It's never easy to admit you're wrong, especially on matters that touch the very fabric of who we think we are. Yet that's pretty much what I have to do. If you'd asked me a few days ago whether I believed in voices from the beyond the grave, I'd have laughed in your face. Well, maybe not laughed exactly, but at least given you a really solid smirk. But no longer.

You may or may not be aware of the Sci-Fi channel's series, Crossing Across, with John Steadwood. In it, Mr. Steadwood conducts on-camera séances with members of the public, apparently conveying to them messages from deceased loved ones. You may also be aware that earlier this year an episode was left unscreened, for reasons that the producers listed simply as 'production difficulties.' What you may not know is that the French magazine, Le Pole, published the transcript to that show only last week. Here is the portion that I think you'll find interesting.

It was filmed late last year and scheduled for release on April 28th.

John : I'm getting a sense of a table. Is there someone here who owns a table?

[Camera shows a number of members of the audience raising their hands. A number look very hopeful.]

John : It's a big table. Wood I think. Uh. Maybe metal. Wood or metal. Possibly with glass in it. Or maybe it's just shiny. Yes. One of those.

[Audience members with their hands raised start to fidget and squirm with excitement.]

John : Oh. I see a window. Does anyone have a table near a window?

[Several people put their hands down. Those left with their hands in the air are clearly looking smug.]

John : I'm getting the name "Henry." Or "William." Does anyone have a relative called either of those who may have used a table in the past? Or seen a table?

[There are now only two audience members with their hands raised. One is a young man dressed apparently by someone else, in the dark. The other is a middle-aged lady with a hairdo clearly designed to intimidate flying mammals. The camera shows John, dramatically backlit, striding towards them. His arm is out before him as though feeling his way forward through the mists ethereal.]

John : I sense a car. And a key. And the message, 'where is my hat?' Does any of that sound familiar?

[Inexplicably the young man puts down his arm and begins adjusting his pants with feverish determination. The camera quickly pans away to the tower-haired matron.]

John [To the lady, later identified by relatives as Mrs. Elmira Frange.] : You knew someone called William or Henry who had a table didn't you?

Mrs. Frange : Yes. Yes I did.

[A low susurration of astonishment and excitement can be heard from the rest of the audience.]

John : And, uh, there was a...

[At this point John pauses and is seen to clearly pale. He puts one hand to his face and sways back and forth. The camera stays on him and a production assistant can be seen lurking to one side.]

John : It's, uh, uncle Bob. I can actually hear Uncle Bob. I mean, I can actually *hear* him.

Mrs. Frange : That's right. We called him Bob. He was in...

John : Haiti? Am I right? He lived in Haiti?

[The camera quickly cuts back and forth between the two. She is nodding rapidly, he is looking increasingly panicked. For a moment there is silence and then John begins to stumble forward. This is unusual since he normally stays eight to ten feet from the audience at all time. He quickly mounts the steps and begins to run his fingers through Mrs. Frange's hair. Mrs. Frange looks surprised, but does not object. John is looking increasingly blank eyed and saliva is running down his chin.]

John : Bob says he wants to come home now. He's hungry. So, so hungry.

Mrs. Frange : He's hungry?

[John is seen gripping the sides of Mrs. Frange's head and licking his lips.]

John : Yes. So firm. So round. So tender. Brains.... BRAAAAIIIINS...

[The camera swings wildly to one side and the sound of feet can be heard running across the studio floor, moments before the screaming begins. A voice, probably one of the production assistants, can be heard shouting "John, stop that." John's voice can be just heard above the general commotion, "but they're so sweet. So sweet." The footage closes.]

Clearly a case of contacting the dead, and I for one am convinced. As for John Steadwood, he's relocated from his Los Angeles apartment to a house in Louisiana, where, he says, 'they know how to look after their dead folks.'

Mrs. Frange, who is dead, is unavailable for comment.

Currently.