Are They Real?

Ghosts, goblins, devils and demons don’t exist – do they? Of course not. But sometimes it would make you wonder. How many times have you heard, “Why him and not me?” Or even, “Why me and not someone else?” Personally, I do not believe in the supernatural, or aliens from outer space. I believe that each and every one of us has a mental power, the ability to tune into the world, though most people don’t. Kindness without thought of repayment or reward seems to breed its own reward, if only satisfaction. Coincidence leads people to believe in the unnatural.

Long ago I worked in a munitions factory we were building the electronics for an anti-submarine weapon. On this particular occasion we four technicians walked over to the main building at lunchtime laughing and joking. We reached the pop dispensing machine. It turned out each thought the other was going to do the honours. I had no money as did two of the others, the third had only large denomination bills. As a joke I said, “This machine owes me at least four drinks.” And I slapped the thing a good friendly bang on its side. Unbelievably, it went “Chug, Chug,” and spat out four Coca-Colas. Now if that’s not supernatural I don’t know what is. Another time I worked at the same factory I finished work and walked to the parking area. The temperature was almost 20 below Fahrenheit. The snow was thick and crispy. Jumping in my car I turned the key and the only response was “Clunk.” Annoyed and somewhat perturbed, I popped the hood (bonnet) and waggled all the battery connections. Hood open I pressed the solenoid, “Chug, chug, chug,” she turned over three times and died. By this time just about everyone had left the parking area and my prospects looked really bad. Suddenly a voice behind me said, “Having a little problem, Mal.” I turned and there stood Archie Smith, the local bible puncher. “Yeah. She won’t start, flat battery.” Archie smiled. “Try again.” Knowing it to be pointless I pressed the solenoid again. This time I got a quiet, ‘click.’ “No good she’s dead.” There and then in the cold, Archie kneeled down in the snow, put his hands together and … would you believe prayed? I felt embarrassed. Thankfully no one was around to see this ridiculous charade. After some two or three minutes he got up and smiled. “Try it now.” Like as if. The man was obviously a nitwit. Just to prove my point I pressed the solenoid again. “Varuum,” and it started like a midsummer morning. When I was in Singapore, they had a Shackleton airplane at Changi. The thing was a total waste of space, obsolete, and awkward. The thing was barely airworthy. For inexplicable reasons even after an expensive overhaul it would not fly to Seletar, about twenty miles. Every time one of the engines would fail. Twice they had a fire in the dog kennel. It’s the space directly behind the engine. Seletar is where they were scrapped. Eventually they decided to cut her up at Changi and ship it out in pieces. The very day before the destruction was to occur, a dispatch came from Whitehall stating that it was the last one in service and was to be flown to England for the RAF museum. As if. This is where the magic comes in. Only a week later, all four engines started and the thing flew all the way back to England, landing several times to refuel, but not once having a problem of any kind. Beats me!!

  • Share this post!

Send a Comment

Wentworth M Johnson

Canadian Author

Writing is rather like music, it excites, gratifies and satisfies and sooths. The advent of the computer makes writing even more satisfying as rearranging and changes of mind are no problem.

View full profile