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paper on which they had been invited to write their name, make their mark, or jot down a message to a dead loved one. There was a stir as the ushers called for the audience to pass the billets to the center aisle.
    The metal man handed his note to the teacher, who took the moment required to read it, and was surprised to see some extremely neat printing. It read, “Milos Lysander.”
    Did that mean the machine was named Lysander? There was no way to know, and it was none of his business, so the teacher passed all the pieces of paper that had come his way down to the center aisle, where they were collected.
    The lights dimmed, and the curtains opened, to reveal a young woman sitting on a tall stool with a table at her side. Lamplights, cleverly directed her way through the use of lenses, lit a pretty face. She had long dark hair, large brown eyes, and extremely fair skin. But slender though she was, the sensitive projected an aura of strength, and her eyes flashed as she looked about the room. “Good evening. My name is Lanni Norr. I have good news for you . . . There isno such thing as death. Only a transition from one plane of existence to another. I am not a witch, nor a magician, but a member of a small group of people who refer to themselves as sensitives. Just as phibs were bred to swim, and wings were born to fly, we were created to facilitate communications between this world and the next.”
    Norr emphasized her words by seizing control of the energy in the room, shaping it to her purpose, and reaching out to seize a black skullcap. It belonged to a man seated in the very front row, which meant that everyone could watch the object rise into the air and hang suspended over the man’s head. Its owner looked up in astonishment, clapped a hand to his mostly bald pate, and said, “What the hell?”
    A twitter ran through the crowd. One of the people seated directly behind the bald man stood and swept an arm back and forth above the cap to see if it was suspended by a thread. There was no reaction from the hat other than to rise even higher, move sideways through the air, and settle itself onto the skeptic’s head. The audience member examined the cap, shook his head in amazement, and returned the object to its owner.
    The crowd loved the byplay, and Norr could feel the amount of positive energy in the room increase. “So,” she continued, “I hope that you will relax and open your minds to the possibility that there are forms of energy and planes of existence beyond the physical realm in which we currently dwell. Contact with those in the next world is never certain, but assuming that we are fortunate enough to construct a momentary bridge between the two planes, listen carefully to what I say. In many cases, though not all, friends and loved ones will attempt to communicate some fact orincident that only the two of you would be aware of as proof that they still exist and love you.
    â€œDuring this process one or more of them may take temporary control of my physical body in order to speak directly. Should that occur, please remember that I am the channel, not the spirit entity, and have no control over what he or she may say.
    â€œPlease remain in your seats throughout the demonstration, and do not approach the stage, or my friend Loro will be forced to reseat you.”
    The heavy stepped out of the shadows at that point, crossed his arms over a massive chest, and eyed the audience. Everyone got the point.
    â€œOkay,” Norr said, “if someone will bring me the billets, we will begin. Please note the fact that I had no way to know who would come tonight—and the messages you submitted have been on display throughout the process.”
    A basket filled with scraps of paper was brought forward and placed on the table next to Norr’s stool. The sensitive reached in, ran her fingers through the billets, and stopped when her hand started to tingle. She