When I was 19, I lived in a small garlic-scented town 30 minutes away from Santa Cruz, California. Me and my now ex-boyfriend would frequently make trips to Santa Cruz and hang out in the downtown area.
There, we’d always park at the same garage, and spend several hours walking up and down the quaint strip of shops.
During the summer of 2012, we had made one of our regular excursions to Santa Cruz. After exiting my favorite art store, we were walking down towards one of the bookstores when I noticed a small sign for palm readings.
Having never had my palm read before, I was intrigued. Next to the sign was an open doorway with a steep, carpeted staircase. At the top of the steps sat a middle-aged woman.
My ex was less enthusiastic than I was, but went along and followed me up the stairs. I asked the woman if she was the one offering palm readings, and she said that she was. I paid her $15 (all the cash I had left), and followed her into the reading room.
Grimacing, she sternly told my ex that he must wait outside until her and I had finished. I feel like she startled him a bit, as he scuttled off as instructed.
As I sat facing her and turned my hands over palm-up, her attitude changed, and she warmed up as she began the reading. Everything was extremely thorough, and to this day, I have never had a reading as accurate as the one I received that afternoon.
She made several predictions, pointed out various things about me, and in general, captivated my attention. One thing I distinctly remember were the warnings about my ex.
Making direct eye contact, she essentially told me that he was dangerous, and that beginning that October, things would begin to fall apart.
In the beginning of 2013, however, I would be back on my feet again. I had yet to meet the person meant for me, and parting ways from my ex was a painful but necessary blessing in disguise. She warned me not to tell him any of the things she had told me, and I cooperated.
True enough, things went terribly awry in October. For whatever reason, her month-by-month and year-by-year predictions were spot-on and are still coming true to this day.
Although I maintain a healthy dose of skepticism, I simply cannot explain the psychic at the end of the stairs. I’ve revisited Santa Cruz in the years following, and have never been able to find her again.
As quickly as she appeared that summer, she vanished without a trace.