Hey, I'm Psychic Now

I know what you're thinking, but hear me out

Have you ever heard one of those stories where someone “feels” something happening to a loved one who’s hundreds of miles away? In a flash, they’re certain that the person is hurt, or worse. Then they find out they were right.

I love that kind of stuff. Not injuries, but tales of ESP, ghosts, UFOs, whatever—if you have something paranormal or beyond explanation to talk about, I’m in.

That’s not to say I believe everyone who claims they can read minds, talk to the dead, or see the future. Probably 99% of them are frauds. But I do think there are some people who can tap into things that most of us can’t.

Most of you, I should say. Because, according to an app I recently downloaded, it appears that I have the gift.

The signs were there all along

If I’d thought about it, I probably could have developed my abilities earlier. Consider: several years ago, I dreamed that a Chili’s about five miles away burned down. Less than two weeks later, the place was destroyed in an overnight fire.

The way I see it, there are only three possible explanations for this:

1. It was a psychic premonition.

2. It was just an odd coincidence.

3. I have multiple personality disorder, and one of those personalities is an arsonist with a vendetta against fast-casual, Mexican-influenced fare.

It’s impossible to rule out any of these. But until the Don Mezcal down the street goes up in flames amid billowy plumes of guacamole smoke, I choose to believe it’s Option 1.

Mind you, that wasn’t my only brush with high strangeness. There’s also my track record of having a person pop into my head, then immediately getting a text or call from them. Sure, this is an infrequent occurrence and can’t be reproduced on command, let alone proven, but over the course of my life it’s happened at least thrice.

You’re dubious. I get it. But ask yourself this: how could I possibly know that you’re dubious if my third eye wasn’t wide open and laser-focused? Spooky, right?

Well, hold onto your fajitas. Things are about to get even weirder.

Color me clairvoyant

When I read about an app called ESP Trainer, I rushed to check it out. Its description was tantalizing:

“The ESP Trainer was developed under a NASA program by Russell Targ at Stanford Research Institute.”

NASA! Stanford! Targ!¹

It doesn’t take a mind reader to know that I downloaded it post haste.

“The player is presented with four colored squares. For each trial, one has been selected at random… Your task is to choose the correct square.”

Here’s what it looks like.

If you guess right, the game delivers multi-sensory feedback: a chime, vibration, and a color photo.

If you guess wrong, it lights up the correct square and you move on to the next trial. The goal is to see how many times in 24 trials you can guess the correct color.

Now, they say you’re supposed to choose a color only if you have a certain feeling about it. Otherwise, you should pass. With all due respect to NASA, that kind of attitude is not how we won the space race. Passing is for cowards and the feebleminded. If we’re doing this, we’re doing this.

At first, I was getting only two, three, or maybe four right out of the 24. “Okay,” I thought. “It’s time to hunker down and concentrate.”

Before long, I banged out six. The app informed me this was “A good beginning.”

Good? Maybe for someone who didn’t have a mystical Chili’s-inferno experience, but I knew I was better than that.

Over the following weeks, whenever I had a few minutes to spare, I’d open the app and stare down those colors like I was trying to get them to confess to a homicide. I’d revert back to two or three correct. Then five. Then four. Then two. Etc.

As I trained more and more, one day I had an eerie feeing that I was going to hear from lots of friends the next day. I couldn’t explain why, but I knew. Sure enough, the following day my phone lit up with text after text. Turns out it was my birthday. Easy mistake.

Soon enough, I got eight trials right, and the app told me what I’d waited my whole life to hear: “ESP ability present.”

I felt powerful. Like a god. I leaned in to stare at a pen on my desk. Focusing hard, I willed it to move. It rolled—just a bit, but it rolled! I quickly realized it was my breath that did it. I’d have to revisit this exercise when I had more time and was less winded.

My training continued. On work calls, I tried to guess what people would say next.

“Let’s table that until next…”

“Week!” I’d think.

“…Wednesday.”

So close!

Meanwhile, my app results continued to be all over the place. That is, until the day when I crossed over into double digits, with a 10. “Useful in Las Vegas,” the app informed me.

Damn straight. Emboldened, I downloaded the FanDuel app to rake in the dough with a few hands of blackjack. I lost $100 in 10 minutes. This made no sense. Not for a gifted seer like myself.

I doubled-down on my training, but my psychic seesawing continued.

And then, something magnificent happened that I didn’t see coming, which is ironic, all things considered. I answered 12—a full 50%—of the trials correctly. The app’s message was like the password to an exclusive club: “Outstanding ESP ability.”

This was heady stuff. (No pun intended.) The odds of this happening are probably 700 million to one.²

But heavy is the head that holds the telepathically charged mind. Until I’m able to harness my powers, I’m nervous about interacting with all you ASPers (averagesensory perceptors). I mean, I’m bound to inadvertently tune into your innermost thoughts. Your darkest secrets will come flooding into my consciousness with frightening clarity.

Plus, I see where this is going, and I don’t want to live a life with no more mystery, no more intrigue.

Jeopardy! will be unwatchable.

Surprise parties? Ruined.

I’ll know the end of every book before I finish the prologue.

Sure, it would be cool to be the first to know who the next James Bond is going to be, and the lottery winnings would be helpful. But not at the cost of my humanity.

I am too powerful already. Unchecked, I fear what I will become.

As fate would have it, this app that has given me so much threatens to take away all that I hold dear. I must delete ESP Trainer. As soon as I find my phone. I have no idea where I left it.

1. I don’t know who that is, nor did I bother Googling him.

2. I’m an oracle, not a math nerd.