By Magical Erotica
I was sitting with my back straight, chanting the same word repeatedly. “Thooooooooh”. I pressed my tongue gently in between my teeth, being careful not to put too much pressure on my tongue.
I did this exactly 6 times, each time feeling a pressure in the middle of my forehead. I smiled to myself as I felt a bit of a headache just right after I had completed the exercise.
It was a sign that I was doing it all correctly, or at least, that is what the book had said. I was trying to open my third eye so that I could contact the dead.
I had gotten the interest after seeing a woman on TV tell young lady that her father, to whom had died of cancer was watching over her and her mother and that he was proud of her.
I couldn’t help but be brought to tears and smile happily at such a moment. At the same time I was wondering what it would be like if I could do what the medium on TV did.
That’s when the idea came to me, what if I became a medium?
I could do so many cool things! At that moment I stood up and rushed over to the library and checked out a book called How to Become a Medium. The instructions were surprisingly easy to follow.
At the time I was on my third and final day of the first awakening to open my third eye. As I laid on my bed, I couldn’t help but think of all the possibilities from opening my third eye.
I could get my own TV show, I could be famous, I could be rich! I couldn’t wait to open my third eye! Or at least that is what I had thought at the time.
“If I could go back and change all that had happened, I would.” I mumbled to myself as I stared at the white padded walls of the asylum.
I felt the memories flood my mind of that wretched day, the day I try so hard not to remember.
It was the last day of my third eye training, I was concentrating on my pineal gland, then to the top of my head, the crown.
Then back to my pineal gland, and yes, the third eye is an actual gland. It’s the size of a shriveled raisin. As I finished my last exercise, I smiled, I was finally ready to speak to the dead.
I went to my door and made sure it was locked, I didn’t need any friends to barge into my house and interrupt me.
Then I went and got out my journal and a calligraphy pen and sat straight on my bed. I closed my eyes and concentrated.
I breathed in a slow deep breath and slowly let it out. Concentrating, I raised my energy, I felt my whole being feel as though it were levitating.
“If there are any spirits here please respond, I would like to speak with you.” I said aloud, but no response. I repeated it all over again, but still no response.
Finally, the third time I got what I had wanted, just not what I had been expecting. The spirit, as it felt like, took over my being. This spirit had total control over me.
The spirit showed me images, a woman running and screaming down an alleyway. She was dressed scandalous. Finally, she hit a dead end, she turned and looked in terror at this man.
He had a knife in his gloved hands. He ran at the woman and dragged her to the ground. To my horror he stuck the knife into her lower stomach over and over.
I was sickened at the scene as he ripped out parts of her that one wouldn’t see outside the female body.
A new image came up, but I refused to let it show. I fought back with all my might against the spirit, and for a few minutes I was aware of being again.
I looked down, the ink well had been tossed to the ground, now shattered in pieces of glass. The calligraphy pen nib was covered in blood as well as the handle.
My hands were covered in bloody holes, and in my notebook, written in my own blood was writing. At the bottom of the page I saw the signature, Jack the Ripper.
Out of horror and panic, I threw the book crying and screaming. It didn’t last long, for I felt the spirit try to take over my body again.
I struggled running out of my room, trying to flee, but he followed me. I ran with all my might. I was now at a busy street corner.
A woman shrieked at me, I was covered in blood from my face down to my arms. I had stab wounds in my hand from the pen, I now was not concentrated on that.
I looked at the pole on the street corner. I faced it and began to bang my head on it, hoping to cease the agony. That was cut short when people grabbed me, attempting to keep me still.
After that it was all a blur. I sit here contemplating what had happened in the padded rooms of the asylum. All I could think, or rather hope is that I would be safe