As a child, I’ve known I was Special. When I was two years old, I woke up upstairs in my crib. I climbed out and proceeded down the stairs to my parent’s room. I remember as clear as day looking up at the top of the stairs, wondering how I got down them without touching any steps. I was shy throughout my childhood and yet very popular. Even though I was shy, I never liked bullies. In fact, I always stood up to bullies. I wasn’t bullied very much, but the kids I grew up with were. I always stuck up for my friends and “NEVER BACKED DOWN.”
You would think I was a little scrapper, but not once got into a real physical fight with anyone all through school, with one exception…. “Kindergarten.” I was actually expelled from school for beating up a boy named Allen. My sister and mother told me when I get really angry, my eyes turn yellow. On the way to school, my older sister and I always walked through the graveyard. I’ve always found it very uneasy there, always looking over my shoulder thinking a spirit was going to get me.
There was one grave my sister showed me and told me the sad story of a Witch being buried there. There were no gravestone like other graves, just a piece of bar sticking out hanging an old tin can. I thought it a sad story, so every week I went there and placed pretty flowers that I picked from mine and my neighbors yard.
Soon after, one night I found myself sleeping in my bed alone. I was wide awake and remember every bit of that night like it happened yesterday. Suddenly my night light beamed a red light. Out of nowhere came this large and dark shadow coming across my bedroom towards me. It was coming to get me! I screamed as loud as I could. My mother and stepfather came in the room. No way was I ever going to sleep again! It took a few days of no sleep for my mother before she brought me to the doctors. She gave me a shot in the leg. Even though the doctor didn’t speak a lick of English, I knew she understood everything I said.
Since that day, I never had trouble again, until we moved. We actually moved back in that yellow house where I floated down the stairs at the age of two. That house has spirits in it. To take a long story short, the night my stepfather passed away, my sister and I were safe at my grandparents house. My mother and grandfather were out of town. They were the one’s that found my stepfather on the floor of our new manufactured home with blood splattered everywhere and his face beat in with a lead pipe beyond recognition.
I knew something was wrong. My sister and I got out of bed and went downstairs where grandma was hanging up the phone. I looked at her and told her what had happened to my stepfather. He was murdered. She asked me, “how do you know these things?” I replied, “I just do.” I was seven years old at that time. Many of times my sister and I would stay the weekend with my grandparents. I love and cherish them dearly.There were plenty of times when the phone rang and before grandma could answer the phone, I would blurt out who was calling. It was a game to me.
My grandmother passed away when I was nine. Our family have been strictly Trinity Lutheran since back in the late 1500’s when Catholic Church broke off in different branches. There were plenty of times when I would play by myself while I was growing up. I really didn’t mind because I could always feel someone around me. “I’m very creative when I want to be.” “I can actually accomplish anything I set my mind to doing.” Except for right now. After my grandmother passed, my sister and I always had to fend for ourselves. My mother was never home. She was too busy partying and entertaining her male friend’s. We would go to “grandma Viva” and “grandpa Wally’s” quite often.