My past is something that seems to haunt me each and every day of my life. I am now 29 years of age and still it all seems as clear and vivid as it had been 23 years ago.
At that time, I was much like any six year old: curious about the things I knew not too much about. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was only 2, and so, I was forced to live with my grandma who was as strict as a surgeon.
It was a Tuesday, I believe, and my heart was set on seeing exactly what was in the old attic that sat, undisturbed, directly above my bedroom in my grandma's home. I had been told many times never to even go near the steps. But as children often do, my curiousity drove me to eventually explore the attic. I must admit it was surely the worst possible choice a person could make.
After my grandma had went to bed, I crept up the old squeaky stairs in search of something (I'm still unsure of what I expected to find, even to this day). It was dark and colder than the rest of the house, but I didn't think much of it. I spotted a light switch directly beside the door, and I flicked it on; but to my surprise, it did not work. I stepped forward this time, shining my flash light around, hoping to find maybe some type of toy, or better yet, a doll.
It was then that my heart leaped out of my body, and my eyes opened wide with fear and confusion. There laying on the floor in front of me, was my grandmother's body covered in dry blood. My grandma had been dead for many years, and I had been cared for, the entire time, by a ghost for four years!