Prologue

The day I realized I was “different” was perhaps one of the most difficult of my entire life. My mother and I had been walking to the grocery store, the old, dingy, dumpy one that used to sit on the corner of High Street and Brighton, talking non-chalantly about things that after all these many years my aging mind refuses to recall. The autumn wind whistling in my ears, it was quite impossible not to enjoy the day. Turning my head to admire a particularly stunning orange-blazoned oak an oddly dressed woman caught my eye. Assuming she was heading off to some early All Hallows Eve costume party [it was the twenty-ninth of October] I pointed her out to my mother. 1

“Isn’t her dress beautiful?” I exclaimed pointing, in a hushed tone so the woman wouldn’t hear me.2

Puzzled and seemingly somewhat alarmed she stared at me. “Don’t you see her, the woman in the gorgeous black dress…the lady walking down the middle of the street?” She, my always talkative, outspoken mother remained as silent as the grave.3

After eternity she inhaled a ragged breath and shakily replied, “No-No I don’t.” 4

My heart beating quickly I exclaimed, “Her!-Her there!” I pointed once again jabbing my finger through the crisp air as if pushing an invisible button. “The woman with the black feather hat and lacy dress! You don’t see her?” 5

Her eyes followed my hastened movements exactly. Looking directly toward the woman she seemed worried “No, I do not.” 6

“How can’t you?” I was scared now.7

Angry, she spat,” There is nothing there, now stop your pointless nonsense this instant.”8

“Mother! You cannot be ser-“9

Cutting me off mid-sentence with a note of threateningly ominous finality she stated, “Margaret Eleanor, there is nothing there!”10

Not another word escaped my lips for the remainder of the day.11