When I was 12, I read the mind of a friend. We were experimenting with telepathy. My friend was staring at a card, firing questions at me. Black or red? Black. Spades or clubs? Clubs. Picture card or number card? Number card. Higher or lower than five? Lower. Then, quite distinctly, on the inside of my eyelids, a bright green number four hovered. Four. Correct on all counts-the four of clubs.
I read avidly, as children do, about ghosts, UFOs, out-of-the-body-experiences, clairvoyance, telekinesis and the rest. I knew the stories of Marie Celeste, the abominable snowmen, the Bermuda triangle. I…
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