Grand Central -- that's how I would describe just about every place I have lived. Ghosts would come and go from the time that I was little. My family on both sides has always been connected some how to "the other side."

When I was small, I spent most of time being raised by my great grandmother while my mother worked. I have never met a more in-tune woman. My mother actually pulled me away from her when I was young because I was getting a little bizarre for a child. I could bend spoons by simply holding them, predict phone calls and who would be on the line, feel presences, feel people walk through me that weren't there, fix watches that had been broken for years by merely holding them in an enclosed fist.

After my great grandmother died, she made her presence well known. We would hear her walking around on the second floor, smell the overwhelming stench of funeral flowers in one area of the house, catch a glimpse of her often. She was always my protector.

I have several instances to relay so this is rather lengthy.

One afternoon when I was about 8, my mother was counseling a troubled teenager at our house. This girl made me uneasy and I felt that her presence was eerily bad. After she left, I stood at the front door for a while. It was summer and my mother and I were getting ready to go out for an evening of theater. I heard a thump behind me on the floor. When I turned around, one of my mother's owl wind chimes was laying behind me at my feet. My mother collects owls and she had this ghastly wind chime that stood about 5 feet from the door. The shape of the owls came to sharp points and there were about 10-12 of these measuring about 2 inches wide and 6 inches tall. The chime should have flown the other way -- the breeze from the door would have directed it in the opposite direction. Instead, the pointed end was facing me.

My father came downstairs shortly after from taking a nap and stood in the middle of the living room smelling an overwhelming stench of funeral flowers in one area of the room. You could walk through it, smell the flowers, get to the end and smell nothing. To this day, I believe my great grandmother had protected me from some evil entity.

Years later, in high school, I acquired the upstairs bedroom. Peculiar things started to happen. The house was an old post-war cape cod and the upstairs was a finished attic with dormer ceilings divided into a sitting room and bedroom with locking french doors between the two. I never locked the doors until after the first occurrences. I was laying on my stomach trying to fall asleep when someone pressed a finger into the small of my back and flashed a light in my face. I froze, unable to move. The next morning, I figured my parents had played a joke. They denied ever having been up there. A few weeks later, I heard the squish of footsteps on the carpet, saw the black figure of a man, as if he had been cut out of black construction paper. He walked to my bedside, crouched down to me with his arm extended and whispered my name. I froze again with fear. I saw him once more after this and he again repeated my name. Once I began locking the doors, something late at night would rattle them, desperate to get inside.

The activity subsided until my senior year of college. I would sit downstairs with my mom watching TV and I would hear someone walking around upstairs. I once saw a glowing white light over my bed. The last incident upstairs happened when a skeptic of a boyfriend spent the night. I was downstairs watching TV and he had gone to sleep earlier. When I went upstairs, he was cowering in the corner, too afraid to move. As he struggled to get dressed, he told me a black entity had approached him threateningly and scared the wits out of him. He never set foot upstairs again.

When I was last home at that house, I slept downstairs as my dad had once again reclaimed the upstairs bedroom. I heard footsteps over the hard wood floor and something stopped right at the threshold of my doorway. I waited for something to appear. Nothing. I screamed for my parents (this from a 25 year old). My mother assured me it was my great grandmother -- she said she always saw her in that exact spot.

I have tons of stories -- people jokingly call me a magnet for other-worldly things. Who knows.