Do you believe in magic ?

When you experience something unusual, which apparently cannot be logically explained (yet), do you think that it is proof of the existence of an almighty God (there is something between heaven and earth, we hear it often) or are you critical, skeptical and convinced that one day in the future such an experience surely can be explained scientifically?

I was brought up without belief in God, physics and natural phenomena, laws are my bible. As e.g. quantum physics is full of magic. I love puzzles, the unknown, the supernatural. I am also open to theories about extraterrestrials visiting our Earth. I read a lot about it, I own quite a number of books on this topic and in addition, I attract magical experiences.

It is Christmas 2000. My husband and I are visiting my parents at their cottage in Janůvky, a tiny village in the Bohemian mountains. Outside, everything is white. Snow falls softly and without sound. Inside, I sit by the fireplace, reading.

The book—my Christmas present—describes situations in which certain individuals are said to influence electrical systems. Street lamps go dark as they pass beneath them; electrical devices malfunction in their presence. Others supposedly carry such a strong magnetic field that metal objects cling to them as if drawn by a magnet. The stories fascinate me. They are illustrated, even accompanied by a few photographs.

At that moment, I don't care whether these accounts are proven fact or simply the author's imagination running free. Here, in the warmth of the house, by the fire, surrounded by my family, I allow myself to drift into another world—a magical one.

My heart feels light.

On New Year's Eve, we are invited by friends to visit the Beskydy Mountains, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from home. Almost no cars pass us along the way. The smaller roads are covered in snow, and on the last day of the year they are, as usual, not maintained. By the time we arrive at their cottage on the outskirts of the village, afternoon is already fading into darkness.

Once again, everything is beautifully white. Snowflakes drift past the windows.

We finish dinner, and after the New Year's toast, we decide to go for a walk through the village. We don't meet a single living soul—we are the only ones out there. The locals are warm at home, perhaps already asleep. In the year 2000, there are no fireworks, no colorful Christmas lights decorating the houses. The village lies in darkness, lit only by the streetlamps.

Snow is falling, huge flakes drifting slowly through the air.
The Ghost Hour.

The mysterious atmosphere was perfect for a discussion about dark forces. I was telling everyone about a fascinating book I had just finished, and at the group's request I began describing how some people are said to be able to switch off streetlights simply by walking beneath them.

At that very moment, I was walking hand in hand with my husband, passing through the cone of light beneath a city lamp—when the light suddenly went out.

After a few more steps, we all stopped. No one wanted to believe what had just happened. Goosebumps spread through the group. Was it real?

We looked around. Yes—it was. We were standing beneath the only lamp that was dark. The lamps in front of us and behind us were still glowing, their light catching the falling snowflakes. The village power line clearly hadn't failed.

After a moment of silence, someone said, "If you know how to turn a lamp off, you probably know how to turn it back on. So please—do it."

"Okay," I said, turning back and walking toward it.  As I passed beneath the lamp, a stream of light suddenly struck me.

I had done it.  The lamp was lit again.

Without saying a word, I took hold of my husband's arm, and we all swiftly began to make our way home. We couldn't wait to leave those mysterious forces behind in the chilly darkness and feel safe again within the warmth and light of the house.

I am finishing this story at exactly 12:00 a.m. The clock has just struck midnight.

Good night.