My interest didn’t begin with a book or a TV show. It began the moment I was born and has been unwinding ever since. The first memory my mother ever told me about was the old man who walked through her bedroom door the day they brought me home, looked down at me and said, “He’s protected.” After that, the world never felt entirely solid. I have seen shapes move in the corners, felt things brush through shadow, and heard voices when no one was there — experiences I still catch myself questioning as I get older.
I’ve listened to disembodied voices mimic people I loved, felt and seen the presence of ghosts, and had a gentle male whisper while I hid sick of school. A hand once pressed my shoulder and stopped me from jumping off a boulder above a creek where cottonmouths nested. I’ve even been taken — the close, cold kind of alien abduction people whisper about. I’ve lived through a lot.
In other words; the paranormal took interest in me.