Thursday, December 1, 2016

The Spirit of a Murdered Girl at My Massage Parlor

I discovered decades ago that I do some of my best psychic work while getting a massage.  That's because I'm so relaxed that my thinking brain is turned off.  It wasn't until the last few years that I discovered that the spirits of the deceased also seem to show up while I'm relaxing.  The spirits often insist I deliver certain messages to my unsuspecting massage therapists (often from their relatives) while they are working on me.  I frequently oblige the spirits and give the info, and the therapists react differently.  Some are cool about it and others are shocked - one was so genuinely freaked out she actually made sure I could not be her client again!  

Anyway, for the last two and a half years or so, I have kept the same massage therapist at the same salon in a local New Jersey strip mall not far from home.  She doesn't mind when I give her psychic or spiritual information.  It's usually pretty accurate. 

The salon is set up with a long hallway and seven rooms.  We have always been in rooms # 2, 3, or 4 (on both sides of the hallway near the front desk and waiting room).  About two months ago, my therapist told me some of the massage therapists had discreetly exchanged stories among themselves of seeing a dark shadow figure of a small child darting around the empty corners of Rooms #1 and 2.  She herself had been alone in one of those rooms and heard something roll and drop off the counter even though she wasn't near it, and it spooked her.  

Shadow figures weren't the only odd phenomenon at this massage salon.  At the very end of the long, dark hallway, the last room at the end, Room #7, reserved for couples massage and physical therapy, often had such a peculiar horrific stench that rendered it completely unusable.  No one seemed to know the source of the odor.  The foul smell seemed to arise from in between the walls and floor, and invade the entire space, sometimes pouring over into Room #6.  Then it would disappear just as mysteriously.  Most of the massage therapists instinctively avoided the room.  We walked down there together and I was able to catch a whiff of it.  It had the sickening smell of death. 

I knew the place was haunted.  I suggested we do a paranormal investigation one night after it had closed if my massage therapist could get her manager's permission. She liked the idea and said she would ask.

On Monday, November 21, 2016, I showed up for my massage and my therapist gave me the bad news.  Her manager had denied permission to do an investigation. 

"Why?" I asked. 

"Because she doesn't want to stir up any paranormal activity," explained my therapist.  "Besides, she says ghosts don't exist." 

Huh?  That didn't make any sense at all. I resigned myself to the fact that I would never be able to ever investigate this haunted massage salon.  

My therapist led me down the long hallway to our little massage room.  For the first time in two and a half years, my massage was in Room #6.  We had never been in there before.  As I lay face down on the heated table with my eyes closed facing the back wall, for the first half hour of my 90 minute massage, we chatted about family and the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.  I began to get into the zone.  Then I think my therapist mentioned that it was a good thing our room didn't smell bad because some of the therapists had smelled that stench from Room #7 and this time it had the smell of gasoline.  Well, suddenly something dawned on me. 

"You know," I said, "I was having a psychic moment. I 'heard' the word 'blaze' in my mind a couple of minutes ago. I thought it was intended for the client I'm doing a reading for later today, but now I think it was meant for the ghost who is here!'

"What do you mean?" asked my therapist.

"I believe the spirit who is haunting this place died in a fire in the space next door where Room #7 is now.  I think there was a 'blaze' - you know, like a big fire.  Now, I'm thinking someone poured gasoline on it, which means it was set intentionally.  And that means... this poor spirit was murdered!"

Holy shit.  As I pondered my own strange revelation, with my face buried in the massage head rest and my eyes closed, I suddenly began to smell that strange odor as if it were slowly leaking through the wall from Room #7. 

"Hey!" I said.  "Do you smell that?"

"No.  What?"

"Do you smell that nasty smell from next door?"

"No, I don't smell it," said my therapist, who was standing at the end of the table working on massaging my feet.  (Obviously, my feet don't smell either!)

"Well, I smell it.  The spirit is in here right now!"

This was not the first time I had smelled a spirit.  I had actually written about smelling a spirit in my book "Psychic Intuition."  I explained the way you can tell the difference between a "real" smell and a "psychic" smell is by the way they travel.  A psychic or spirit smell breaks all the rules of chemistry and physics regarding how odors appear, travel and dissipate.  I explained that spirits manifest this way and need to be recognized by the living in order to move on.  Sometimes they smell like sickeningly sweet rotten death.

I suddenly transitioned from massage client into full blown mediumship mode.  

Speaking directly to the spirit, I said, "I know you are here with us.  I want to talk to you and find out more about you.  But for me to understand you better, I need you to do something for me.  You see that light up on the wall?  I want you to make it flicker when I ask you a question, but I only want you to make it flicker when you want to answer 'yes' to my question, okay?"

Then my therapist suddenly dropped both my feet unceremoniously on the table, "Oh my God, the light just flickered!"

