The first time I saw a ghost, I was a small child lying in bed. Overhead in pitch darkness, her light drew near and retreated–drew near and retreated–in unnatural rhythm and pattern unrepeated. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d see some strange and inexplicable thing. Twenty years later, I’d reach out for disbelief to be shattered in the thrill of hearing, “Holy God, help me. Pray!” I have not yet shaken the chill, still riding my spine.