Are there real psychics out there? Maybe. I don’t know. But I can one hundred percent say that Kyle Anderson is not one, and you’re wasting your money hiring him. I am his roommate, which means I’ve been stuck with him for around a year. I’ve also been to practically every single one of his readings, because I don’t go out much, (Which, according to the EXTREMELY RUDE lady in the apartment across from ours is a huge problem, and I don’t like being harassed by her, so I accompany him because he doesn’t mind, and I can’t drive, and everyone’s focused on Kyle anyways, so nobody bothers me for the most part.)
Now, I do feel kind of bad for calling him out like this, because he’s not a bad person. So please don’t doxx or harass Kyle after you read this. The stuff he does is shitty, but I don’t think he realizes he’s scamming grieving people. He genuinely believes he’s psychic. Unfortunately, he’s completely delusional, and his family actively feeds into it instead of getting him the help he needs. I have tried to convince him, but my words fall on deaf ears.
And I don’t want you to waste your money, so I’m putting this out there as a little P.S.A. for anyone who wants to hire a psychic for whatever reason- if they use these tactics, they are probably frauds. I shall use the story of the reading I attended four days ago as an example because it was the most recent one, and I will also be changing the client’s names for their privacy.
I was sitting at the table, watching the squirrels eat from our bird feeder that has so far never attracted a single bird, when Kyle walked into the kitchen, singing his “hype song”. He always does this right before a reading.
“I am ready to summon the dead!”
“You aren’t summoning shit, Kyle.”
He ignored my little remark, like he always does.
“So. This guy, Greg, that’s about to get re-married wants to talk to his dead wife one last time before he does. The new wife, Jill, also wants to speak to her, ‘cause she was friends with her and she wants to make sure she’s okay with it before they tie the knot. Now it’s my job to break through the veil and contact her so they can move on!”
He’s dating his dead wife’s friend? That’s a bit…strange, but I don’t know them, so whatever.
While Kyle gets ready, I logged on to our computer and looked up who he’s doing the reading for. A quick Google search reveals social media profiles, and from there I learn that Greg’s wife has been dead for two years, her name was Mikayla, and she died from an overdose. They were married for five years, they met in college, her favorite color was rose gold, she liked swimming and photography, she was a dental hygenist, and she had been friends with his current girlfriend, Jill ever since she was in eighth grade.
I showed none of this to Kyle, of course, but do you see how easy it is to find out stuff about people online? Even if you don’t post a whole bunch on social media, there’s still marriage records, death certificates, obituaries, and other stuff like that. This tactic is called hot reading, and it’s by far the easiest for a scammer to do- as long as you give them your name a day or so before their appointment.
Kyle does not use this tactic, but plenty of other people do, so remember- if a so-called psychic tells you something about yourself you think they couldn’t have known about, make sure that knowledge is not easily accessible.
Anyways, we got ready to leave the house. Kyle grabbed his giant crystal ball and his pendulum, and put on the electric blue cape that he wears all the time, even when he’s not doing these dumb readings. He’s also dyed his hair that exact same shade. His fashion sense is a bit odd, but I like it. Kyle’s got a sense of confidence that I admire- he truly doesn’t let anyone get to him. Unfortunately, this also means he doesn’t listen when people tell him he’s not really psychic.
“Wait, did I leave the computer on? I could’ve sworn I turned it off last night.”
“Oh, I used it a little while ago. I thought I turned it back off, sorry about that.”
He turned it off, and we left the house. The rude lady who lives in the apartment across from ours was in the hallway, and much to my dismay, she decided to talk to us.
“Well, if it isn’t the crazy guy and his weak-ass roommate. I see you’ve finally got the courage to leave your little safe space today, Hana.”
I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Not only do you spend most of your time holed up in your room on devices instead of talking with the other residents of this building, you lie and say it’s ‘cause you’re scared of going outside?! Nonsense. It’s ‘cause the internet’s rotted your brain and you need an excuse to be online 24/7. You just love being an anti-social little leech, don’t you? If you weren’t, you’d kick your crazy-ass roommate that everyone else hates out, but then you wouldn’t have a free computer and Netflix, huh? But no. You won’t do this simple favor for us, and now my dumbass son is actually thinking of hiring him and-“
I walked away, tuning her angry rambling out, and got in the car. I took a quick glance at Kyle’s phone while he typed the directions into Google Maps, and sighed. The house they wanted to meet up at was two hours away. Luckily, even though the drive was long, Kyle and I both share the same taste in music, so I could daydream while listening to some of my favorite songs.
