A Visit with a Medium

Less Than Pulp 57: Things Are Different Now

My first thought when I see her is she’s not what I expected. Everything from books to movies to song lyrics have given me an idea about how these people are supposed to look and behave, but she embodies none of these qualities—and neither does her space. The Medium wears a T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. Her getup, combined with her Philly accent, projects a working-class image. She seems more likely to serve you a lager at your favorite dive than to read your aura or help you contact a dead loved one. Nothing mysterious about that.

The space is open, with high ceilings and good lighting. Top 40 hits from when I was in my mid-twenties play on the radio. If not for the crystals and Buddha statues on the shelves or the smell of incense, you’d think this was perhaps a martial arts gym or a dance studio.

She takes Jean to the back first. While I wait, I read essays on Substack

¹

and check work emails. At one point, a man in a suit and red tie enters and asks if a receptionist is in. I tell him I didn’t see one and he says something about wanting a gift card for his wife before saying he’ll be back later and walking about the door. I also use the restroom three times; I’d agreed to see the Medium on a whim, but now that we’re here, I realize I’m nervous. I don’t like when people know things about me if I don’t know anything about them. The third time I use the restroom is when Jean walks back out. She says I’ll need to because what the Medium has to say will make me shit myself. The Medium laughs and tells me to take my time.

As soon as I walk into her room, she’s adjusting the pillows on the bed. She asks if I have neck problems. I tell her that I do, and she says she could tell when she saw me out there in the waiting area. She makes sure I take everything out of my pockets before I lie down. Once I’m on the table, she starts in right away.

She tells me I have trouble staying grounded, that I’m on a spiritual journey and so invested in it that I’m hardly ever present in the physical world. She says that she could tell because as I sat in the waiting room, she could see my soul hovering high above my body. As someone who dissociates a lot, this rings true. I am often not where I’m standing, but I’ve been working on that. She says she’s going to help bring me back down to earth and asks if that’s okay. I tell her it is.

She begins to talk about my childhood and my family. I do very little talking because I don’t need to tell her much at all. She says I was loved as a child but often left alone because I was always in my own world and doing little to bother anyone. She says I was someone my mother relied on emotionally, while my dad wanted to bond with me but didn’t quite know how due to my introverted nature. She mentions (correctly) that I often stayed home to be with my mom while Dad and my brother went off to play baseball or do other sports-related things.

She tells me I’m writing a novel (I am). She knows my interests tend toward horror, science fiction, and the Weird. I’m not wearing anything to indicate this—no horror tees, etc.—and the only thing she has on me in terms of physical information is Jean’s phone number. She doesn’t even know my name, yet she knows I write horror stories.

She also tells me that my stories come from a real place, an actual realm full of the very creatures and characters I’ve written about, as opposed to something contrived via my imagination. As she talks about this, she even goes as far as to mention some of the creatures and ideas I’ve written about, along with some I haven’t.

The Medium also spoke about my parents’ divorce, my brother and I moving across the country as a preteen, how I’ve improved my relationship with my father since having kids of my own, how my daughter is here for a purpose and knows it, how my son is both compassionate and logical, and how witnessing my kids’ behavior is setting off a ton of triggers from my childhood and adolescence. She says that Jean and I are meant to be together, that my father’s mother is one of my guardians, and that I got a job recently that’s a good fit for me.

She talks about all this and a whole lot more that I probably shouldn’t share publicly, all while asking very few questions. It’s uncanny how much she knows without me verbally giving her much at all. She even tells me I don’t like when strangers know a lot about me, but I feel no discomfort with all she knows. She finally asks if I’m ready to heal, to be free, to be happy. I tell her yes.

She places a stone on the center of my chest and two ceramic rods in my hands. The stone on my chest is cool in temperature and has a calming effect. She tells me to envision every moment throughout my life where I felt truly loved. While I do this, she has me breathe in. She then has me exhale and picture an all-consuming fire spreading throughout my body, burning away all the hurt, all the damage I’ve taken over my thirty-nine years.

Things are different now.

Hello, I’m Lucas Mangum, and this is Less Than Pulp, a newsletter for family, friends, and fans of my work. I’m so happy you’re here. If you’re skeptical or think I’ve gone off the deep end for seeing a medium, that’s fine. Just know I wouldn’t be so dismissive of an experience you shared, no matter how outlandish it seemed.

We’re in Pennsylvania as of this past Tuesday. Our flight was delayed for five hours, which was tough on Jean and our daughter. Our son was content to get some extra time watching his Kindle Fire while I took purposeful steps toward staying as positive as possible. This meant walking our daughter around the airport multiple times, making sure everyone stayed fed and hydrated, and keeping my own brain stimulated by reading Devil’s Creek by Todd Kiesling whenever I had a rare moment of downtime.

The flight itself was turbulent, and we didn’t get in until midnight, but we slept well. It’s also great to be here. Pennsylvania is so green during the summer. The foliage is so dense along the sides of the roads, you can only see a few feet into the woods. Old stone houses are overgrown with creepers and ivy, and there’s moss everywhere. It’s so pretty, like something out of a painting.

Even though we’re out of state, we’re not on vacation. Each of us are juggling work and childcare. It’s a lot, but it’s also nice to be properly working again. I’m doubly glad it’s not a customer service position, sales, or manual labor. I’m officially the Assistant Research Editor for the tech company where I’ve been doing occasional freelance work. They say they’re glad to have me, and I believe them.

Things are different now.

Killer Con is in less than a month. The official dates are Friday, August 11 - Sunday, August 13. I’ll be tabling beside Judith Sonnet again this year, so if you’re in town, come say ‘hi’ and get your books signed. That Saturday, I’ll be on two panels. First up, is the “Writing from Pain” panel at 3pm beside Kristopher Triana, Brian Keene, and John Baltisberger. At 8pm is a panel on “The Neurodivergent Writer” where I’ll be joined by Nik Robinson, Mike Ennenbach, and Reed Alexander, with Mark Scioneaux as moderator. In between those, Jean will be making her writer’s convention panel debut when she sits on the 4pm “Loving a Horror Writer” panel. She’ll be joined by Melinda McKenzie and Lynne Hansen.

You can get tickets for Killer Con right here.

I’m very much looking forward to it this. Last year was the perfect balance of casual hangout and decent book sales. It’s also close by, so I don’t need to worry too much about travel costs. Every year I tell myself I’m going to do more conventions, but I don’t know. With Ghoulish and Killer Con both in my backyard, do I really need to do all that extra traveling? With two small children, do I even want to?

Like I said, things are different now.

Currently Reading: Devil’s Creek by Todd Kiesling and scans of various out-of-print pulp magazines.

Currently Watching: Twin Peaks: The Return.

Currently Listening To: People saying Barbie is brilliant. I’m sure it’s as good as The Lego Movie and better than Battleship, but not as good as Bride of Chucky.

As always, if you like this newsletter, you can support it by picking up my most recent book or by becoming a paid subscriber. Doing the latter gives you early access to my novel-in-progress. Until next time…

1. I read this piece by J. David Osborne about using research to develop your novel, this piece by Eddy Rathke on a board game called The Fury of Dracula, and Garrett Cook’s piece about his recent birthday.