(Part One.)

(Part Two.)

(Part Three.)

My dreams of a prophetic nature became more frequent and specific as time passed. Some were of incidents that didn’t make national headlines, and I was only able to confirm my prediction by reading a paragraph hidden away in the middle of a newspaper. In a way, this made the whole issue even more fascinating.

There was the incident of a fairground ride failure, resulting in severe injuries to several people.

An airplane that took off from the west coast of USA as I watched from a clifftop quickly developed a technical fault, turned back to the airport it had just departed, but didn’t quite make it.

The dreams became so frequent I found myself becoming a bit blase. (I can’t find how to insert a language accent here on WP! 😉 ) I would always mention them to my wife or work colleagues and very rarely did the predicted event not occur.

Then they stopped.

For several years, I had no dreams that left me with that dreadful sense of foreboding. But I didn’t lose any sleep over it. ( 😀 Boom, boom!)

Come the mid-2000s, though they returned with a vengeance. They became even more specific in one way or another.

Bardo Museum attack: on 17th March 2015, I woke with that old gut-wrenching sensation. It felt very acute this time – perhaps because I’d gone several years without experiencing it.

I related to my wife how in the dream I was in a North African town. It wasn’t Morocco, I was quite specific about that, but I was unsure exactly where. People were running about the medina in a panic; there was shooting; people were being led out of a museum.

North Africa? Museum? Shooting? That was quite specific.

Next day – there was a terrorist attack at the Bardo Museum in Tunis, which resulted in the deaths of twenty-two tourists.

Freaked out? You bet I was!

Pulse Nightclub massacre: just over a year later, in June 2016, I dreamed I was walking down a dusty road in America. It was in the middle of nowhere, it was hot and sunny, with a bright blue sky. I saw a rock at the side of the road – about the size of my hand. For some reason I stooped and picked it up. I noticed the number 102 had been scored into its surface.

I then woke up!

Aaargh! I had that old feeling again. There was some significance to this dream, but I couldn’t figure what. For a week I scoured the news, then it happened. The dreadful shooting at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida.

It was reported that the shooter killed 49 people and injured 53 more.

You do the math.

That was the last dream of any real significance I had. All would go quiet for a while. No more dreams of this nature.

I had presumably proved myself to The Dream Giver. It was time now to graduate in another medium: premonitions and coincidences.

(To be continued – and you’ll be pleased to read, concluded tomorrow. 😉 )