A story from beyond is what I first called my article on human compassion. It is a feeling that seems to disappear. That is why I retain the impression that I am witnessing a story from beyond every time I witness a kind action.
It’s time to go home. And the editorial office is empty. Next, my phone rings again. I take it, but only to hear a strange voice. There is no signal. I wonder who can call so persistently from the other end of the line. But it’s time to go home.
A story from beyond: The storm
It’s raining heavily. It’s time to go from 100 km / h to 80 km / h. But I’m not so sure what’s going to happen. The highway is empty. The time is 23:30 and people are already home and getting ready for the next day. Today is a stormy day.
The rain has crowded the streets since 6 p.m. According to the weather forecast, it looks like it will continue for the next two or three days. Next , my phone rings again. But I never pick up my phone when I drive.
Lightning on the horizon makes me understand that the rain was only the beginning. The storm is approaching for sure, and I’d better come home soon if I do not want to be a victim of its race.
I park on the street, get out of the car and walk into my house. Lightning illuminates the sky, and the thunder becomes the prelude to the greatest flood I have ever seen in my life. I hang my jacket on the coat rack, change my clothes and make myself comfortable.
Then the phone rings again.
“Yes?” I ask as I take it.
“I thought I would not be able to hear you clearly,” a male voice replies.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Albert, your grandfather.”
I remained silent for a few seconds. Then I ask again: “Who are you?”
“I have already told you that, your grandfather.”
“My grandfather is dead,” I reply angrily. “39 years ago now, I never met him…”
The sound of thunder removes me from that awkward moment and I realize the call has lost its connection. Or maybe I hung up. I do not know. In any case, I have never liked pranks over the phone. However, my grandfather has been dead for 39 years and I never met him.
Anyone who knows everything about my family would know that. Next, I look at the clock and see that it is already midnight. It’s so late. So I sit down on the couch to read an article before going to bed. When I start reading, the phone rings again.
“It is normal to doubt. We are not used to talking to our deceased family members. But don’t worry, it’s just an experience; a story from the beyond, the kind you like so much. After a while, you will see it more objectively and be able to like it, ”says the voice, which claims to come from the other side.
I do not know what to say. If it’s a joke, I want to hang up. If that’s true, I’ll feel ridiculous about thinking it’s true.
“In what year were you born?” I ask without thinking.
“In 1920,” he replies, “d. May 8, 1920. “
A story from beyond: The display cabinet
The rain is hitting the windows hard. I realize that the date of birth is correct. But it does not prove much either.
“Let me tell you that I’m glad to see you have me in your showcase in your living room and that you’re carrying me around your neck,” adds the voice.
Here I get up and storm towards the display cabinet. I have only been in the house for two months and I have not had anyone visit. How can the man on the phone know I have a picture of my grandfather in my living room? And how does he know I’m wearing the pendant my grandfather wore all his life?
“Relax, do not be afraid, sit down,” says the voice.
“Listen, if it’s a joke, if anyone has put cameras in my house, I’ll call the police,” I reply angrily.
Next, I sit down and try to stay calm. It seems like I’m going to experience my own story beyond. And I know this stormy night will not be easy to forget.
“I know it does not happen to you frequently. You have learned that it is crazy to talk to the dead, and now you are thinking that someone is joking with you or that you are losing your temper. Think about the fact that nothing in life is what it seems.
Since we were children, we have learned to have only one perspective, which limits us, ”says the voice. “You must not believe everything you see or everything you hear. And make a decision based only on your own experience. ”
My doubts have reached the limit. Yes, life after death has always caught my attention. But now that I seem to be experiencing it, it seems like I’m just having doubts. And I refuse to believe it. For some strange reason , I feel a great love for the grandfather I have never met.
“Let’s say, it’s true you are my grandfather. How can you call me on the phone? ” I ask.
“Thanks to the storm, a canal was opened. It is not always easy to communicate with your dimension, but there are events that facilitate it. Our worlds are very close, but at the same time very far away. We occupy the same space, but we cannot see each other because we are in different dimensions, ”he answers.
A new flower
“I understand. So when the storm is over, will we not be able to speak any more? ” I ask.
“I do not know, probably not. No matter what, I will not be here much longer. I must leave this dimension and return to my own. So your story of life after death is coming to an end, ”says my grandfather.
“What do you mean?” I ask surprised. “Do we want to see ourselves in this dimension?”
“Maybe, but we do not want to recognize each other,” he replies.
“Explain,” I ask in fascination.
“I have been in this dimension longer than I should. When we leave our body, we review what we have learned, both good and bad. You needed this experience to keep evolving. You have always wondered if there is life on the other side, but until today I did not have the opportunity to contact you, ”says my grandfather.
“Why?” I ask. “Why could not you?”
“You were not ready,” he replies. “Despite your inclination to want to believe in the signs that may come from beyond, you would not have believed me. Now that I have made contact, I have to slip away. ”
“Wait!” I shout. “May I know where you want to be born?”
“I do not know, I can come back as either a woman or a man. And I’m not going to remember anything about this life either. Maybe some isolated memory, I would interpret as something strange going on in my mind, but nothing else, ”he replies.
“Grandpa, thank you. I have always carried you in my heart, and I will always do so, ”I say.
“I know, same here. Now I have to slip, I love you. ”
“And I…” I add.
The call loses connection. I lie down on the couch. Without saying a word, I look up at the ceiling in disbelief. My mind switches between faith and self-deception.
A story from beyond: Sleeping beauty
My son is already four years old and he only likes to play and sleep. His name is Albert, just like his great-grandfather. The year I spoke to my grandfather, I met the woman who is now my wife and our son was born shortly after.
The stormy night changed my life markedly. The events unfolded faster than I could have imagined, but we are happy. Albert is playful and loves to open all closets. There are times when I am overwhelmed by his energy and then I end up exhausted on the couch.
One day I went into a room, only to find that all the drawers were empty. Everything was on the floor. Albert sat on the floor playing with some jewelry. I ran towards him and picked him up.
“Look what you’ve done, now you have to clean it up,” I scolded him.
I noticed he was wearing Grandpa’s pendant. Yes, I put it away the first and only day I talked to him. I think it had completed its mission, so I decided to put it away. Many times I think it’s the connection between my story from beyond and my grandfather.
I reach out to take it off, but little Albert resists. “Honey, we have to put it away. It was my grandfather, ”I say.
He frowns and says; “No, it’s not yours, it’s mine.”
I do not feel like engaging in an endless discussion with him. His mother is stubborn, and so am I, so he certainly has it from both of us. So I tell him; “One day I will give it to you. You are still very young and I do not want you to lose it. ”
“No, you will not give it to me because it is already mine,” he replies again.
“Really? And who gave it to you? ” I asked.
“The woman in the hallway,” he replies.
“Which woman in the hallway? Mom is not home and I was in the living room, we only have… ”
I get pale in the face as I realize who my son is referring to. My grandmother, whose picture hangs on the wall.