Identity confirmed!
I’m euphoric. The identity test gave positive results: the voice that I’m hearing through the vintage radio is Samuel Goldstein’s, my grandfather. The simple test, designed by Angel Manoukian and described below, worked almost instantly and the confirmation opened a whole new dimension for me. The voice apparition is a true paranormal phenomena, it can’t be hoax (nor a practical joke) of any sort and, foremost, is my grandfather himself to whom I listen to.
The basic idea behind this experiment was to use Goldstein’s most beloved tune (a beautiful tango by Astor Piazzolla) as a bait. When he was alive, my grandfather had a crush for that song. He used to say that this melody worked like a mantra, helping him to clear his mind and hummed along to it constantly. Angel thought that this tune could be an invitation and should attract Goldstein’s presence. Although very plain, this ingenious “musical call” approach succeeded in its goals.
The testing phase began at 12:30 AM approx. I turned on my grandfather’s Spica and left it on the table. Then I set the computer to play Piazzolla’s theme in an infinite loop. Finally, I brought another device to record the audio of the test.
The tango ended and started again twice, with the simultaneous white noise as a curtain in the back of the delightful harmony. Then, when it started for the third time, I felt a cold hand in my shoulder. Nobody was there, of course. It was just a fleeting but very vivid sensation. And almost instantly after that a subtle humming appeared within the interference. It was an articulated hum, undoubtly humane yet ethereal… The voice followed the melody as if the ghostly crooner knew it already. I smiled. That was an intense moment indeed.
After a couple of seconds the hum disappeared. I kept listening carefully, as always, but without any new contact. One hour later I decided to pause the song. 15 minutes after that, when I was about to power off the Spica I heard a clear whisper:
“Matit”
Just one word. The most personal word for me… And I must explain this. My name is Matias, the Spanish equivalent of Matthew, which is the English version of the old Hebrew name Matityahu. Matit, its contracted hypocoristic form, was the affectionate nickname invented by my grandfather to address me. That single word was all the confirmation I needed. One single word that changed everything. And I mean it. Everything.
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