I Tried to Contact a Ghost: Daisy May Cooper's Adventures with the Afterlife | Daisy May Cooper

When I was younger, I had recurring visions. That one day I would be visited by someone or something from the paranormal. Whenever I was caught stealing candy from the downstairs closet and stashing it behind my bed, my mother would warn, “I can't always understand what you're up to, Daisy, but Grandma Bertie can.”

It was a terrible thought. The idea of ​​my late grandmother watching everything I did filled me with dread, especially as a teenager—when I took my first intoxicating drag of a cigarette in the park; I sneak out my window to snog my first goth boyfriend. I was so worried about Grandma Bertie watching me from the other side that I refused to jerk off Mark Jones in the back of the bumper car at the Cirencester Mop Fair circa 2000. He dropped me. But honestly, it was a relief. No grandmother has to experience this, regardless of whether she is a ghost or not. Talk about killing the mood!

Decades later, my involvement with the paranormal changed from horror at the possibility of being observed by ghosts to excitement at the prospect of dating a ghost. I read that ghost marriages are regularly practiced in China when someone dies before a planned wedding takes place to prevent ghosts from wreaking havoc. But this is where things get pretty damn weird. At the ceremony, a white rooster represents the groom and is later allowed to appear in all transactions with the groom's family. I can't even imagine what the wedding photos would look like or how the Rooster conducts those all-important negotiations. Doodles for a yes? Shit a pellet for no?

And I kid you not, France is one of the few countries where marrying a deceased person is completely legal. For this to happen, the living must prove that the couple had the intention of marrying before one half unceremoniously dumped the other with a final breath. The law sounds like a remnant of ancient times, but it is not. Incredibly, it was only introduced in 1959, after a huge dam on the French Riviera collapsed and more than 400 people drowned. And do you know what's best? You can write a wedding registry before almost all of these ceremonies. Just because your fiancé isn't actually breathing doesn't mean you have to forego the thick-sliced ​​toaster or the George Foreman grill that's shoved in the cupboard, never to see the light of day.

According to my research, extramarital sex with a paranormal being is also surprisingly common. It even has a name – spectrophilia. Apparently some people are able to manifest the spirit of their dreams and have a hell of a time with them. And so, in a “spirit of inquiry” moment, I tried to contact a spirit.

Admittedly, it was difficult to know how to create the right mood. And when you're a busy working mother, it's hard to engage with anyone, let alone the other world – right? I decided that a weekday afternoon rendezvous was probably my only chance, squeezed between a Tesco store and throwing some turkey drumsticks in the oven for my kids to get home from school.

Did I have to wear something sexy? Probably not. I assumed that a ghost could undress me and pass through me in any way it wanted. Futile effort to get out my plunging bra and matching panties. Plus, I didn't want to seem desperate. I chose my pink Barbie sweatshirt and cotton lounge shorts. I needed something to loosen me up a bit, so I sat in the kitchen for half an hour with a glass or three of wine and listened to Boyz II Men's “I'll Make Love to You” on repeat. Then it was my turn Time …

Upstairs I closed the curtains and lit a few candles. Nice soft lighting. Shit…What's next? I had taken some notes from media I read online. They advised me to lie on my back and do some yoga breathing. Nobody described how I should lie. Legs akimbo in a 24/7 manner? Was that too hasty? Maybe… Or jammed shut? Was that too tight? Holy crap… It turned out to be a minefield. And when I got a visitor, I hoped to God it wasn't a ghost with a weird kink. I've been there and it didn't end well. This particular friend loved being an inanimate object – a coat hanger, a footstool, a human carpet that I had to walk across in Primark stilettos. It gave him a massive boner, but after a while it got boring.

Many of the online articles I had read suggested that I was imagining my ghostly lover. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up my ideal mind. I flirted with the idea of ​​a Viking, but I stopped myself. All in all, I wasn't sure I wanted to call out someone who saw looting, raping, and looting as just a warm-up exercise on a weekday afternoon. The whole advice was: keep it light. Think, Daisy, think. At some point I understood it. I don't know why I hadn't thought of him before – Ben Shephard. He would also be a real gentleman. Some media recommended light chants. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. “Ben, if you can hear this…come to me…”

I felt absolutely nothing other than creeping humiliation and growing fear. Suddenly I heard a strange crackling sound coming from the corner of the room. Shit. It was one of the candles; the wick was completely burned out. If it takes any longer it could leave a massive burn mark on my dressing table and possibly set my curtains on fire. I jumped up and blew it out. Then it dawned on me. Ben Shephard is very much alive. Why would he want to visit me in a ghostly form?

Back to the drawing board. I searched the depths of my mind and landed on a Victorian dreamboat ghost. Sideburns the size of a small rodent could really help me, from Dick Van Dyke to my Mary Poppins. I was finally in the zone. “The spirit comes to me…” Suddenly I felt a tingling sensation on the back of my left foot. Could my ghost lover have announced himself in this way? Maybe I had summoned a spirit with a foot fetish… I felt the tingling sensation again. No. It was in the exact spot where I had gotten a wart the night before.

I lay there for another five minutes, but unfortunately I still didn't feel anything. Apparently one of the obstacles to experiencing ghost sex is not believing enough. But I did it and I still believe in it. I Really believe. Ten minutes later I suddenly felt the urge to get up and go pee. It seemed to break the magic, and as I sat on the toilet I realized the moment was probably over. However, I couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of rejection. Jesus… not even a ghost wants to fuck me.