It was a chilly dark evening. No moon shone in the sky, as the only light that light the night was from the amber glow of the tall lanters lining the cobblestone street in England.
I walked in a wine coloured victorian dress, with my sister, out of a small riverside pub. It was much too late for women to be out…especially in a place like a pub. Our business was unknown, but we showed no fear in our faces or in our hearts.
Walking from the pub, I could hear the clicks and clacks of our heeled shoes as we walked down the stone street parallel to a thick, quiet river.
Several steps away, we began to be followed by 5 “pissed” (drunk) men. With clear mal intent, they murmered drunken profanities as they stumbled behind us. Still, no fear from myself or my sister. We walked with our heads high as we pretended not to notice the approaching danger.
In front of us was a large bridge, with archways underneath it. Several of the amber glowing street lights were not lit, and a growing darkness blinded the nearest side of the rivers overpass.
This is where we walked to. For the men were not stalking us, we were stalking them.
A few more clicks and clacks of our heeled shoes, and we disappeared into the drape of darkness, the whispers of the mischevious men, close behind. They followed us…into the darkness.
Screams were heard but only quickly, and then silence.
Silence followed by soft clicks and clacks of heeled shoes.
My sister and I sauntered out of the dark, with few blood stains on our dresses. We walked with our heads high as we headed home.
This short but eerie memory had me wishing it was just a reoccuring dream for many many years. Curious of what really happened in those dark shadowed moments.
For so long I thought of it as nothing more than my imagination…though every cobblestone of the street felt so real beneath my feet.
Yet, in 2018 something happened. I was living in Florida, USA with plans to move to the UK. Throughout my plans, I began making friendships online and told my story to one ery good friend who was a generational local of the York, England area. My story floored him. He quickly googled some images of a pub that he frequented. A small pub, on a cobblestone street, beside a thick and quiet river, accompanied by an archway bridge. The image sent me into a new world….back into my past life….back into that very pub.
The excitement had me booking our flights that very same day.
Within a week, I was walking down the very same cobblestone street, outside the very same pub I had been remembering for a lifetime, and to the very same archways of the bridge were something unthinkable happened.
Are past lives real? Yes!
Do you want to know how you can discover your own past life?
Growing up, as a generational psychic, seeing people’s (and my own), past lives has always been a speciality of mine. Let me take you into a deep and detailed adventure of who you were in a past life, with a past life psychic reading!
Psychic & Past Life Regression Specialist
Sarah C LaBrie