Have you ever seen an apport — solid objects that appear out of nowhere? Those who have witnessed this incredible phenomenon are understandably shocked and amazed. Are apports a sign of otherworldly activity or the power of the human mind? Either way, they are fascinating and have a profound effect on those fortunate enough to see them, as with these readers’ experiences:
Definitely Wryd!
“My grandmother’s family immigrated to Canada from Britain several years before World War II. For her birthday in December of 1936, my grandfather gifted her a gold gilded bible and enclosed a souvenir bookmark that commemorated the upcoming coronation of Edward VIII, scheduled for May 1937. They had polarized views on the monarch, so he playfully included it “to get her goat” it was said.
Within days, however, it was announced that Edward VIII was abdicating, and his younger brother, George VI, would instead be crowned the next King of England on that same coronation date in May. This unexpected turn of events made the bookmark very significant to my grandmother.
She had “never trusted or liked” the former Prince of Wales and thought his abdication was a blessing for the Brits, especially during the Second World War. So, to her, that bookmark (celebrating his coronation that was to never occur) was the embodiment of “Wryd,” an old English word for “Fate,” which my mother told me she had initially misunderstood to be “weird” as a child whenever her mother spoke of it.
And, as the family folklore went, she was forever lending it to loved ones during trying times, as though it was a magical talisman helpful in a crisis, whenever she wanted to reassure that everything will be alright in the end. It was “on loan” to others so often I don’t recall even seeing it during visits to my grandparents, but I heard about it often.
Both my grandparents passed away in my youth, many years before my daughter’s birth. The gold-gilded family bible (with the enclosed coronation bookmark) was bequeathed to my great-aunt, who lived in Britain.
A few years ago, shortly before her death, my mother reminisced again about that bookmark. Its recipient, my great-aunt, had died many years before, so we had no idea what became of that special keepsake, but my mom liked thinking back on how her mother enjoyed sharing that unique symbol of Wryd as she so often did.
So, having explained all of that, this is the mystical part:
On my daughter’s wedding day, my mother was no longer with us, and we were all missing her dearly. I also thought of my late grandmother and wished she could be there with us, too.
The day was rife with calamities, from significant issues with the flowers and catering to travel arrangements that went horribly awry for many guests. As the day progressed, we struggled to keep our poise amidst the endless stream of last-minute problems.
Our bride’s composure was on the verge of breaking when she realized that her bag, containing the essential items for the “something old, new, borrowed, and blue” tradition, had gone missing.
Trying to salvage the situation, I emptied the contents of my brand-new clutch purse onto the table beside her but doubted anything would be helpful.
My daughter, though, immediately spotted an item beneath the small pile of lipstick, eyeglasses, and tissues — an old bookmark.
It looked exactly as it had been described to me many times. We were both stunned to see it there, knowing it wasn’t possible, yet my daughter stood holding it in her hand, smiling with relief.
Her bridal gown was her “something new,” and the bookmark provided the “old” (from 1936), “borrowed” (from her great-grandmother), and “blue” (the colour of the embroidery woven throughout the design). And it was shared with her, when needed most, as always.
I can’t possibly explain or understand how it suddenly appeared then and there as it did. But it did, and replaced the stress of that day’s many mishaps with laughter and joy. And made our grandmother’s presence strongly felt on that very special day.”
Winter Lilacs
“A few years back, when the COVID virus struck our household, I was the last family member to catch it.
Temporarily losing my sense of smell was the worst symptom for me, but fortunately, no one else had that problem, too. But here’s where things took a turn for the mysterious.
While I was down and out, battling the virus and that fever wave, the rest of my family, now mostly recovered, repeatedly mentioned an almost overwhelming scent of lilacs that would suddenly waft through the house. The catch? I couldn’t smell a darn thing, so I had no idea what they were going on about.
In the dead of winter, with nothing in bloom on our bushes outside of course, and no freshly cut flowers inside, that whole “Phantom Lilac” mystery was a head-scratcher for everyone.
I noticed it coincided with my fever spikes because whenever I felt at my worst, someone would call out that the scent had returned, permeating the whole house. And, they all agreed each time, that it smelled just like Nan, who had died years before but was always enveloped in that same scent throughout all the years she was with us.
Now, just when I thought things were odd enough, they got even stranger. As my health improved but my sense of smell wasn’t restored yet, that strong floral scent was no longer detected by the rest of the family, or at least they stopped mentioning it — but then something remarkable occurred (that I could appreciate, too).
A blur of colour caught my eye outside the frosty bedroom window as I lay in bed recovering – it was a small sprig of freshly blossomed lilacs on the otherwise bare dormant bush. It was brushing against the window in the frigid breeze. But how could that be, in the dead of winter? I didn’t know then and I don’t know still.
It was bizarre but also a wonderful gift that I’ll always think was from Nan showing me she was there. It sure lifted my mental and physical spirits, and you can bet I still have that lilac sprig, now dried and kept in a small box on the bureau that once belonged to her.”
Getting To The Point
“A few years ago, my husband was in terrible pain with his sciatica. He went to a chiropractor and tried physio and massage therapy, but nothing helped.
Our eldest daughter is a great believer in acupuncture because it once helped her so much while recovering from a car accident. She wished her dad would at least try it. But he adamantly refused. The thought of being “jabbed with needles” ended all discussions with him.
One day, she called to see if he was improving and implored him again to try acupuncture at least once to see how it went. And she received the usual resistance to that idea.
After putting down his phone after their chat, he asked me what was lying in the middle of the floor in the kitchen, a few feet away from where we sat at the table. I had not seen anything there until he pointed at it, and I had no idea what the object was or how it got there.
I picked it up and examined it but still had no idea what it was. It was an extremely long, thin, sterling silver pin but I’d never seen anything like it before.
I handed it to my husband, who stared at it silently for a few seconds and then laughed a bit nervously. He knew exactly what it was because, as he explained to me, he had been researching acupuncture earlier that morning, before our daughter’s call, to see how big those needles actually are. But they looked too big and painful, in the images he saw online, to consider.
But now as he held an actual one in his hand after it had somehow materialized onto the floor beside him, its size didn’t seem nearly as daunting, and though he’s never been a superstitious man, he acknowledged it must be “a sign” that he should make an appointment for his first acupuncture treatment.
It worked so well for him that he noticed a considerable improvement almost immediately.
Neither of us saw that needle again after that day, though my husband had carefully placed it beside his phone as a reminder to make an appointment and was eager to show it to our daughter at her next visit. It vanished just as mysteriously as it had appeared.
However it came to be on our kitchen floor that day, it definitely did convince him to finally get the help he needed. He is now a strong advocate for this ancient practice and advises others to try it whenever he hears they are in pain.”
Do you also have a mystical tale to tell? Whether you’ve experienced a haunting, a mysterious cryptid sighting, or a brush with the inexplicable, please share it with Canadian author Dorah L. Williams at dorahlwilliams@gmail.com. Your story, too, could be featured in an upcoming column of Mystical Manitoulin!
