My sister was called Heather. She only lived three years. I've never been told what really happened to her, only that she was taken away from us too early. I used to lie awake all night, terrified of someone coming in through the window, dragging me out of bed, over their shoulder, down a ladder, running across the back lawn, through a gap in the fence and into a van. Driven away forever.

It wasn't until I was about eight years old and settling into a new house (we'd moved four times already) that I came across a scrapbook of...

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The angel wasn't at all what I expected. Jeans and hoodies weren't the kind of thing Divine Messagers should wear. And squeamish of spiders too!! He jumped up when the large hairy creature walked over his white trainers, I only noticed because I happened to drop my cell phone at that precise moment. As soon as he looked down he screamed as though all of hell was after him and leapt in the air.

John told me that he was getting therapy for his phobia and had been relegated to ordinary duty by his heavenly master, nothing spectacular for him...

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The woman at the window was dead. I knew because it was my sister. She appeared whenever we left the house. We no longer looked around up at the top floor to see the dark shape behind the thin lace curtain. We had seen her too many times before, her wretched, contorted face imprinted on our minds.

Martha died in a house fire seven years ago. Accident after she left a burning candle on her bedside cabinet overnight. It tipped over as her blankets were thrown back during a nightmare. Dad couldn't reach her in time as the room had...

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The last I saw of the angel was at sunrise yesterday. I knew that one day I'd meet him again, the certainty was so strong that the actual date and time felt on the tip of my tongue. Morgan is the name he gave me. Morgan Freemantle. He appeared at my side just when I needed some one the most, when my sister collapsed on our long walk away from our home, the abuse, neglect.

As I was comforting her, smoothing her long blond hair away from her sweating face, telling her everything would be ok even though we were...

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My singing was awful. Didn't matter as the audience were drunk, I could see Lorna sticking her tongue down John's throat as the light swept over the audience. They didn't seem to care that anyone might notice and tell John's wife in a text during the interval. After my horrendous attempt at Billy Holiday I heard a voice in my ear, it was a child asking me to talk to someone called Betty who had red hair, an addiction to pickled eggs and had three cats called Tom, Dick and Harry.

She was sitting in the last row and only...

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There's somebody standing in the corner of my room. That's what she told me most days and as normal, I ignored her. I presumed she was talking about her reflection who she believed another person, a friend. Dementia steals the life force. She was no longer the woman I knew anymore, just a small petulant child to take care of. One that could look sweet and innocent but could take a knife to me if she fancied. She spent all day in her bedroom talking to the mirror, packing and unpacking strange old suitcases, oblivious to the fact she was...

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Twist and he was dead. Broken neck. Watching the agony in the contorted face I could only stand in my own space of terror. Knowing that no-one would ever believe what happened. Instinct told me to run home, pack a bag, passport, money and take a plane to the other side of the world. I could not move.

Simon's hand touched mine and for the first time since kindergarten, I held hands with another boy. What seemed like hours later we moved and looked at each other, mirrors of incredulity and shock.

John had told us years ago the bizarre...

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The gate closed behind them. That is what George wanted me to convey to his grieving son. I did not understand what this meant but it is part of the course of being a messenger for the dead. You don't really know the significance of what you are being told.

The worst part of all this was trying to tell people their loved ones want to them to know something. Many will be very rude to you, others will ignore you. The part of it I dislike the most is when you know they are so vulnerable they will misinterpret...

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"Wait, so he hit you?"

“No, I told you. He whispered just before I woke up.” I had already told the story a couple of times and Jack wasn’t listening. Obviously the porn on his cell phone far more interesting.

The voice had been at that moment when you feel yourself falling and jerk awake. ‘I really want to take you with me but I’m not allowed.’

Disorientated after several false awakenings, I felt extraordinarily tired. The short nap when my friend had gone for pizza had been a mistake. Struggling to a sitting position there was no sign of...

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