Occasionally, I zoned back in when Kyle said something incredibly weird. He talks to himself all the time, mostly about his favorite movies and games and the like. He acts like he’s making a Youtube video or something, except there’s no camera and the only viewer he knows about is himself. This is kind of weird but I do it too so I can’t really judge him for it.
He said something about talking to a crowd at one point, and even though Kyle doesn’t do readings in large groups, it reminded me of a trick those so-called psychics on T.V. use. Basically, they talk about something weird and kind of specific, and usually one or two of the people in the crowd are shocked that the “psychic” told them a detail that was personal to them. Except they aren’t. They’re talking to a crowd of 300 people, figuring that at least one of those people had an experience like that.
The sound of the rearview mirror squeaking obnoxiously loud as Kyle adjusts it, (he really needs to fix the hinges) while he checks his hair told me we’d arrived at the place. It also ruined my daydream, which was mildly disappointing, but whatever.
“You ready to summon the dead?”
I rolled my eyes. When I first started doing this, I’d say something snarky, but now I don’t even bother, because he’s not going to listen. He checked his hair in the mirror one last time before he rang the doorbell.
“Hello. I’m Kyle, and I’m here for the reading you asked for.”
“I’m Hana. I’m here because I’ve got nothing else to do.”
The woman looked slightly nervous, but the man smiled and shook Kyle’s hand while greeting him warmly.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Gregory, and this is my fiance, Jill.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kyle.”
While she showed us to the family room, I could tell from the look in her eye told me she probably didn’t believe in this crap too.
Guess there’s two non-believers at this reading, huh?
The four of us sat down at the table, and the reading began. Kyle mumbled a little bit while he “tapped into the veil”, and then the vague statements began.
“Okay, I’m getting someone with an “M” name. First or last, I’m not sure, but there’s an “M” in there. Do you know anyone with an “M” in their name?”
The couple both looked shocked.
“My wife…she was named Mikayla…”
“Did you tell him her name?”
“N-No.”
This is a technique called cold reading. Basically, the psychic says a vague question, one that’s super easy to find a connection to, and you make the connection for them.
“M” is one of the most common initials. And since Kyle never specified whether the person was living or dead, all they’d need to do is know one person with an M in their name, which 99 percent of people do. Mikayla wasn’t even the only “M” connection he could have made. My last name (Matsuo-Walker) starts with an M, Kyle’s middle name is Malcolm (not that Greg and Jill would have known it, but I still think it counts), and the google search I’d made that morning let me know that Jill’s maiden name was Morris.
“I’m getting this…tight feeling in my chest like I can’t breathe…and I’m feeling some sort of regret. Does that mean anything to you?”
There are so many ways that someone can die that involves not being able to breathe. Also, dead people can’t breathe, so that could technically apply to any ghost. Also, literally everyone has regrets, living and dead.
The more information you reveal, the easier it is to pick up on.
“I’m getting the sense that her death was sudden? Like, you didn’t see it coming.”
“I…I just woke up one morning, and…she was in the bed with blue lips…”
Jill and Greg look to be in their thirties, and you can probably assume that his ex-wife was also fairly young when she passed. Most of the time, when someone that young dies, it’s unexpected.
There was a little more I stayed behind and listened to, but it’s redundant. I usually only last twenty minutes or so before I get bored and decide to get up and look around at the artwork around the house. I was admiring a collection of porcelain angel figurines when I heard the sound of crying coming from the kitchen. At first, I thought Jill or Greg got really emotional during the reading, and had to take a break. (I’ve seen this happen a lot, unfortunately.) But when I turned back to look at them, they were both still at the table with Kyle.
I figured someone else must have been watching the seance from the next room, most likely a skeptic like me, or someone superstitious who didn’t want to participate. This is another thing that happens quite a lot, although usually Kyle gets introduced to them before he starts “summoning the dead.”
I peeked my head into the kitchen. A lady with dirty blond hair in a messy bun was standing near the doorway, sobbing while she watched the others talk. A familiar looking lady. One that looked identical to the pictures of Mikayla I’d seen this morning.
“…You…FUCKING…BITCH!!! YOU LIAR! YOU FUCKING LIAR!”
Clearly, she’d realized that Kyle was not really psychic.
“Hey. I’m really sorry that your-“
She whipped her head around and stared at me.
“Who the hell are you?!”
