{"id":199736,"date":"2019-12-24T16:09:01","date_gmt":"2019-12-24T16:09:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/?p=199736"},"modified":"2019-12-28T06:52:13","modified_gmt":"2019-12-28T06:52:13","slug":"a-poltergeist-christmas","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/?p=199736","title":{"rendered":"A Poltergeist Christmas"},"content":{"rendered":"

In an atmosphere of jollity and good cheer at a family Christmas dinner, an unexpected event suddenly occurred that was to change people\u2019s lives.<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>By Lasha Darkmoon \u2013 darkmoon.me Dec 24, 2019<\/strong><\/h1>\n

\u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

AN\u00a0 UNFORGETTABLE\u00a0 CHRISTMAS<\/h2>\n
\u201cPsychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung was interested in the concept of poltergeists and the occult in general. Jung believed that a female cousin\u2019s trance states were responsible for a dining table splitting in two and his later discovery of a broken bread knife.\u00a0 Jung also believed that when a bookcase gave an explosive cracking sound during a meeting with Sigmund Freud in 1909, he correctly predicted there would be a second sound<\/a>, speculating that such phenomena were caused by \u2018exteriorization\u2019 of his subconscious mind. Freud disagreed, and concluded there was some natural cause.\u201d <\/strong><\/h5>\n
\u2014 Based on material found in Colin Wilson\u2019s Poltergeist: A Classic Study in Destructive Hauntings<\/em> (2010) and Colin Wilson\u2019s C.G.Jung: Lord of the Underworld<\/em> (2019).<\/h5>\n
The story related below was published as a \u2018Letter to the Editor\u2019\u00a0 in the Christmas edition of my local newspaper a few years ago. It was submitted under a pen name. Surprising events like these, involving apparitions and inexplicable phenomena that defy the laws of nature, are not uncommon in the annals of history. However, the reaction of most people to events like these is one of extreme scepticism, if not of outright hostility. \u201cThings like this just don\u2019t happen,\u201d I\u2019ve been told after relating this story to others. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, but you\u2019re either seriously deluded or else you\u2019re a liar!\u201d<\/h5>\n
Let readers judge for themselves. Here is the letter:<\/h5>\n
A curious event occurred last Christmas in our family circle which I should like to share with your readers.<\/h5>\n
It began in fact two years ago, on Christmas Day, as we sat round the dinner table musing on past times and on the dear friends and relations who had made their final exits into the other world.<\/h5>\n
Outside, in the snow-blanketed village, we could hear the distant strains of carol singers singing my all-time favourite Christina Rossetti poem set to carol music by Gustave Holst, In the Bleak Midwinter<\/em>.<\/h5>\n
As often happens on these occasions, the conversation had drifted into a sombre discussion of the life after death,\u00a0 a topic most unsuitable for a jolly Christmas dinner. In an attempt to inject a note of gaiety into the proceedings, my father proposed a toast, and promised that when he died he would somehow get in touch with us.<\/h5>\n
There was a rock-crystal ashtray on my father\u2019s knee in which a fat Cuban cigar, unlit, lay ready for lighting up later, after the trays of cranberry pies and mulled wine had been served and everyone was now disposed to the serious business of relaxing.<\/h5>\n
\u201cYou see this ashtray?\u201d my father said, sipping his favourite Armenian brandy, a vintage Ararat matured in an oak cask.\u00a0 \u201cWell, when I die I\u2019ll come back and smash it.\u00a0 Just to prove I\u2019ve finally given up smoking!\u201d<\/h5>\n
We laughed, and the matter was soon forgotten as the plum pudding was carried in, all lit up in its dish of blazing brandy.<\/h5>\n
My father died within a month of making that last joke. Never again would he enjoy the traditional Christmas banquet (still popular in remote country houses) of roast goose served with sage and onion dressing, or a rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding, or hot mince pies served on a gleaming silver tray with cinnamon-scented wines.<\/h5>\n
It had been noted at the time of his passing that my father\u2019s Swiss watch, an antique Audemars Piguet, had stopped at the moment of his death, as many old watches tend to do on the demise of their owners.<\/h5>\n
This watch had been placed on the mantelpiece inside the rock-crystal ashtray, and there it had lain as a memento for the past year, perpetually frozen at 12.44.<\/h5>\n
It was last Christmas, then, a full year after my father\u2019s death, that we all got together again.<\/h5>\n
It was late evening and twelve of us were sitting round the fire roasting chestnuts and drinking sherry.<\/h5>\n
My mother rose to fetch the ashtray from the mantelpiece.\u00a0 As she crossed the room there was a high-pitched vibration, like the sound of a tuning fork, and the rock-crystal ashtray suddenly cracked into two symmetrical halves with a loud PING<\/em>.<\/h5>\n
Had matters stopped there, we should doubtless have found some plausible explanation for the splitting ashtray.\u00a0 But what happened next was so bizarre that I doubt if any rational explanation can be found for it.<\/h5>\n
Rooted to the spot, my mother was staring fixedly\u2014not at the ashtray but at the watch that lay cradled within the ashtray\u2019s newly-formed fissure.<\/h5>\n
The second-hand of the watch jerked into spasmodic life and was racing round the watch-face.<\/h5>\n
My mother wordlessly held the watch out for us to see.\u00a0 The revolution of the second hand was unmistakable. It was moving round, quite definitely, at several times its ordinary speed, as if being accelerated by some\u00a0 hidden power source.<\/h5>\n
When the watch finally hiccupped to a halt at 12.50\u00a0 (six minutes on the watch-face) we couldn\u2019t help noting that in actual fact only a minute had elapsed.<\/h5>\n
During this minute out of time I personally neither saw nor sensed anything unusual, apart from the strange behaviour of the watch.<\/h5>\n
But my mother, my aunt Elinor, and a nine-year-old niece all claim to have seen my father.<\/h5>\n
Standing in front of the fire, his dark eyes agleam, he was smoking a long cigar from which golden-yellow streamers of smoke danced like ribbons of sunlight.<\/h5>\n
This experience has transformed our lives.<\/h5>\n
My mother looks like a young girl nowadays, quite radiant, as if she had tasted the honeydew of paradise.<\/h5>\n

VIDEO\u00a0 :\u00a0 In the Bleak Midwinter (2.45 mins)\u00a0<\/strong><\/h3>\n