An Unhappy Medium

An Unhappy Medium

by Marion Oliver


My husband Charles and I were always interested in the afterlife.  Was there such a thing as life after death?  Charles was a big believer in reincarnation.  He said he wanted to come back as my cat because I made more fuss of our cat than I did of him.  Anyway we agreed that, whichever of us died first, the other one would try to get in touch.

So a few months after Charles died I decided to try and contact him.  I saw an advert in the local paper. It said: ‘Let Margo the medium put you in touch with your loved ones who have passed over.’

I rang and made an appointment for the next day.  When I arrived a woman of about sixty with long, grey, untidy hair answered the door.

“Hello, I’m Margo,” she said, “come in my dear.”

I was surprised to see six other women and a man sitting in a circle in her sitting room.  I had been expecting a one-to-one with her.  I paid her the forty pounds fee, then sat down with the other people.

First she gave the man a loving message from his wife.  He went over and slapped Margo on the face.

“You’re a fake!” he shouted.  “My wife would never say that, she hated me!”

Margo cried out in pain and surprise: “Get out of my house or I’ll call the Police!” “No, I haven’t had my money’s worth yet,” he said.

“OK,” she said, “a lot of money is coming your way.  Now go!”

He went out of the door, crossed the road, and was hit by a Securicor van.

The lady sitting next to me said to Margo: “Can you help me?  I’m so poor, when will my luck change?”

“I’m sorry,” said Margo, “but you will be poor and unhappy until you’re sixty.”

“What will happen then?” asked the woman.

“Nothing, but you will be used to it by then.”

“You’re useless!” said the woman as she stormed out of the room, grabbing forty pounds off the table as she went.

Margo started making moaning noises and went into a kind of trance.

“Does the name Rose Cottage mean anything to anyone?” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “it’s the name of my mother’s house.”

“Well, I’m sure I can contact her,” she said.

“There’s no need, I can do that, she’s still living there,” I said, “but can you contact my husband Charles?  He died last year.”

She started making moaning noises again.  Then she started to speak in a manly voice.

“Is that you Charles?” I said hopefully.

“Yes,” said the voice.

“Are you in Heaven?”

“Of course I am.”

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, it’s lovely here,” he said.  “I’m always swimming in the lovely warm water and catching fish to eat.”

“But you can’t swim and you hated fish when you were alive,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “but I wasn’t a shark then!”

An American lady sitting next to me said her husband knew the exact time and day of his death.

“That’s amazing,” I said, “how did he know?”

“Well the Judge told him,” she said.

Another woman said her husband was also a strong believer in reincarnation.  He wrote a will leaving everything to himself.

“He was so selfish and miserable,” she said.  “I bought a waterbed hoping to make him happier, but we still drifted apart.  One day he said that I looked like the double of Marilyn Monroe.  I was so happy.  ‘Oh thank you darling’, I said.  ‘Yes’, he continued, ‘she was eight stone, you’re sixteen!’

“The last year of his life wasn’t so bad though, he had Alzheimer’s and every week he gave me one hundred pounds for my birthday.”

As I was leaving, I said to Margo: “Now I know about my husband, can you tell me anything about MY future?”

“Yes, you will live until you are sixty five.”

“But I’m sixty five now,” I said.

“Well, what did I tell you!” she said.  “Goodbye.”

As I walked home I thought to myself:  It’s strange, Charles wanted to be a cat and now he’s a fish-eating shark.  I hope I don’t come back as a fish!

(c) Marion Oliver 2020