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When I was young, it was easier. I considered the ghost sightings to be my “imagination” and that worked for me. But with age came responsibility, so the “imagination” thing stopped working. I wanted a normal life, insisted upon it and hearing and seeing things like that just didn’t cut it anymore.

I tried forgetting and I tried not seeing. That didn’t work either.

How I rejoiced when I saw that movie where the kid says, "I see dead people." I was ecstatic to know that someone else in the world felt and experienced the same things as me.

It was hard all those years. Corpses standing at my door, wayward specters wandering my yard, and me the only one who knew they were there. It was torture.

Jeez, I was only a kid.

Many times I would see the specters (or ghost sighting) while my parents were sitting right across from me. They frequently witnessed my horrified expressions: a pallid face with a stiff smile, forced and insincere; my eyes wide and gaping as though I had just eaten the world’s hottest chili pepper. My hands would shake and I would get very, very distracted. In fact I looked so bizarre my parents thought I had epilepsy and was having seizures or something. I ended up being dragged to doctor after doctor in search of the one who could figure out what I was plagued with.

I was dealing with it the best I could.

Here was someone, white as snow, standing in our living room, hollow black eyes beseechingly asking for help and nobody else able to share the ghost sighting. I would try to focus on Star Trek or the ball game and would get really close to the TV. I would sit cross-legged on the floor, chin on my clenched fists, rocking back and forth. I worked very hard to block things out. Very hard.

My mom, bless her heart, was really worried about me and thought about putting me on medication. Somehow I managed to skirt that issue and at that point made it a practice to show no fear even when the ghastly forms would get right in my face, eyeballs popping and tongues wagging at me.

I got really good at it, hiding things. In fact, by fourteen, most people regarded me as completely normal. I even became popular in school but I never liked sports. I had seen too many apparitions of those who had died in sporting accidents like skiing and diving that I was not remotely interested.

Fortunately, after years of being completely terrified at every turn, something happened. Some say all you need is a good "girl" to straighten out your life. Well for me, all it took was a good "ghoul."

When I was about fifteen, my family took a trip to Washington, DC. We went to The White House for a tour. It was great, all that history and preserved memories of the past. The gardens were absolutely glorious. For the first time in my life I felt free from hauntings, poltergeists and restless spirits that normally beset my waking hours.

On our tour, I explored the grand rooms of our forefathers’ great home and smelled the leather tomes in the offices and libraries. I developed a deep esteem for the learned men of our country as I toured those vast wooden halls. The experience was absolutely enchanting.

Then unexpectedly, the fateful ghost sighting happened.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow pass by our group. Of course, nobody else saw it. Neither did they hear the music playing in the other room or smell the sweet scent of tobacco.

For once, I wasn’t scared and felt compelled to go for it. I followed the shadow around the corner into the other room.

What did I see, but the apparition of Abraham Lincoln sitting there in an ornately upholstered armchair, smoking a pipe and reflecting on some unknown something?

I was thrilled.

Out of fear that the apparition would vanish I quickly whispered, “Mr. Lincoln, is that you?” To my surprise, his head turned in my direction, obviously responding to my question.

“Yes son. It is me,” he said despondently.

I was shocked. I was invigorated. For once, I was in the presence of an entity that I loved and admired—The Great Emancipator.

“I am grateful for you,” he continued. “I am sad and pleased to have someone to converse with.” He continued for a long time, sharing his philosophies and visions for the future. I listened intently, riveted on his every word. His message impacted me so greatly I cannot possibly reiterate it and expect to be implicitly understood. I only know that I have never met anyone with so much reverence for mankind. It left a mark on me; it changed me. At that very moment my life was transformed into something so much more significant than I could have ever envisioned before that day.

Eventually, we were interrupted by the tour, but I left The White House fulfilled and renewed.

The curse of unwanted sightings I had experienced all my life had now become a purpose. In the hopes that I could possibly be rid of the ghosts, I spent my days doing everything I could to learn about government, politics and the humanities.

Over the passing years, I became a Congressman. I intend to run for President someday.

I still see dead people, but my closest friend is Old Abe my favorite ghost. He says he will stick with me for as long as it takes, and you can bet I believe him.

If we have our way, it’s only a matter of time before every man (and spirit) is free . . . 
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