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64 Earth fell away, open space enveloped me ... the figure of the man appeared again, this time with more definition, moving in rhythm to his music ... my Mother’s porch, the walls spun about me as I danced pirouettes on a summer’s evening. Now the scenes came faster, each almost overlaying the one before. A collage of remembrance blurred before my gaze. an Giant spheres suspended in space, a figure of a man pounding out classical music at my Grandmother’s piano, an alien being holding my finger, touching my hair and pointing to the tender skin just back of my ear... Then the scenes slowed. Slowed, stopped and held, on the man at the piano. I stared at him, concentrated on his features, features refined, yet distinct. Dark brown hair parted on the side with a lock falling lazily across his forehead. Grey eyes. Deep and compelling eyes. Nose straight and thin. Chiseled jaw culminating in a determined chin. “Are you all right?” The images, invaded by gradual transparency, faded slowly. “Barbara?” A man’s voice penetrated my reverie. This was one of my first experiences with supernatural visions or occult happenings, and it frightened me more than just a bit. I closed my eyes and held my lids tightly shut to force the remains of my vision away. When I opened them a moment later, I focused on the concerned face of Harold Sherman. “Are you okay, Barbara?” I felt the warmth of the psychic’s hand on my shoulder. “Yes, sorry.” I smiled and tried to collect myself, tried to push the image of the man at the piano from my memory. “I don’t know what happened.” I looked down at the magazine which lay open on the floor. “Who?” my voice was hardly more than a whisper, “Who is that?” I Barbara Bartholic as told to Peggy Fielding