“Hana.”
There was a moment of awkward silence before I realized I probably needed to elaborate a bit more.
“I’m Kyle’s friend. He’s, uh, the blue-haired guy in the family room, if you couldn’t tell.”
Instantly, her eyes lit up, and she started to smile.
“Wait, what? You guys work together? He’s really…are you like, his assistant?”
“Nope. He isn’t really a psychic, and I don’t work with him, I just tag along when he does these readings.”
Her smile instantly faded, and she looked like she wanted to strangle me.
“Fuck you, giving me false hope like that! Why do you even call him your friend, that’s so misleading!”
“Because I consider him a friend. I mean, we live together, and he’s the closest thing I have to one, and his…eccentricities, to put it nicely, weirds most people out, so I’m pretty much the closest thing he has to one too.”
“News flash: if someone doesn’t know you exist, you’re not really friends. But if you really want to be friends with a con-artist, then today’s your lucky day, ‘cause after this whole thing is done, you’ll be able to talk to him for real.”
“I’m sorry, what? Did you just say you were going to kill him?!”
“No shit, Sherlock! Him, my cheating whore of a husband, and my so-called “friend” who killed me to steal my husband! They’re all scumbags who deserve to die!”
She pointed at Kyle and his clients in the next room, glaring at them with hatred in her eyes- a type of malice I’d only seen once before in my life. I could tell she was serious, she wanted to kill them, all of them, to calm a rage that had been burning inside her ever since she was killed.
I stared into those eyes, and I knew I had a choice to make. And for a moment, I thought about how it would be nice to have an actual conversation with someone I actually found pleasant- something I hadn’t experienced in so long. Even though I’m shy, even though my social skills are trash, I really do hate isolation. And I could finally prove to him that he’s not psychic, and he’d be able to listen.
But despite all of Kyle’s flaws, I considered him a friend. He’s the closest thing I have to one. And I’m the closest thing he has to one. And it would be selfish of me to stand by and let him lose everything for my gain. Real friends don’t do that to each other.
(I would also lose access to his Netflix account and his computer, but that’s besides the point.)
So I stood my ground.
“Look, I don’t care what you do to Jill and Greg. But I’m not going to let you harm Kyle. Just…wait until he finishes his so-called reading and let us leave. Then you can do whatever the hell you want. Just leave him alone, and we won’t have any issues.”
“Why should I leave him alone? If I let him leave this place, he’s just gonna keep lying and lying about what the dead truly have to say, while they watch him spew his bullshit! Why are you trying to defend someone like that in the first place?!”
“Because he’s not trying to hurt people. He’s delusional, and he actually thinks he’s helping.”
“I don’t care if he believes his own lies or not, he’s still spewing lies! Lies, lies lies! That’s all everyone’s ever told me! It’s all been lies! LIES! ALL OF IT IS LIES! ALL OF IT!”
She shoved me to the floor.
Now, I am a girl that would prefer things get settled with calmly.
But I also know my own limitations. Maybe if I had better social skills, or maybe if I didn’t avoid confrontation as constantly as I always have, or if I wasn’t agoraphobic, I might have been able to calm her down and resolve this with words. But I’m not, and I knew that they had paid for a 30-minute reading, and that they’d still got ten or so minutes left in it, not counting the time it takes for him to get his stuff gathered up and leave.
In her fury, she’d already laid out the foundations for her plan. Even though the people at the seance table were oblivious to it, I could see what she was trying to do.
Fake psychics will use many tactics to get you to think that they can see the future, or that they can talk to the dead. And these tactics make you think you’re experiencing real paranormal phenomena.
What Mikayla was doing then was the exact opposite. She was locking all the doors and windows in the house. If you were to try and open one of the doors, you’d think you could unlock it with the twist of a lock or key. But you can’t.
Nothing physical can break that seal. Because it is a seal made from trauma, pure trauma and anger. All the anger she held for the three of them, all the anger from when she found out her husband was cheating, and that her best friend had poisoned her food, all the anger when she got away with it, all the anger she’s been holding onto for a long, long time since (and maybe even before) her death- solidified. Hardened.
I knew that she was going to put her plan for revenge into motion as soon as Kyle tried to leave the house. They’d be confused why the door was jammed, and then…whatever she wanted to do would happen.
I didn’t know what exactly she would do, but from the pure malice radiating from her gaze, I could tell that it was most likely going to be bloody, and painful, and very, very long.
So, I stood up.
