Church of the Holy Ta-Tas and Other Bumps in the Night

I mentioned a few blogs back that my uncle ran a “spiritualist” or psychic church. I should say church of sorts, because though they called it that it wasn’t really like any church I’d ever been to. I was an adolescent and it was almost like this weird secret society thing, so when I got curious enough I decided to attend a few of their “séances” and spiritualist meetings. I am not quite certain what I was expecting, but at that age I figured on the usual trappings—sitting around a table holding hands, floating apparitions, that sort of hooha.

It was nothing like that. I am not sure what it was like. Maybe a nudist gathering with bad lighting and really ugly people. Except for one, who I’ll get to in a bit.

The séances consisted of free reading type stuff, all of us sitting in chairs and couches and one or two oddities who called themselves mediums grabbing random things out of thin air and trying to make it stick on whoever they flung it at. Since I was a kid, they probably figured I was an easy target. So this psychic named Carmen (not her real name, but in case she has ghost mobster friends I gotta protect myself) kept looking at me and insisting things, none of which were true. I told her that, but she argued. I am, however, still waiting for the girl with long black hair in a bikini she predicted…(I can only hope this is Jennifer Love Hewitt and it happens soon…) She also told me she knew something about me that would embarrass me, but refused to tell me what it was. Hmmm. I asked her to tell me anyway, because at 12 or 13 I figured I had done nothing too much to be embarrassed about. But she wouldn’t say, not even in private. Were it to happen today, however, I’d shut the hell up. I’ve probably got plenty to be embarrassed about now. This Carmen, though, strangely, had long black hair…maybe she liked young guys. Really young. Although if I even think bikini in relation to her I don’t sleep for a few nights. Nightmares, ya know.

Anyway, one night’s “service” consisted of everybody sitting in chairs arranged in a loose circle. We were asked to go into a trance and travel somewhere. Huh? I think it is called remote viewing but don’t quote me. I had just happened to have picked that night to bring my friend from school, Brian, to witness some of the fun.

Brian, dingo that he was, decided to make up a nice little story about going somewhere. At least I think he was making it up. Me? I got a rock. Nada. Went nowhere except nearly dozed off waiting for everybody else to get back from wherever the hell they thought they went. I was pretty sure everybody was a bit loony tunes, and even started to wonder about Brian’s stability a bit, when the highlight of the evening came from the only nice-looking young woman there—ok, she was frickin’ hot, but I was in puberty and right about then even the lady down the street with the mustache was starting to look pretty good, so I might have been hormonally insane or something. Anyhoo, she suddenly pipes up that she went to ancient Egypt and was lying naked under the hot sun while salves attend to her every need.

Gulp.

Now, remember these were all adults except for me and Brian, and even the mention of a hot naked chick was enough to start my chair creaking. I swear she was looking at us during the whole description, and had I been older I might have to questioned the wisdom of my uncle letting that go on…and on…and on…with two underagers there, but I thank God he did. It was a hell of a lot easier than crawling under my friend’s Tim’s porch to look as his dad’s Playboys (I still have a scar on my back from that, take my word for it.)

Miss I’m Pretty Frickin’ Hot, I think, got a big kick out of it. I just shook and sweated a lot. Brian made a few funny sounds I never really want to hear again. Oh, and we both sat in our chairs for a good half hour afterward. Moving wasn’t really an option. I did say we were in puberty, right? Had she touched me at that point they would have had to call Rescue to pry me out of the ceiling.

More things went on at those services, many of which I wasn’t privy too, and a few that I was that I wish I hadn’t been. But those are tales for another time…

Special Annoucement:

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Chloe's a gal usually in some kind of trouble--the supernatural kind...

A silver locket said to have belonged to Joan of Arc and a children's nursery rhyme...

A 600-year-old monkey with an attitude and a mysterious supernatural symbol on a Caller ID box...

A deadly plague reemerging in the seaside town of New Salem, Maine, and the manifestation of a little girl's ghost...

How do these tie in with the sudden disappearance of Chloe's fiancé, Detective Sergeant Arlo Grimm, while on a routine search for a lead to her twin sister, who vanished thirty years earlier?

When the answer points to an Evil she'd thought vanquished Chloe knows she's in over her pretty blonde head and this time she'll have nothing to rely on except her own wits and courage.

But will that be enough to save her and the life of the man she loves?



Also newly available--my complete history of The Avenger--the Gray Nemesis. Richard Henry Benson was a man before crime's greed turned him into a figure of ice and vengeance. Step into the roaring heart of the crucible with the greates crime-fighter of the 1940s.