asked. “On the third floor?”
The young man nodded.
She then described her experience of that morning to him.
“That’s she, all right,” the young man acknowledged sadly. “Wasn’t she beautiful?”
Every year the young physician would come to Arosa on the anniversary of her death, always hoping to find out why she had run out of their chalet.
Today was that day.
After a moment of reflection, Dr. B. told the young man that she too was a physician. It pleased him to know this, and he asked her whether she had read anything in the wraith’s face that might have indicated the nature of her fears. Had she seen death approaching, and did she not want to go without her husband by her side? Or was it something else, something they might never know, that drove her to undertake her fatal dash?
Dr. B. conjectured that perhaps the girl discovered she was pregnant and wanted her husband to know right away. But there was a telephone in the chalet, and the doctor had told his wife where he was going. She could have reached him at the scene of the accident, or she might have waited for his return.
Two days later, Dr. B. left Arosa and never returned to the little pension. But the young man probably continues to come back on the anniversary of the day when his loved one was taken from him. And on the third floor of the pension a tragedy will be enacted once a year, a tragedy involving a beautiful girl with flying black hair, until the two lovers meet for good in the land beyond the veil.
* 159
Vivien Leigh’s Post-Mortem Photograph
ALTHOUGH SYBIL LEEK, the British author, trance medium, and psychic, had done extraordinary things in my presence, notably fine trance work and clairvoyance, she never considered herself a photographic medium. On one or two occasions stran
ge objects did appear on photographs taken of her or in her presence, but she had never pursued the matter.
On a Friday morning in July 1967, Sybil telephoned me in great agitation. She had just had a very vivid dream, or at any rate fallen into a state similar to the dream state. Someone named Vivien had communicated with her and remarked that she was now going on a holiday. Did I know any Vivien? Why me, I asked. Because this communicator wanted Sybil Leek to call me and tell me. Was there anything more? No, just that much. I pondered the matter. The only Vivien I ever knew personally was a young woman not likely to be on the other side as yet. But, of course, one never knows. I was still pondering the matter when the Saturday newspaper headlines proclaimed the death of Vivien Leigh. It appeared that she had just been discovered dead in her London apartment, but death might have come to her any time before Saturday, most likely on Friday. Suddenly I saw the connection and called Sybil. Did she know Vivien Leigh at all? She did indeed, although she had not seen her for some time. Years ago Vivien Leigh would consult Sybil Leek in personal matters, for Sybil was pretty good at sorting things out for her friends.
Psychic photo of Sybil Leek with the just-passed Vivien Leigh
There was definitely a relationship. Nobody in the world knew that Vivien Leigh had died on Friday. The discovery was made on Saturday. And yet Sybil had her communication during Thursday night. The date? June 30, 1967. I felt it was the actress’ way of saying goodbye and at the same time letting the world know that life continued. That was on Saturday. On Monday Sybil had a visitor at the Stewart Studios, where she usually stays when in New York. Her visitor, Edmond Hanrahan, was so impressed with the unusual decor of the studio that he decided to take some color pictures with his camera, which he happened to have with him at the time. The date was July 3, 1967. Several pictures were of Sybil Leek. There was nothing remarkable about any of them, except one. Partially obstructing Sybil is the face of a dark-haired woman with an unmistakable profile—that of Vivien Leigh!
Both Sybil and the photographer remember clearly that there was nobody else with them at the time, nor was there anything wrong with either film or camera. The psychic extra seems soft and out of focus, as if the figure had stepped between the camera and Sybil, but too close to be fully in focus.
I questioned Mr. Hanrahan about the incident. He admitted that this was not the first time something or someone other than the person he was photographing showed up on a negative. On one particularly chilling occasion he had been photographing the widow of a man who had been murdered. On the negative the murdered man appeared next to his widow! Hanrahan used a Honeywell Pentax 35mm camera and Ektachrome film when he caught Vivien Leigh on film. He did not employ a flashgun but used all the available room light. He was relieved to hear that there was nothing wrong with his ability as a photographer or his camera, and he could not very well be held accountable for unseen models.
* 160
How the Dead Teacher Said Good-bye
EVELYN ENGLAND, A BUSY professional portrait photographer in Los Angeles, California, had always known of her psychic gift but paid no attention to it. To her, this was simply part of life, and the supernatural was farthest from her mind.
Even as a youngster, England had ESP experiences, especially of the gift of finding lost objects under strange circumstances, as if driven by some inner voice. But despite these leanings she had no particular interest in the subject itself and merely took it for granted that others also had ESP.
One of England’s jobs was photographing high-school yearbook pictures. So it was merely a routine assignment when she was called on to take the picture of Mr. G., a mathematics teacher. The date was Saturday, April 3, 1965. He was the last of the faculty to come in for his portrait. Her studio was closed on Sunday. On Monday England developed and retouched the print, and Tuesday morning she mailed it to the school. A few hours later she received a phone call from the school principal. Had Mr. G. come in for his sitting? Yes, Miss England answered, and informed the principal that the print was already in the mail. At this there was a slight pause. Then the principal explained that Mr. G. had died unexpectedly on Sunday.