There are only two ways to break the seal. One is to physically interrupt the person creating it, which is a nicer way to say “beat them up.” Now, this woman was much taller and stronger looking than I was. And I am a girl who knows her limits. So instead of throwing a punch, I turned on my heel and walked away.
“Well then. I guess I’m leaving, since I don’t want to see this.”
She looked at me cautiously as I walked towards the front door. I was pretty sure she thought I was going to try something. (Which I was.)
Once I reached the door, I stood facing it, but didn’t leave like I said I would. I kept an ear out, listening and waiting for Kyle to finish the reading.
While I waited, I forced myself to dwell on things I’d rather not dwell upon.
Time seemed to pass much, much slower than usual, but eventually, I heard the three of them wrapping it up. Kyle had gathered his things, and he and the couple were walking towards the door. Mikayla was following them all, but luckily, Kyle was a couple feet ahead of them.
As they said their thank-you’s and goodbyes, I tuned everything out except for my own thoughts, and how far away Kyle was from the front door.
He’s about five steps away.
Waiting for the train, smelling the remnants of the recent rainstorm. My jacket’s a bit too light for this weather. I should have worn a heavier one.
Four steps.
Those assholes who always bother me are standing right next to me. I can hear them whispering, but I try to ignore it. Still, I can’t help but hear a little.
“…would be so fuckin’ hilarious.”
“Yeah, and we can get…for her…saying no to that…”
“Hurry, hurry….your phone out!”
I hear the sound of a train approaching, but I know it’s not the one I’m getting on. It’s so cold. I can’t wait for mine to arrive.
Three steps.
So windy. So cold. The smell of rain and fuel and metal, and the sounds of whispering and snickering. Subway lights, phone camera lights, flashlights shined in my face. I need to remember every detail.
Two steps.
Try to remember everything. Even if it hurts. You need to remember the hurt.
One. Step. Use everything you’ve got.
Every single detail. Even the stuff you don’t want to think about. His hand is on the doorknob. He’s about to open it. It’s time.
The smell of rain. The wind running though my jacket. The snickers behind me as a strong hand grabs me. Everyone’s watching. Nobody’s doing anything about it. A phone camera’s in my face. The feeling of his fabric as I tried to push him away. The smell of fuel. One of them grabs on my hair while the other tries to cut it. The splash of a puddle. My foot losing traction. Screaming. Laughter. The lights on the ceiling. I scream for help while they do nothing. I fall, but their grip is steady. Way too steady. The feeling of hair getting yanked out and something hitting my face. The sting. They’re still recording. I fall to the ground. The smell of metal. Nobody does anything. There are more cameras. People are still recording.
The seal broke, and Kyle walked out the door.
The other way to break a psychic seal is with a painful, traumatizing memory of your own. One that you can use as a weapon to break it.
The door closed behind him. Mikayla rushed out after us, screaming.
“YOU LITTLE SHIT, HOW DARE YO-“
“You’ve got the house to yourself now so…feel free to do what you want. I got what I wanted, so I’ll be out of your hair. Go back and fix your broken seal before they leave, and leave us alone.”
“…Fine.”
She went back inside the house and the seal re-appeared. I did not stick around to see what happened next, I just got in the car and waited for Kyle to drive off.
Kyle hummed a tune as he pulled away.
“Woo-hoo! Another job well done.”
“You are the luckiest fake psychic in the entire world, you delusional idiot. I’m glad you’re safe, but also you…you’re an idiot, and seeing you obliviously celebrate is ticking me off right now.”
I avoided looking at him the whole ride home, and once we got to our apartment, I went off to the balcony to avoid him for the rest of the day. I was so mad at him, I didn’t go back inside until I was absolutely sure he’d gone to bed because I didn’t want to see him. I knew that Kyle’s idiocy wasn’t the whole reason I was dragged into this mess, but still.
After I’d cooled off and (mostly) forgiven him for this mess, I decided I needed to do something so this crap didn’t happen again. After a while of thinking, I logged onto his computer, made this throwaway account, and decided to post this story as a cautionary tale. If you hire a psychic, make sure that psychic is not Kyle Anderson, and that you make sure they aren’t using any of the aforementioned tactics to scam you, because you’ll lose your precious money and time while get told while they tell you what you want to hear, instead of a warning that the ghosts in your house are super pissed off at you, and you need to leave like, now.
And afterward, when you most likely join the ranks of the dead, they will not give you a refund, or listen to your complaints.