She could see the light from her vantage point, whereas I could not.  The light had not flickered at all for the half hour or so that we had been in the room up to that point.  In fact, for the next half hour during this interrogation, the light flickered immediately without any delay in response to my questions just as if we were having a conversation.  My therapist would shout out whether the light had blinked since I couldn't see it.

"Uh, okay, let's see, are you a man?" I asked.  (The light didn't blink).
"Are you a woman?"  (The light flickered immediately).
"Were you killed in a fire?"  (The light flickered).
"Did the fire happen right here?"  (The light flickered).
"Was the fire an accident?"  (The light did not flicker).
"So, the fire was intentional?" (The light flickered).
"Did someone try to hurt you?" (The light flickered).
"Was it someone you knew?"  (The light did not flicker).
"So, someone you didn't know, hurt you here by lighting the place on fire with gasoline?" (The light flickered).
"Was it a man?" (The light flickered).
"Were there more than just one man?" (The light did not flicker).
"Was it in the basement of the building?" (The light did not flicker).
"Was it upstairs on the first floor or second floor or upstairs?" (The light did not flicker).

I was momentarily stumped until my therapist wisely interjected that before the strip mall was built most of the property was probably still pasture land and fields.  She suggested the fire may have actually taken place outside.  I realized my mistake in assuming there had been a house on the property before the strip mall.

Based on another psychic hunch, I asked, "Was this fire in a barn?" (The light flickered).

Although one generally should avoid asking spirits about their own deaths since they are often unaware that they are dead, I decided to ask anyway.

"Did you die here in this fire?" (The light flickered).

Now I felt deeply saddened.  I paused for a few moments but then continued my questioning.

"I'm going to ask you how old you are.  But in order to get the answer, I will have to break it down into segments, so just flicker the lights when it applies to you, okay?" I said.  "Are you 20 years old or younger?"  (The lights flickered).
"Are you younger than 10 years old?" (The lights did not flicker).
"Are you 15 years old or younger?" (The lights flickered).

Yikes.  This poor girl was just a very young teenager, between 11 and 15 years old, when she was murdered.

"Does anyone know you are here?" (The lights did not flicker).
"Does your family or any of your friends know what happened to you?" (The lights did not flicker).
"Okay, now I need to know when this happened to you.  This is a little complicated, but I'm going to start listing the name of each decade starting with the year 1900 and I want you to flicker the lights when we come to the decade when this happened to you, okay?  You ready?  So, 1900." (The lights did not flicker).
"1910." (The lights did not flicker).
"1920." (The lights did not flicker).
"1930." (The lights did not flicker).
"1940." (The lights did not flicker).
"1950." (The lights flickered.)
"Okay, so it happened in the 1950's." (The lights flickered).

My therapist said, "You know, we could check this out in the historical town documents to see if there was a fire here in the 1950's..."

It was somewhere at about this point that I lost it emotionally.  I was gripped with goosebumps and chills with the realization that I was talking directly to the spirit of a young teenage girl who had been murdered by a man in the 1950's who then set fire to a barn with gasoline on a property surrounded by fields and no one knew where to find her.  She had been roaming the same location through the misty layers of time seeking help and recognition. 

It was then that I knew, in no uncertain terms, that the skeleton of this poor child was situated directly below Room #7.  I wanted to know her name, but knew it was no longer important.  What was important was that she had finally been "seen" and "recognized" by me.

"You know, there's no reason for you to hang around here anymore," I said to her. "You need to go be with your family and friends now.  If you follow the light, and I'm sure you can see the light now, don't be afraid, just follow it, and you will find everyone waiting for you.  Your family will be there and God will be waiting for you.  There is nothing left for you here.  Go ahead now."

As soon as I finished saying this, according to my therapist, who had long since stopped massaging my feet with any enthusiasm, the light went back to normal.  It completely stopped flickering, blinking or occasionally blazing with extra intense light.  The foul odor also dissipated.  I knew our gentle spirit had followed my advice.  I knew it in my entire being.

This entire episode with the spirit probably lasted about 30 minutes.  We continued on for the balance of my massage time, another half hour, in almost total stunned silence, broken only by my muffled sobs.   This was odd for me, since I'm not really the kind of person who cries for stuff like this.  For some reason, I felt like we were the first and only people who had actually grieved the loss of this little girl at what was the equivalent of her spiritual funeral. 

"I have a feeling there won't be any more smell in Room #7 from now on," I said.  "We need to document the timing of this... Don't you think there's something strange about the fact that we ended up in Room #6 today for the first time ever and your manager just told us we couldn't do a paranormal investigation?"

"Definitely," said my therapist.

"One more thing," I added without knowing why. "Can you please make sure someone puts a small piece of rose quartz in Room #7 as a kind of memorial to this spirit?  They don't need to know the whole story."