My son and I see the dead. Over the years, we’ve had countless paranormal experiences. I’ve seen angels, demons, and even the Grim Reaper appearing in my dreams. I’ve never worshipped it, never even paid it much mind.
My boy sees ghosts too. Sometimes, when he sleeps, he claims he visits heaven and speaks to God and Jesus. When he wakes, he tells me everything in detail, like he’s really been there. We’ve witnessed so much that people don’t believe us anymore. They say we’re making it up, exaggerating. But we’re not. Everywhere we go—whether it’s a house or a street—we hear or see things. Always.
It’s like we’re mediums or something, but I won’t accept it. I don’t want this gift. Once, a woman who looked like a witch mentioned it to me. She said I had a strong gift, that I could develop it further if I wanted. But I don’t. It terrifies me. My son might embrace it one day—he doesn’t fear them. When he sees spirits, he talks to them, even follows them.
Not me. I just tell them I can’t help, to leave me alone. And then they stay… right there, at my bedroom door, watching me in the dead of night. Sometimes for days. Sometimes just minutes. But they always come back.
And all I want is a peaceful night’s sleep.
