Читать книгу An Angel Called My Name: Incredible true stories from the other side - Theresa Cheung, Theresa Cheung - Страница 17

On many occasions in my life I have felt that angels are near, but on one occasion I am certain that one actually touched me – or rather hit me.

I was 15 at the time and boys rather than angels were on my mind. My mum was very health conscious and always nagging me to eat my fruit and vegetables. She used to put a bowl of apples in my bedroom in the hope I’d snack on them rather than on junk food.

One night my brother was staying overnight with a friend and my mum went to bed early. It was a situation I loved – staying up late in my room with the door shut, listening to music and dreaming about a boy I fancied with no one to bother me or send me on errands or tell me to tidy my room. I had a chilled-out night and at about midnight I decided to go to bed. I got changed into my night clothes. I felt a bit peckish and for once was grateful to my mum for leaving a bowl of fruit in my room.

I grabbed an apple, took four or five very big bites, turned out the light and flopped into bed lying face down.

It felt as if my lungs were bursting and I couldn’t get any air. I tried to call mum but could only gasp. A piece of apple was stuck in my throat. I was choking to death. Suddenly I heard the door open. I heard no footsteps but someone whacked my back once. The blow was hard but I spat out the piece of apple and air instantly filled my lungs. I rolled over expecting to see my brother or my mother. There was no one in my room. The house was as quiet as it had been all night.

Still shaking, I stumbled into my mum’s bedroom and woke her up. She was astonished and we both searched the house. My mum asked me if I had been dreaming but I told her I most certainly had not. I had felt this huge hand on me. My mum asked me to turn around and she gasped and told me to have a look over my shoulder in the mirror. Although it was beginning to fade there was a definite mark on my back but it wasn’t the mark of a normal hand it was the mark of something much bigger.

I can recall the events of that night as if they happened yesterday. The mark has faded but my memory of it hasn’t. I can’t tell you how comforting it is for me to know that an angel saved me from choking that night.

Remember the smell theme mentioned previously, when a grieving widow was comforted and encouraged by the smell of winter roses? We’re returning to it here. George, a retired entrepreneur, tells this enchanting tale.