Intuition is a sense of things, what Freud called the uncanny. A New York colleague said, “I always know it’s the uncanny at work when the hairs on the back of my head go up.” The uncanny is an unexpected and often irrational but meaningful happening. It gives us a sense of things.
In the story of The Unholy, I write, “The hairs on the back of Claire’s neck stood on end. She clenched her teeth in anticipation of something worse about to happen….. Involuntarily, Claire shook her head as though waking from a bad dream.” A sense of the uncanny alerted Claire to what lay ahead.
One night, after receiving a dinner invitation from someone I hadn’t seen in years, I had a nightmare of this person’s home. It stood along a deserted street, a chill going up my spine as I saw a gargoyle perched atop its roof. My instincts went on high alert, a warning.
Still, the house beckoned. The door to the old Victorian creaked open. Overriding the voice of my intuition, I stepped inside. Shadowy figures emerged from the walls. I had stumbled upon a nest of malevolent spirits. The air was rank, fear gripping tight.
A sliver of light appeared at the far end of the home. I sprinted toward the back screen door and broke into the light of day. Relief washed over me. I awakened in my bed, my heart pounding.
An uncanny dream, a nightmare, stopped me in my tracks. I did not accept the dinner invitation. The uncanny, as does a metaphysical story, opens the mind to unseen realms. It gives us a sense of unseen things and tells us all we need to know.
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