43
Curio paced authoritatively up and down the small area before a rectangle arrangement of orange plastic chairs. In an upstairs meeting room of an Earlestown library, there was a monthly meeting of: ‘The truth society for paranormal facts’. Curio had received an email from them to invite him to be a guest speaker at their meeting, and he replied yes instantly, and had endured an hour and a half’s journey to get there on bus and train.
They gave themselves an exaggerated name, as they were a group that simply met to discuss the supernatural, to talk about happenings that have occurred to them that could not easily be explained, and to discuss the many various subjects related to it. They appointed ‘Vice-chairmen’ and ‘presidents’, all seemingly to make themselves feel rather superior, when in fact, it was simply a group of like-minded individuals, discussing the unknown. The youngest of them was 62, the oldest 89. There were 16 in the group, but they were always open to new members. The email had used the words: ‘special guest’, and Curio had felt jubilant. He was to discuss his psychic detection technique and his beliefs, and up to now had been talking for just over an hour. The faces that looked up at him were all attentive, listening and nodding as he spoke.
Nobody had asked questions. Nobody had looked as though they disagreed. Everything he had said did not require questioning. Not by them. Not by the believer. Believers didn’t need proof. Yet, evidence however would always be leapt upon like finding money in a street. ‘Here is evidence of my belief. See, I told you I was right’. Such evidence, though, could always present more questions. For the truth society for paranormal facts, a lot of evidence came through experiences, through the telling of incidents that could not possibly be lies, or misunderstandings to them. They didn’t need proof, because they already knew the truth, as did Curio. Doubtful questions were strangers around the borders of their knowledge of their own facts.
With his hands behind his back, and a stern expression, Curio pivoted on his heels and slowly made his way back along the front of the class.
“…so, yes. The pyramids are pointers to where we may have come from, or to another world entirely”. This produced a spate of nodding. He paused for effect, and reached the same point again, where he swivelled and continued.
“What about freewill? If we can predict future occurrences, then how is it possible to have complete control over ourselves? Is everything preordained, mapped out? It seems impossible, even in the knowledge of what will happen, to avert such events. What will happen, will happen. I can simply offer advice, and you can be prepared in the knowledge that the event will happen. You can be aware of it. If it is fated, then nothing will prevent it.
It is like me saying that in the middle of summer, there will be one day of icy storms and snow. Let’s say that the weather reporters did not see it coming, but I, or somebody else, did. I can warn you of it, and you will wear warm clothes that day, while everybody else will be caught wearing T-shirts and shorts. You would have preparation, knowledge of certainty, certain in the knowledge that something will happen at that preordained time. You have the freewill to warn others, to prepare them. This, force, this, power, sometimes will give warnings, omens and premonitions to the gifted, and it therefore is possible to have freewill, and the power of foresight”. He paused again, watching them nod their appreciation.
“So what of knowledge?” he asked, stopping, and opening his arms in an expansive gesture.
“Why have memories? We collect experiences and recollections throughout our lives, and knowledge”. He paused for effect again, put his arms behind his back, and began pacing once more.
“When we die, we take with us into the spirit world our personalities, and the memories we collected in the real world. If there was no afterlife, then why remember? We would be geared simply for survival. There would only be the knowledge necessary to survive, and procreate. Yet, we learn things that are totally unnecessary to either of those. Why? We must continue our existence outside of this world. We must continue in a separate plane, or realm. The afterlife, I suppose. Do we die there, and convert to another plane? Perhaps. I cannot say otherwise. Is this real world one of many steps towards nirvana, or utopia?
Maybe we have to experience everything in order to qualify for such a place. Yet, as animals have souls, they too must go somewhere, as they cannot comprehend the sheer scale of human knowledge. We, humans, after all, are the only species with imaginations. It is exclusive to us. This is another aspect of what separates us from them. This does not mean they should be treated any differently to us, or treated without respect. They provide us with food and warmth, and loyalty. They, after all, only kill for survival, to eat. They only need their base instincts to survive. Which is why when people call muggers, and gangsters, ‘animals’, they are in fact giving them a compliment in a roundabout way. Which would you rather be, a murderer or an animal?” The image of Ribbet flashed into Curio’s mind, and he gave a humourless smile, but made no reference to it. “They don’t have man-made worries, such as money, or relationships”. He paused for a few moments. “I often wonder though, if we die insane, or mentally unbalanced, do we stay like that in the afterlife? Or do we become ‘normal?’” He stopped again and made another expansive gesture.
“I will admit, I do not know. Yet, these are questions I suppose we should be asking those in the spirit world, instead of, how are you? Are you alright?
What we should be asking is: What’s it like there? Who have you met? How big is your world? What can you see? We know they are there, so we gain peace of mind in this knowledge. We know that that is where we will go. It is still fearful, however. We still fear our demise. Yet, on the basis of all the evidence spanning back hundreds of years, at least one paranormal event must be real. Only one event that points to the existence of the afterlife.
What would be the consequences? It would throw open the floodgates to all sorts of significant truths and facts. This is my legacy. This is what I am attempting to prove. It has already been confirmed by my accurate readings, and finding five bodies in a row by psychic detection. Perhaps it is my destiny. My vocation is to prove the existence of the paranormal to as wide an audience as possible. I know it exists, I have proven it. We have no need to fear death”. Curio stopped.
They waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, a woman at the front started clapping, and it was soon followed by an applause. Curio reddened slightly, and nodded his appreciation. It lasted for nearly a minute, and the vice-chairman stood up and crossed to him, clapping and smiling at the audience. He shook his hand and gestured for him to walk across to a row of chairs lining the side of the wall.
One of the women announced it was time for a tea-break, and the man, Derek Stockton, a large, rotund, white haired 76 year-old man slowly limped across to Curio and sat down heavily. He sat one chair away.
“Thanks, Curio, that was much appreciated. We can’t thank you enough”. He paused for a few seconds. “As you can see, I’m not getting any younger, and for a while I’ve been thinking of stepping down. We need new blood in here. I know you’re genuine, I ‘know,’” he tapped the side of his head. “I can see you are gifted, so despite it being somewhat unorthodox, and unconventional, I would like you to take my place”. Curio looked surprised.
“Vice-chairman!” he said, “Well…I’m…I’m honoured”. He was stuck for words for a few moments.
“Thank-you,” he said. “It will be a pleasure”. It was soon announced to the rest of the group who put their drinks down to clap again. One of them was kind enough to go out of their way to offer him a lift home, and Curio was soon climbing the cold stairway, walking along the cold, dimly lit corridor, and opening the door to his cold flat. ‘Psychic genius’, ‘Vice-chairman’ he thought, smiling, closing the door behind him.