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CLAIRE EVANS recalls a profound spiritual encounter at the grave of a Milton Keynes minister who had baptized her as a child
Most of my friends at school knew I had a ‘gift’ or was a little ‘different’. There were times when it was a bit of a party trick, ‘I talk to dead people’. I was lucky not to be ridiculed for it, because apparently it was ‘cool’, and yet I didn’t know any different. To me it was ‘normal’.
On weekends it was not unusual to find myself wandering around an old cemetery, trying to read the crumbling stones with their eroded words. I squinted to try to see the names and dates of those laid beneath the ground that was now choked with blankets of weeds. Plastic vases with long dead flower heads emerging from behind the vines and long grass shrouding the scattered gravestones
One particular day I visited a friend of mine who was a ‘Goth’, as we called it then. Long black hair, thick black eyeliner and the typical Dr. Martin boots. She was a gentle soul, and looking back now I wish I had seen more of her, but we grew apart because of our different friendship groups. Her name was Donna. She was as interested in the afterlife as I was, but she didn’t really delve into it. She enjoyed the stories I told her about my experiences and ghostly encounters.
That morning we decided we would do a cemetery walk at Woolstone Church in Milton Keynes. Although I knew about the church we were going to visit, I didn’t know it very well because it wasn’t from the area where I lived, and I didn’t remember ever going there. I was very excited to go, and even more so when Donna said it was from the 12th century.
It was a beautiful fall morning and the sun was low in the clear, blue sky. Trees showed shades of amber and a golden carpet of leaves surrounded the church grounds. It really was as beautiful as a picture. There was a real serene atmosphere, a peace that you could feel like a blanket around you.
We walked around trying to find the oldest grave in the cemetery. Something I always liked to do. Donna had stopped to read one of the stones as I continued toward the front of the cemetery.
As I walked along, I felt an unusual feeling in my body. I felt heavy. tingling at the top of my head. I recognized this feeling. It was spiritual energy. I looked around and saw where Donna was. I couldn’t see her from where I was standing.
I found myself at the foot of a grave. As I stood there, it was as if everything else around me faded into the background. It was almost as if a circle of heat waves had created a bubble around me and this grave.
As my mind tried to make sense of what was happening, my heart rate increased and I could hear the blood pumping through my body to my head.
Knock, clap, clap.
I was aware that my breathing was faster and shorter, yet I didn’t feel panicked or scared. I didn’t know where I was or if Donna was around. I felt a rush of warmth spread from my legs to the crown of my head, as if I was being hugged.
I then felt myself being pulled towards the ground, as if invisible hands had gently grabbed my legs and were pulling me into the earth. I became very dizzy and for a moment I completely blacked out.
“CLAIR!!! CLAIRE!! ARE YOU OKAY?!” Donna’s screams brought me out of my stupor and I looked up to see her looking at me. I felt the cold and damp on my back and then realized that I was actually on top of the grave. When I arrived, she helped me up, wiped off the mud and took off my clothes.
“What the hell happened? Are you okay? Did you fall?”
It took me a few seconds to understand what she was asking me. My mind buzzed for an explanation, but nothing came to mind. How did I end up on my back when I was facing the stone? What has dragged me down so much?
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. One minute I was standing and the next minute you woke me up. It was weird. I can’t explain it.” I looked back at the headstone. “I think maybe it was a ghost. A ghost maybe. I don’t know.” She looked at the grave.
“Who’s serious, right?” Donna asked, nodding at it.
“Let’s see,” I said as we leaned over the stone and read.
“Rev. William Henry George,” I told her.
“Well, if he’s a pastor, I can’t imagine he wants to hurt you. Would he?” she asked me, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
‘I don’t think they wanted to hurt me. It was like they wanted me close. I can not explain. I know I wasn’t afraid. It felt peaceful. Hot”.
She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “It must be weird being you. But cool,” and we both laughed and said it was a day.
When I got home, I told my mother what happened. I always shared my paranormal experiences with my mother, because she also has the ‘gift’ and encouraged me to connect with the spirit.
“William Henry George?” She peered at me over her glasses with a shocked look on her face.
“Yes, it was so strange, Mom, like I was being pulled into the grave.”
“Well, that’s fucking weird, Claire!” she exclaimed. ‘That was the church where you were baptized. And that reverend was the one who did it!’
As I processed her words, a true feeling of love washed over me. It felt like I was being recognized from the grave.
A ghost remembered me after all these years.
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CLAIRE EVANS organizes workshops, paranormal fayres and other spooky events. She can be reached on Facebook at claireevanspsychic medium And National Paranormal Investigators.
