**Diary Entry – 12th May**
My son and I see the dead. Over the years, we’ve had countless strange encounters—ghosts, angels, even demons. More than once, the Grim Reaper has visited me in dreams. I’ve never worshipped it, never even given it much thought.
My boy sees spirits too. Sometimes, when he sleeps, he claims to visit heaven, speaking to God and Jesus like old friends. He wakes up describing it all in detail, as if he’d truly been there. People don’t believe us anymore; they say we’re making it up or stretching the truth. But we aren’t. Everywhere we go—whether it’s a house or a quiet street in London—we hear whispers, catch glimpses of shadows. Always.
Some say we’re mediums, gifted in some way. I don’t like that word. I never asked for this. Once, an old woman—witchy-looking, if I’m honest—told me I had a strong gift, that I could hone it if I wanted. But I don’t. It terrifies me. My son, though—he might accept it one day. He’s never afraid. When he sees them, he talks to them, even follows them.
Not me. I just tell them I can’t help, to leave me be. And yet, they linger—standing by my bedroom door in the dead of night, watching. Sometimes for days. Sometimes only minutes. But they always come back.
And all I want is a peaceful night’s sleep…
**Lesson learned:** Some burdens aren’t ours to carry, yet we’re given them anyway. Courage isn’t in bearing them without fear, but in facing them despite it.