In May a Mr. H. came into her studio who remarked that he felt she had a good deal of ESP, being himself interested in such matters. Miss England took his portrait. He then came in to pick his choice from the proofs. When she placed the print into the developer, to her amazement, it was not Mr. H.’s face that came up—but Mr. G.’s, the dead mathematics teacher’s face. A moment later, while she was still staring in disbelief, the portrait of her client Mr. H. came upon the same print, stronger than the first portrait and facing the opposite way from it.
Miss England was a very meticulous photographer. She never left an undeveloped print around. She always developed each print fully, never leaving half-finished prints behind. No one but she used the studio. There was no “rational” explanation for what had happened. The smiling face of the late mathematics teacher was there to remind her that life was not over for him—or perhaps a token of gratitude for having been the last person to have seen him “alive.” Hastily, Miss England printed another picture of Mr. H., and it was just a normal photograph.
Other “dead” persons later used her skills to manifest themselves, but this incident was the most remarkable one in her psychic life.
BILOCATION OR THE ETHERIC DOUBLE OF A LIVING PERSON
Bilocation is a phenomenon closely allied with astral travel, but it is a manifestation of its own with certain distinct features that set it apart from astral travel or out-of-body experiences per se. In bilocation a living person is projected to another site and observed there by one or more witnesses while at the same time continuing to function fully and normally in the physical body at the original place. In this respect it differs greatly from astral projection since the astral traveler cannot be seen in two places at once, especially as the physical body of the astral traveler usually rests in bed, or, if it concerns a daytime projection, is continuing to do whatever the person is doing rather automatically and without consciousness. With bilocation there is full consciousness and unawareness that one is in fact being seen at a distance as well.
Bilocation occurs mostly in mentally active people, people whose minds are filled with a variety of ideas, perhaps to the point of distraction. They may be doing one thing while thinking of another. That is not to say that people without imagination cannot be seen in two places at once, but the majority of cases known to me do indeed fall into the first category. A good case in point is a close friend of mine by the name of Mina Lauterer of California. I have written of her previously in ESP and You. Miss Lauterer has pronounced ESP talents. In addition, however, she is a well-balanced and very keen observer, since she is a professional writer. She has had several experiences of being seen in a distant place while not actually being there in the flesh.
In one such case she was walking down the street in Greenwich Village, New York, when she saw a gentleman whom she knew from Chicago. Surprised to find this person out of his usual element, she crossed the street in order to greet him. She tried to reach out toward him and he evaporated before her eyes. The incident so disturbed her that she wrote to the man in Chicago and found out that he had been in Chicago at the time she had observed him in New York. However, he had just then been thinking of her. Whether his thought projection was seen by Mina Lauterer or whether a part of himself was actually projected to appear is a moot question. What is even more interesting is the fact that he, too, saw Miss Lauterer at the same time he was thinking about her in Chicago. This, of course, is a case of double bilocation, something that does not happen very often.
In another instance, Miss Lauterer reported a case to me that had overtones of precognition in addition to bilocation. “One night not long ago, in New York, as I was in bed, halfway between sleep and being fully awake,” she said, “I saw a face as clearly as one sees a picture projected on a screen. I saw it with the mind’s eye, for my eyes were closed. This w
as the first experience that I can recall, where I saw, in my mind, a face I had never seen before.
“About six weeks later, I received an invitation to go to Colombia, South America. I stayed on a banana plantation in Turbo, which is a primitive little town on the Gulf of Urabá. Most of the people who live there are the descendants of runaway slaves and Indian tribes. Transportation is by launch or canoe from the mainland to the tiny cluster of nearby islands. The plantation was located near the airport on the mainland, as was the customs office. The village of Turbo is on a peninsula.
“One Sunday afternoon I went into town with my host, an American, and my Colombian friend. As we walked through the dirty streets bordered with sewage drains and looked around at the tin-roofed hovels and the populace of the place, I thought, this is the edge of the world.
“Sunday seemed to be the market day; the streets were crowded with people mostly of two hues, black and red-skinned. As we passed a drugstore, walking single file, a tall, handsome, well-dressed young man caught my attention. He seemed as out of place as I and my companions did. He did not look at me, even as I passed directly in front of him. It struck me as strange. South American men always look at women in the most frank manner. Also, he looked familiar, and I realized that this was the face that I had seen in my mind, weeks before in New York!
“The following day we were invited to cocktails by our neighbor, the Captain of Customs. He told us that a young flyer arrived every month around the same time, stopped in Turbo overnight, and then continued on his regular route to other villages. He always bunked in with his soldiers, instead of staying at the filthy hotel in the village. He mentioned that the young man was the son of the governor of one of the Colombian states, and that he had just arrived from Cartagena, the main office of his small airline.
