Back in October of this year I wrote a controversial article titled “The Supernatural Hazards of Being a Writer.” I made a very brief reference to Buffy Clary, a good friend of mine, who had a series of strange and sinister experiences that covered the period 2014 to 2016. I thought that today I would expand on Buffy’s situations so that you will have an understanding of how the high-strangeness went down. It began, for me, a little after 10:00 p.m. on the night of July 18, 2014. Buffy is a gifted psychic who lives a few hours’ drive away from me. She had something startling and disturbing to reveal. She had been struck by lightning. Making things even more ominous, Buffy had just immersed herself in the dangerous domain of the Djinn – after I loaned her my copy of Rosemary Ellen Guiley’s book on the subject, The Vengeful Djinn, which, with hindsight, was probably a most unwise thing for me to do. Buffy was sure there was a connection between the Djinn angle and the electric shock.
Rosemary’s book is an excellent study of Middle Eastern plasma-based entities that are as dangerous as they are feared. Shape-shifting creatures, they are known to take on multiple forms, including the sinister, pale-faced Men in Black and fiery-eyed black dogs of the kind which inspired Arthur Conan Doyle to write his almost legendary novel, The Hound of the Baskervilles. Just focusing on certain, supernatural phenomena can cause them to manifest in your reality. Almost certainly, that’s what happened with Buffy: she believes that reading about the Djinn resulted in her getting a visit from them; albeit in a very hazardous fashion. The weirdness for Buffy was not over…
Just before noon, on July 31, 2014, Buffy texted me a story with somewhat Men in Black overtones attached to it. She wrote: “During a reading yesterday I pictured a tall man in a grey suit walking out from the light of the street lamp holding his hat down so I couldn’t see his face.” About twenty minutes later, she sent a second text: “It had a London/cobbled street/Jack the Ripper feel but I didn’t mention that cuz thought it was too cliché.”
Now, let’s move ahead to July 23 2016. The day was notable for two things. Neither of them were in any shape or form positive in nature. With hindsight, I guess I could say that the whole weekend was weird. On Friday, July 22, good friend Erica Lukes invited me on her show to talk about my Women in Black book. The interview was postponed from the previous week, due to a storm that blacked out much of the area where Erica lives. I didn’t know it at the time, but that weekend was about to be dominated by thunder and lightning, too, and in a very sinister and almost unbelievable fashion. Friday was good: Erica and I had a fine time discussing the Women in Black. The atmosphere some forty-eight hours later or thereabouts, however, was very different.
It all began when Mark Henry asked me to come on his show – also to talk about the Women in Black and their male counterparts. All was going well until I brought up the matter of how both the MIB and the WIB were able to affect telephones. As has happened on so many other occasions, within about two minutes, the line went dead. Zero. Nothing. Nada. That is, until around five or six minutes later, when Mark was finally able to reestablish the connection. As was the case with so many hosts, Mark had never before experienced such a level of weirdness, and bizarre technical issues, as he had when I brought up the matter of phone interference.
Roughly twenty minutes later, the show was over. The high-strangeness, however, was not. Only a couple of minutes after Mark’s show finished, Buffy messaged me on my cell: she had just been struck by lightning. Again. For the second time. She was sitting in her yard, late at night, when an almighty lightning bolt hit the big tree that dominates the yard, violently splitting it almost in two. As for Buffy herself, given that she was only around fifteen feet away at the time, she was shocked and felt tingly, weird, and very unwell. I suggested that she get someone to take her to the local emergency room – as in right now. She made it there, on her own, but couldn’t get seen to for hours – despite shakily explaining to the staff what had just happened – and so she decided to head back home. It was two whole days before she felt herself again. Who can blame her for moving house not long afterwards? Not me, that’s for sure.
Djinn intervention? You may laugh at such things. Or dismiss them as a bunch of coincidences. I don’t. Not at all.